#<- AND MAYBE ITS A REACH BUT. it sounds eerily close to the freedom ending track

[squuote]

I wish I knew more about music or like how to talk about it in depth because the tsp soundtrack literally makes me feel so many emotions and I don’t even have the words to express why it makes my heart claw out of my chest (major rambling in the tags lol)

[ddarker-dreams]

Bride in White. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

When you had fantasized about this day in your youth, this is not what you had desired.

In those days, you pictured how you would count down the days until your wedding. Mulling over a dress you wanted to wear, one that was within your budget but pretty nonetheless. Maybe an outdoor venue, friends and family alike joining together to witness your union. There’d be butterflies in your stomach as you held onto your bouquet, breath hitched. Most important of all, the one who would be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. 

A person you truly loved. 

Eerily, certain lavish elements align with what you would’ve wanted. Almost as if he peeked in your mind and stole it for himself. The venue you were to be wed reminded you of a whimsical fairy tale, indulging you in its architectural beauty. A cathedral with warm, earth tone colors with tall ceilings that reached to the heavens. Colored sunlight shone through broad, mosaic windows, illuminating aisles of wooden pews. 

“I’m not a pious man,” Giorno had claimed, as he monitored you with his eyes. He must have mistaken your wide eye look for acceptance of the situation. “But it feels right.” 

But it feels right.

Those four words haunted you the moment they left his roseate lips. He couldn’t have expressed the gravity of your situation, the living nightmare of your life more perfectly if he had tried. Every freedom he readily plucked from you like a flower petal, all the undesirable parts of you that he trimmed away, planting you wherever he saw fit to soak in your beauty. The single difference you can find is a flower will eventually wither away to nothing and wilt. 

Whereas Giorno, your ever dutiful lover, cruelly refuses to let you meet the same fate. 

All of this was thrusted upon you because it felt right to him. He’s assured that this is what love is and you’d be a fool to think otherwise. What happened in his past to delude him into believing this sick parody of love is right? Questions like this will remain unanswered, Giorno skillfully dodging them with ease when presented with your numerous concerns. 

Freedoms you were generously given did little for you. Giorno took care of a majority of the planning, considering what minuscule input you offered. Whether it’s because he envisioned your union in a particular way -- or he was tired of your lackadaisical responses to wedding detail questions -- he stopped asking. The illusion of choice he presented you with was insulting in your eyes.

You don’t want to choose the flavor of cake, what orchestral arrangements are to be played during the reception, or what kind of veil you’ll wear. It’s as macabre as preparing for your own funeral down to the letter, you concluded. No, none of those frivolous things will bring you the true desire of your heart. 

Living your life as you did before meeting the Don of Passione.

“I-is it to your liking?” 

A young woman around your age asks, pulling back to allow you to see your own reflection. The person working on your hair continues in silence, the pair only speaking to you when absolutely necessary. It’s not like you can blame them, you think bitterly. Treading carefully and minding your mannerisms is an all too familiar dance. 

“Yes, thank you.” you offer in response after brief deliberation, to which she lets out a shaky sigh of relief. A fluffy brush dances across your face as she continues her work, blending together your foundation or making small touch ups when necessary. Seeing your own somber reflection being dolled up stirs unknown emotions within you, almost prompting you to laugh humorlessly. 

Your hair has been pulled back into a loose braid. Woven into your hair are flowers, likely created by Gold Experience. From light pink juliet roses to white hydrangeas, all stunningly beautiful despite your inner hatred for what they represent. It’s not that Giorno can’t afford to obtain flowers from other sources. The act of claiming you is what this represents. 

Highlight that compliments your skin color is set upon your cheekbones and lightly dusted onto your nose, cheeks subtly rosy from blush. The color of your eyes is brought out by smokey eye shadow, eyelids covered in flecks of gold then finished with dark winged eyeliner. Lastly, in the color that Giorno had picked out himself, your lips plump and covered in a deep pink.

As for the dress, Giorno considered your minimal input when deciding on it. Weeks of fittings and measurements in his private villa come flooding back to your mind, the irritating experience bestowing upon you an extravagant dress. A sweetheart neckline, with a mermaid silhouette that extended past your feet. It has a bare back, with a long cathedral chain behind you. The fabric clings to your curves beautifully, made of lace and tulle. 

It’s hard to justify messing up their work, as much as you’d love to. As innocent bystanders in this entangling mess, you loathe the thought of them getting in trouble for your tantrum. Knuckles tightening by your sides until your nails press painfully to your skin, you stop only to realize how it’d displeasure Giorno to see your beautiful skin tainted by crimson. 

A door opens behind you, the sound of fine orchestral accompaniments growing louder. In the mirror, you’re able to see one of your bodyguards, Fugo. His normal outfit riddled with holes replaced by a coal black tux, gaze serious as ever. 

“She walks out in five minutes. Is everything done by now?” he asks in a way that leaves room for little argument. Fugo has always been a no nonsense type of man, the stress from keeping a monumental event like this safe and moving along weighing down on him. Your hairdresser doesn’t look back while she responds, adding final flourishes while time allows.

“It will be. We’re just wrapping up now.” 

Fugo runs a hand through his hair, sighing but nodding his head. For privacy he closes the door, likely standing by it for added security. The comfort of this room will soon be left behind you, as much as you want to stay hidden away forever. All you can think is this aspect will be over after today, though a much crueler fate awaits you with open arms. 

After what feels like a too short amount of time, they begin prompting you to stand, handing you your bouquet of expensive and vibrant flowers. Your grip on which is weak, hands shaking too much to gain a proper grasp. Taking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you do everything within your power to quench this stifling anxiety. 

With no rest for the weary, Fugo once again opens the door. He meets your gaze, lips set in a tight frown but not commenting on your aghast expression; likely in an act of mercy towards you. He silently offers you his arm to steady your teetering figure, to which you shake your head. You’ve made it this far on your lonesome, the rest of the world failing you at every opportunity. 

It’s more of a symbolic act now since you’ll have to take his arm later, Fugo being the one to give you away in the stead of your father. This is one of the conditions you presented to Giorno in return for your full compliance, that he leaves your family alone from all mafia related circumstances, this included. He seemed more than pleased at the time to accept his beloved’s request.

Wedding veil gingerly placed atop you, all the preparations steps have been completed. There’s no other acceptable excuses you can present at this moment, the calling before you beckoning. Fugo prompts you to walk out with him, a hallway not long enough for your liking in front of you. 

Each step takes every ounce of your willpower. All you can hear, like a mantra within your own mind, is that you need to get yourself together. That’s the deal you made with him, the one that you need to stick by in spite of yourself. For the safety of those you care about, you must present yourself as a perfect and overjoyed bride. 

Two intimidating looking men dressed for the occasion stand on either side of the large doors, ready to open the gates of your own personal hell. Fugo nods to them, his authority within the organization prompting them to open the doors to the chapel. At the very second of doing so, the orchestra changes their song to the bridal chorus.

Rich sounds of the organ flood your ears, lips quivering at the crushing sound reverberating within these tightly packed walls. The sensation of hundreds of faceless strangers staring at you makes your knees go weak, all of them now standing out of respect for your soon-to-be husband. None of them mean anything to you, but you’d be a fool to not acknowledge their importance. From politicians to fellow mafiosos, all eyes are on you. 

Sensing your hesitation to continue walking, Fugo gently nudges you forward. The act breaks you from your momentary stupor, allowing you to continue down the aisle with faux grace. Running out of other sights to look at, your gaze hesitantly falls onto Giorno, who grows closer by the second. 

He’s composed, as you’ve come to expect from him. There’s an image of rigidness that needs to be maintained with being a Don. His lips curl into a content smile when your eyes meet. Every ounce of your being screaming, pleading, for you to look away. To run away. Yet you can’t, the logical side of your brain being won over by the intensity of his presence. 

Your body moves in a trance-like state towards him, drawn to his serene expression and loving eyes. Otherworldly is how you describe him in this moment, sunlight shining against his golden hair which is loose from the normal braid. No expenses were cut on his own outfit, wearing a luxurious navy blue Givenchy suit. 

There’s no denying that the devil incarnate is nothing short of beautiful. 

Fugo goes to shake Giorno’s hand, instead of your real father. He gives you one last look before descending down the stairs and taking his seat in the front row. Now feeling all on your own, you feel the anxiety from before returning in full force. What frightens you the most now is how gentle Giorno’s emerald eyes are, how much heartfelt love shines within them for you. It feels like his gaze pierces through your being, capable of reading every thought. 

Offering him a smile that you pray he finds satisfactory, Giorno lifts the veil over your face. 

“I’ve never seen someone so breathtaking.” he mutters under his breath, only for you to hear. Goosebumps dot your skin at his affectionate proclamation. 

He then turns to look to the altar. You mirror this action, seeing an eldery man who must be the priest. Seeing his lips move, you faintly process that he’s addressing the two of you. All the world slows down as your fate is sealed, head growing dizzier by the second. This stifling atmosphere all but grabs you by the neck, suffocating you. Body on autopilot, you respond only when prompted to do so. 

Now time for rings to be exchanged, Giorno grabs your hand with utmost care. He smiles at you, one that’s different than normal. One that doesn’t have hidden intentions behind it, an agenda to manipulate your feelings. No, this comes from the depths of his soul. From his overflowing love for you, that drowns out any other sensations.

He places the ring on your finger, expensive diamonds and gold band sliding on with shackles. “With this ring I, Giorno Giovanna, take you, [First], to be my own. To have you by side and support you until I draw my final breath, to love you with everything that I am and more. Let this be a symbol of our union that will last until the end of time itself.”

Words flow from his mouth with practiced ease, silver tongue threatening to draw you in. Your heart rate hammers away as you realize it’s your turn to speak your own vows, no longer protected by having to repeat someone else’s words. Giorno required of you to write it yourself, one of the cruelest things he could’ve had you do. 

To speak of an abundance of love for someone you have nothing but deep abhorrence for. 

Giorno’s eyes flicker at your lack of response, muscles of his jaw taut. A darkness momentarily seeps within his expression, one that you recognize all too well. This is the Giorno that you know. Lightly clearing your throat in mock sentiment, you pass it off as being choked up. Placing Giorno’s ring onto his ring finger, you shiver as your skin brushes against his. 

Recalling the dishonest words, you speak them through a forced smile. “With this ring I, [First], take you, my dearest Giorno, to stand by you through the trials of life. The joys of my life are brought to me by you, and now I wish to return the favor. Allow me to repay you by being yours, and may nothing stand between us.” 

Any signs of malice have melted away, a beaming expression taking their place on his countenance. Every word brought bile to your throat, numerous lies spilling from you like sweet venom. Your impeccable acting goes unnoticed, as he draws closer to you. Or maybe he does notice it but wants to delude himself into believing you’re being honest. 

“By the power vested in me by God and man, I pronounce you wife and husband. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may kiss your bride.” 

Warm hands on both sides of your face caress you, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles into your skin. What’s meant to be a tender moment causes your blood to run cold, hairs on the back of your neck standing at the realization of what this next action means. Giorno leans forward, long eyelashes fluttering shut. Soft lips mold against your own in a chaste kiss, your body tingling and scent of his rich cologne enveloping you. 

He lingers for a second longer, before pulling back a few inches. Golden locks tickle your skin, his warm breath fanning against your flustered face. Giorno greedily drinks in the unfolding events in front of him, wordlessly portraying to you the depths of his obsession. You can only imagine what he’s thinking, and what it means for you. He feels like he’s won, that this victory will cement your place with him. 

Closing his eyes once more, he offers you his arm. Understanding the gesture, you take it without protest. The smile never leaves his face as he turns around to face those who have gathered to the ceremony with you at his side. 

Meaningless cheers erupt behind you, a once in a lifetime event of witnessing the union of Passione’s Don filling the air with palpable electricity. As you assume he wants, you follow Giorno’s lead by walking out towards the large wooden doors. His grip on you is tight, both physically steadying and emotionally unsettling you. 

Going through the motions, is what you decide this detached state of existence is. Pushing through the numbness that threatens to take hold, you smile your best dazzling smile. It all happens in a flurry, crowds parting to allow for your safe passage. Once you walk out the Cathedral doors, you’re met with grains of rice fluttering onto you from either side and more delight. 

All the faces that go by you like a blur appear overjoyed, paling in comparison only to Giorno. In the time you’ve had to share with him, you’re incapable of recalling seeing him this thrilled. The day is long from over, an outdoor reception already set up for you to sludge through. At least for this aspect, you doubt anyone will speak to you directly. Or if they do, it’ll be a predictable conversation that you already have designated answers to give. 

Their attention will mostly remain on Giorno, congratulating him on the union. You wonder if some poor soul learned through experience that it’s unwise to have their eyes linger on you for too long. Giorno is a walking contradiction, wanting to both present his beautiful lover yet setting boundaries to prevent people from getting too close for his liking. 

As you predicted, congratulatory words are shared hundreds of times. Hours pass of the same, monotonous routine. The one aspect that causes you to subtly stiffen every time is when an individual addresses you as Mrs. Giovanna. It feels like a part of your identity has been stolen, among all the other things he has taken from you. 

“Do you need to rest? We’ve been standing for some time.” Giorno whispers into your ear, after a mafioso expressed his regards to his Don. You shake your head, not wanting to be alone with him. With all these people around, you oddly feel safer. Though none of them would stand up for you as it’s a certified death wish. 

“I’ll be alright,” you respond to him with a sigh, lowering your head to look at the tile underneath you. “It’s just been a lot.” 

Giorno considers your words, searching for emotions that aren’t there. You distract yourself by looking around, feeling content that these people are having fun even if you’re not. Families speaking amongst themselves enjoying the fine catering, partners dancing and almost everyone holding a wine glass. Asking him never felt like a priority, but you do wonder how much this spectacle cost. 

As the evening progresses, the sun lowers into the sky. Beams of orange and yellow mixing together enrapture everything in sight, the scent of delicacies and wine mixing together. Milan is an enrapturing city. All day you’ve had no appetite, Giorno having to convince you to eat something. Looking down at the plate that he brought you, a slice of buttered focaccia is what you settle on.

Speaking of Giorno, he left your side for the first time in hours to speak to some security. You feel like it’s easier to breathe outside of his presence, though the respite won’t last much longer. As expected, he returns to you and extends his hand. You hesitate before grabbing it, to which he helps you up.

“We’ll be heading to our hotel now.” he instructs you, leading you to the curb where a limousine awaits. Ever the gentleman, Giorno opens the door for you to take your seat before sitting next to you himself. A final group of cheers for the new couple break out, before the crowd is behind you. 

Only the low drum of the engine fills your ears, your lap holding your interest. Feeling emotionally drained to the core, you don’t offer any resistance when Giorno lays his hand over your own. Working up the courage to look at him, you’re met with a serene expression. He loosens his tie some, upward curl of his lips never faltering.

“Cara… you looked troubled,” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Is something bothering you?” 

“Ah. I’m not used to all that attention and socializing.” you admit in truth, a sheepish smile of your own creeping up. Giorno is the only person who you have contact with on a regular basis. You forgot what it was like to converse with strangers, even in passing. Giorno seems to understand, bright green eyes softening.

He reaches to a pen in his jacket, and before your very eyes, it turns into an impressive burgundy rose. Giorno’s ability is a mystifying one, no matter how many times you witness it. He quietly laughs at your wide eye look, before tucking it behind your ear. 

“We’ll be alone soon enough.” 

It’s a phrase meant to soothe you, yet it has the opposite effect. A hidden meaning glimmers underneath the surface, one that you anticipate. 

Still in a dreamlike state, you eventually arrive in a luxurious suite. This is one of the finest hotels in Milan, with a vast view of the historic city. Placing your hand to the glass of the window, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Not feeling the need to turn around to greet your husband, Giorno makes up for it by wrapping his arms around your torso. 

He presses himself against you, head lowering to the crux of your neck to take in your scent. A perfume that he chose for you. His lips ghost over your pulse, appreciating how it gains speed at his teasing touch. He knows this body well. This is a culmination of all he’s desired, the payoff of you before him. Giorno’s hands hover up to your shoulder, where he plays with the straps of your dress. 

You close your eyes.

Lifting his head to your ears, you shiver at his low declaration. “Now, give all of yourself to me, mio bellissimo amore.” 

[saturatedboy]

The Paw of a Lion (Ethan!Winters x Karl!Heisenberg)

Can be found on my AO3 (Use title above)

Word count: 4.2K

Chapter 3 under cut

Tick

Tick

Tick

Ethan, the blonde father, had bundled himself up in a thick cover he had taken off his bed in his new home. The night had only begun to take over, the rain storm outside had pattered against the roof and windows of his den. It was times like this that he had slight regret over the fact he could have just tried to convince Chris to place him and his daughter somewhere else. Maybe then this night wouldn’t be cold because of the timed heating system in place- maybe he just goes over and ask Dimitrescu if he could sleep over with Rose.

That thought he quickly shook out. As far as he was concern, he didn’t want to get too friendly with his neighbours. He still had his walls up, ready to attack if it meant his Rose could be safe. The father was already worried about the fact that his daughter would also ned to have tests run on her. The thoughts simple didn’t sit right with him, but it wasn’t like he could just straight up disagree with whatever the BSAA wanted to do. He was no match for any of them...or maybe he was?

A ring caught his attention, vibrating his thoughts out of his skull. Drifting brown eyes caught onto the rotary phone. ‘Heisenberg’ The father thought, a hand itching to grab the phone. With finger tips just glazing over the phone, he quickly withdrew his hand back to his chest and cradled it with the other. “Should I though?” He pondered out loud, watching as the phone carried on ringing. “To hell with it.” Ethan had reached and grabbed the phone before the ringing could stop. Reaching the phone to his ear, he held it and waited for the other to speak.

“Ah papa! Thought you would never answer,” The gruff voice came out, a little glitch but that was due to the rain outside.

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to.” The truth spilled out with Ethan moving to lay back against the armrest of the couch and pulling his feet up to rest on the cushions. A laugh came out from the other side, making a twitching smirk come up upon the young male’s lips.

“Ah, feisty as ever still. Relax, I won’t call you every night. More or less 6 calls at most a week.” Ethan rolled his eyes playfully, well aware the other couldn’t see but he liked to think he did. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to call you on this fateful night.”

“Hm,” Ethan hummed, “It never crossed my mind but go ahead, seemingly you’ll just keep calling if I placed the phone down now.”

“That’s the spirit papa, I still have an hour and 25 minutes anyway! So, I want to learn.” It took a few seconds for Ethan to process the others words. ‘Learn?’ Why would Heisenberg, the fourth lord and creator of walking armed zombies want to learn?

‘“Okay...What do you want to learn about?” The line had gone silent to the point Ethan had moved the phone a little away from his ear and craned his neck back as though the problem would be shown. His body soon jerked up when the familiar voice had answered back, startling the man.

“I want to know your interests.” A simple answer, yet eerily uncomfortable to Ethan. He didn’t like the sound of that one bit. Licking his lips as a way to calm his beating heart, Ethan relaxed back in his position and sighed through his nose.

“And why do you want to know my interests now?”  

“Isn’t it obvious. We are neighbours, bond to be for probably the rest of our lives so we might as well start getting homely with each other!” A prompt scoff and click of the tongue came from Ethan as he changed his position, with a little struggle, to sit back straight on the couch with legs dangling off the front and back pressed against the back cushions. He rested his elbow on the arm rest and placed his head on his hand.

“I am not staying here forever Heisenberg. After these tests, I’m going back to a normal life with my daughter away from all this.” Unknowing to Ethan, Karl had taken much a liking to his protective nature. It was rather...tempting to mess with, to see how much further the male could go for his daughter- even after a close death.

A chuckle came from Karl. “Now, now Ethan. I’m sure you’re aware that we're stuck here till then. You’re different Winters, just like the rest of us. You really think they’ll let you go after some tests? We...what did they call us again,”  

“They called us bio weapons Heisenberg...”  

“Ah yes! We are bio weapons. Now, I’m pretty sure weapons aren’t allowed in your society now are they. So, Winters, are we really going to be free after everything?” A flash memory appeared in Ethan’s mind, back to the start of the day when his arm had been covered by the mould. How it didn’t come off, how it felt like it was stuck forever so him...the weird boiling sensation that washed over him.  “I’ll take your silence of you knowing I’m correct.”

“So, what!” The sudden snarl had caught Heisenberg off guard, making him take the phone away from his own ear. Even then, he could still hear Ethan’s voice loud and clear, a realisation that he had angered and frustrated the other. “Maybe I am some weapon but some of us have lived through a normal life for that to be taken off us. I may not understand half the shit you’ve gone through but dammit I could still be a normal person for all I know.” Ethan had stopped to take a breath. Luckily his voice being raised had not awaken the sleeping child but it did awake something else.  

“Ethan...” Karl asked after hearing the line go silent for a second too long. “I-I understand your angry at my words but-”

“AH FUCK GET OFF ME!”  

…

Karl stared at the phone in his hand. A long deafening sound came out of it, a single beep carrying on for generations ahead. Working up a cold sweat, Karl had slammed the phone onto its stand and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair he was sat on in his own small kitchen. Silently, he was thankful for still wearing his boots as he had rushed out of his home, knocking a plant that was on a table top inside the home on accident, then proceeded to stampede his way through the dirt road to get to Ethan’s home. He hadn’t even managed to get his second arm through his coat before he was at Ethan’s front door pounding against the wood. “For fuck's sake Ethan, Open up!”  

Pressing up against the door, Karl rattled the handle about only for the door to open with him falling in behind. The rain drops that was collected on his clothing had splattered amongst the wooden floors of Ethan’s home. Trying his best to get up and not slip, Karl had successfully stood up and chucked the door shut behind him to stop any more water entering the Winters resident. Bracing himself, Karl had steadied himself straight as he stood his ground and closed his eyes, trying to hear the man who lost connection. A quiet groan was heard from the left room closest to the front door. “Ethan!” Karl called, running in that room and looking about.  

“The fuck you-ack!-doing in my home,” Karl turned his sightlines to stare at the floor, he then walked around the couch to see the man he was looking for on the ground, turned away from him. Tugging his hat off, Karl placed the wet material on the armrest close to him and then settled down to the ground, sitting on his knees.

“I’m here because you randomly screamed and left. Are you okay?” Bringing comfort to someone was never and never will be Karl’s strong suite but hopefully his presence there will somewhat calm the other.

“It’s nothing. Just go back home,” Ethan’s voice came out as a whine, on the contrary it also sounded desperate. Karl looked down at his lap fiddling with his fingers. He furrowed his brows and snarled.

“I'm not leaving till you tell and show me that everything is okay.”

“Why would you care, go home Heisenberg.” The sneer that came back from the other in response to Karl’s words had him annoyed. He wasn’t going to sit here and let the man who gave him somewhat a freedom turn him away. He wasn’t going to leave Ethan no matter how many times the other will try to push him away. Making a bold move, Karl reached over and grabbed Ethan’s shoulder harshly, before pulling him backwards making the taller blonde male collide on his back. Karl looked down at the fallen male and loomed over him. Ethan had shut his eyes as his back had hit the ground, a hushed cry came from between his lips as he tightened his grip on his shoulder.  

“Ethan,” Karl breathed out, steadily thrusting his hand to hold Ethan’s as he tried to pry it away from his shoulder. “Ethan everything will be okay, just breath.”  

“What do you think I’m trying to do,” Ethan had opened his eyes and spat out his words, breathing harshly through gritted teeth. “Ow” He cried out, letting Karl take his hand away from his shoulder. Once removed, Karl peered down to see black taking over half of Ethan’s body, it was just beginning to move onto his wrist that was just seen appearing before the end of his pyjamas top sleeve.

“Woah, don’t you look a lil different.” The amusement in Karl’s voice sent Ethan over the edge. The father had raised his hand and made a quick slap on the others face before pulling himself back up and pushing his back to rest against the couch.

“Just leave. I’ll deal with this on my own.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.” The flat voice of Karl had Ethan turning his head with a scrunch up nose.  

“Yes, you will- ahm- leave.” Karl shook his head, growing annoyed at how Ethan had discouraged his advances of staying with him. Then, a great idea popped into the mechanical man’s head. Snaking an arm around Ethan’s waist, the Lord had brought Ethan to his side and held him tightly. His fingers dug a little into the thin frame of Ethan, rubbing soothing circles into his side.  

“Just relax. It seems whatever is happening is reacting to your emotions. Stay calm.” For once, just for this time only, Ethan couldn’t help but agree in his mind that Heisenberg was correct. All this happened after he lost his temper or was saddened greatly. He had to do this. Do this for Rose.

Inhaling deeply, Ethan tried his best to relax in the other’s grip. Going as far to even turn to rest his head on his shoulder. Together they sat, only a few sparks of quick pain passed through Ethan’s muscles. He felt like his body was trying to cave in on itself, but it wasn’t. He couldn’t feel it physically doing that, it was his brain telling him different stories. ”That’s it. See, being calm is good for you. Especially a lion like yourself.”

“If you carry on talking, I will bite your throat out.”

“Kinky.” Another slap, this one a little lighter, came across Karl’s chest. Realising that Ethan had hit a blow on him, he laughed at the thought that was behind it. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, luckily for you I enjoy a bit of biting.”

Ethan hit head against Karl’s shoulder, groaning loudly at his words. On the other side, Karl had bit his lip and scrunched his eyes up, holding back more laughter at Ethan’s reactions. ‘Gosh he’s cute’ Karl kept his thought to himself, gazing down at the other who seemed a lot more at peace with himself and not groaning in pain- but rather annoyance.  

Time passed, both of them sat in the same spots, bathing in the others presence. ‘Maybe he isn’t all bad.’ Ethan stared at the sleeping Lord, who was snoring loudly within his ear. Although Ethan wasn’t ready to fall asleep after all this, he allowed himself to settle next to the other. “You better not get sick.”

The next day had seeped in quicker than the father had wanted it to. All night he had been laid against the sleeping lord, who after the first bird tweeted, had wrapped both arms around Ethan and fell to sleep on his lap. Ethan had to use all his willpower to reframe from smacking the other awake, instead he decided to run his fingers through his mangled hair- being careful for the knots.

His eyes felt heavy as he drifted in and out of conscious. It seemed that over the hours the mould had once again disappeared. The metal man was right, he had to control his emotions better if he was going to protect his cub. He didn’t need to get worked up and harm her by accident. The thought made him shiver.

Just as his eyes had clamped shut, a bang against the wooden door had startled both men. Karl lifted his head up at world record time, his forehead colliding with Ethan’s chin. “Ow, what the- OH gosh. My bad” Karl scrambled out of his mouth as he moved away from Ethan. Ethan rubbed his chin, looking towards the other and hummed. They calmed their breaths before another knock was heard at his door.

Grumbling, Ethan rubbed his eyes and stood, making his way into the front of his home. Letting out a yawn, Ethan had swung his door open to come face to face with Redfield. “Where is he?” He simple asked, before barging into the Winters home.

“HEY!” Ethan called out, slapping Chris’ shoulder. “Don’t just walk into my new home, and what do you mean ‘where is he?’”

“Heisenbug Ethan. Where is Heisenberg?” Chris wasted no time to walk into Ethan’s living room, only to stop his movements at the doorway leading to the living room and cough loudly.

“Hey there.” A sheepishly voice said, no doubt feeling awkward with the situation.

“No time for sleepovers you two, get in the car Heisenberg. Your testing remembers?” Chris stood aside, letting Heisenberg walk past him with his hat on this time. Just as Karl saunter past Ethan, he tilted his hat down and winked, continuing past Ethan who rolled his eyes at the other’s flirty actions. He watched as Karl left his house, purposely jumping down the steps on his front porch and entered a black BMW with armed security- nothing like what Ethan had.

A hand was placed on Ethan’s shoulder, shaking him around. “What was he doing here?” Chris asked, looking into Ethan’s sleep-driven eyes. Ethan gave a shrug of his shoulders and leaned against Chris’ shoulder closing his eyes. Out of instincts, Chris wrapped his arms around Ethan and steadied his feet so he could support the weight of the blonde.

“Something happened but I think I know why now...” Chris hummed, a sign for Ethan to continue talking. Firstly however, he let loose a yawn. “When I get really...emotional, the mould takes over. However, it only takes over half my body so I think if I let my emotions come unstable...well you know...”

“So, Heisenberg came over because?” Ethan let loose another yawn and completely fell limp in Chris’ hold. Smiling a little, Chris placed his arms under Ethan’s knees and pulled him up into a bridal-position and took him back into the living room to place him on the couch.

“He came over to help me...” Silence held onto Ethan after that, the father on the brink of sleep. He first pulled his knees up to his chest and held them there, letting his eyes fully rest.

“Ethan, I just need to ask a favour.” Luckily for Chris, Ethan still had the energy to speak back to him.

“Hm?” He hummed, really wanting to sleep.

“We are going to need Rose for testing today.”

Oh boy.

Ethan was nestled next to Heisenberg in the back of the BMW with Rose wide awake bouncing on his leg. At the front was Chris sat in the passenger seat, looking at the front view mirror every few minutes to see his friend drifting off to sleep. When he turned to look at Heisenberg, he just caught him glaring at him. “Keep glaring like that and who knows, maybe your eyes will pop out.”

“Maybe your spine will pop out boulder-punching boy.”

“Will you both shut it, it’s the first thing in a morning.” Ethan had groaned, not wanting to hear anyone’s voice. Just sleep. He just wanted sleep.

“Your fault for not sleeping.” Karl had answered towards him, turning to look at Ethan but was instead met with Rose trying to grab his coat pocket. “What the- hey, your gremlin thing is trying to rob me.” He grassed out as Rose had successfully grabbed a pouch of money out from him. Everyone in the BMW had smirked and turned their heads other directions to hide their humoured faces.

Ethan looked down and smiled softly at his baby girl, going as far as to pat her on the head softly. “That’s it, we only rob from metal man. I’m proud of you Rose.”

“hey!” Karl argued back, pointing a finger at Ethan. “And here I thought you were the going to raise her to be good.” Ethan shrugged in return, gently taking the pouch from Roses’ hand and passing it back to Karl.

“She is doing good, stealing from you.” Karl huffed and leaned back, crossing his arms. Soon though, Rose had followed and did the same thing making everyone realise their laughter they were holding.  

“Oh c’mon!”

The testing wasn't all that bad luckily. However, Ethan refused to sleep whilst his daughter was getting blood samples taken from her as well as x-rays and other shots that a scientist had claimed it was only flu shots. He had his suspicions though. Another test was them pricking her finger, only to watch it heal almost instantly. It seemed Rose had gathered regenerations abilities, just like her father. “And that’s it for today. We may ask her back to see if anything changes as she grows up but for now everything seems to be good and stable. You’re welcomed to take her back home after you have your tests done.”  

Ethan held his daughter in his arms. Her cheeks were a little red due to crying at getting her blood sample taking from her, but it was only for her to cry because her body hadn’t experienced pain like he had. Holding her on his lap with one arm and her frail body leaning against his stomach, Ethan had shrugged his jumper off leaving him in a grey shirt. He placed his arm on a small table in front of him and watched as the scientist dragged a scalpel down his arm, only to watch mould leak from the wound and close it up. “Hm, interesting.” Th scientist mumbled, writing down on his note board and another one following doing the same thing. “You wouldn’t mind if we did a much larger cut would you?” They asked, smiling kindly.

“Be quick please.” Ethan talked, letting his eyes settle on Rose. The scientist seemed very excited to do so. They disappeared out of sight lines before returning with a much larger and sharper tool.  

“You might want to bite on your jumper,” they said as they placed his jumper into Ethan's mouth. Closing his eyes, Ethan howled as he felt the knife slide down his arm, digging much into his skin. For a second, he saw white, only for that to go and his vision came back. He looked down to see how much they just cut him, only to see that the mould had in fact covered the whole of his arm. “It seems to be protecting you. Write that down.” The scientist tried once again to cut through the mould, only to fail this time. “Well, we have all that we need at the moment. Be sure to check in every month for yourself and the child when we need her.”

“You’ll ask me first before going through my child.” Ethan spat out as his jumped fell onto his lap. He was quick to jump of the chair he was sat on and place Rose on it so he could place his jumper on. His hand was still covered in the dark green mould but at this point, he didn’t feel to make a big scene out of it. Pulling his jumper down, Ethan was fast to secure Rose back into his hold and walk out of his testing room. On the way out, he accidently bumped into Moreau.

“O-OH! Ethan...Thank you! Thank you so much. I didn’t know what I was doing then. Please- Please forgive me. I-I'm sorry!” The man called out, tears springing slightly from his eyes as he clasped his hands in a pleading manner in front of himself.

Ethan awkwardly looked at the agents leading Moreau for help. They all raise their arms in defence and watched from a far. Sighing, Ethan looked at Moreau and moved a hand to pat his head. Unluckily for him, it was his mould hand and Moreau saw it. “O-OH! That’s mould, right? Wow, you get cooler each time. I-I wish I was like you! No wonder why little-little brother loves you so much from the start!”

Okay now that caught Ethan off guard even more than the apologies coming from Moreau’s mouth. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you.”

“I got to go! But I promise I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” Moreau rushed off, following the agents as they led him away from Ethan. As Moreau was getting further out of sight, Ethan stood his ground alone.

‘Loves me? The heck, like, yeah sure. He’s shown that but loving...Nah, Moreau been watching too many romantic movies.’ He brushed it off, wiggling his fingers in Rose’s face. “I need sleep, that’s what.” He spoke out loud before walking down the same hallways as Moreau. On his way down, he had begun to walk with the Beneveinto group.

“OOoo, it's the father!” Angie squealed, waving enthusiastically at Ethan who walked right next to Lady Beneveinto by the elevator and stair case.

“Yeah yeah, sure. Hey, I have a question?” He asked, looking at Beneviento's veil. She stopped for a second and turned, nodding for him to continue. Angie watched from her shoulder, her eyes staring intensely out of their sockets. “Do you have a name...like a first name?”

“HAhaha! Of course, she does silly! It’s Donna! And you better call her that and nothing else you blondey.” Angie spoke for Donna, crossing her wooden arms over her chest and pointing her finger at him.

“What is it with everyone pointing their fingers at me today,” Ethan mumbled down to Rose before looking up and nodding. “Well, it’s great to meet you Donna. Hopefully our stays close by won’t be a problem in the future. I hope to get a long.”

“Me too,” Her voice was very quiet, nothing compared to Angie’s. At first, Ethan thought he was hearing things but the soft tap of her hand against his shoulder proved to differ. “Goodbye small one,” She whispered down at Rose before walking away, taking the stairs case down.  

For the first time in a while, Ethan didn’t have to force a smile onto his face. It came naturally and relax. Pressing the button on the elevator, the male had stood waiting for the doors to open. As soon as they did though, a sudden force he did not even notice pushed him in and the loud sound of something clicking made him turn, anger seething in his bones. “WHAT THE HE- Heisenberg!” The name fell from his mouth with violence lace within.  

“Hush Ethan, they going to catch us!” He breathed out, pressing himself to the back of the elevator watching as the doors begun to shut.

“Who is they?!” The elevator had fully shut, making Ethan panic. Here he was, in a small space with Karl right next to him and Rose within his arms.  

“Agents, armed people, that boulder guy. Quite a few people actually.” Karl begun to explain, looking at the father who carried an angered look.

“Heisenberg, which button did you press?” He asked, lacing his voice in a fake kindness and a smile dripping with the urges to kill the man in front of him.

“Oh, this one,” Karl hovered his glove hand over the button that said ‘Ground floor’. A sigh left Ethan’s lips as he rested his eyes. At least they were heading to the floor he needed. “I was going to press this bright red and shiny one though,” Ethan opened his eyes and watched as Heisenberg had pressed the button that said ‘STOP’ in large letters.

“Karl...”

“Yes?”

“You’re a very dead man.”

[artificialqueens]

The Damned, Chapter 2/14 (Branjie) - Freyja

A/N: hello!!! i’ve finally finished it! it’s here! special thanks to @freykitten for betaing - i love you so so much!!! read on AO3 if you like ;)

fic summary: Vanessa is a renowned pirate framed for stealing the Cup of Peace by the goddess of Chaos, Willam, to whom she owes a debt. Princess Yvie, her best friend since childhood, offers to take Vanessa’s place on death row in order to give her a chance to go and retrieve the Cup to prove her innocence.

Vanessa’s plan is to just flee to Fiji and away from her problems, but she soon finds she has a stowaway: Brooke Lynn Hytes, Yvie’s betrothed. She’s here to make sure Vanessa keeps her promise. She’s not here to fall in love with her, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?

last chapter: after a fraught encounter with Yvie’s fiancee, Vanessa has finally managed to sneak away and go after the Cup, the first steps towards ending the deal she’s been caught in for twelve years.

this chapter: Vanessa makes it to the tower. That’s about where things stop going well.

-

Getting into the tower is almost too easy.

The servant’s passage leads her to a small corridor, the luxury of rich, maroon carpet abandoned in favor of hard cobblestone floors and chandeliers exchanged for torches lining the walls, creating wavering shadows across the ceiling. Vanessa takes a moment to orient herself, peeking her head out to peer to the right, and then to the left. After a few minutes of seeing and hearing nothing, she steps out, careful not to let her boot scuff against the rough floor.

She’s never been in this part of the castle before, deemed too young to be trusted so near the kingdom’s greatest treasure. Yvie used to assure her that it was because they were reluctant to leave her alone with the guards stationed there, but despite Yvie’s naivety, Vanessa had known better. She’d known how little the servants meant, even back then.

She starts moving at a soft, quick pace to the right, sticking close to the wall and keeping a hand on her sword to prevent it from making noise. She can’t help but breathe shallowly, her ears straining to catch any sort of noise. She can’t hear anything but her own clothes shifting with her steps, and it only puts her more on edge.

The hall feels endless, stretching out before her, dim torch after dim torch casting it in a strange stutter. The air is too hot, stuffy from the lack of windows and movement, and Vanessa tries not to cringe at the slow bead of sweat trickling down her back.

She hates this.

Had A'keria or Scarlet been here, had this been any other time, she would have been whispering complaints, careless of the dangers of making noise and much more concerned with making her discomfort known. A'keria would have shushed her and rolled her eyes, and Scarlet would have stifled giggles, and they would have succeeded in giving Vanessa the reassurance she’d really been asking for, soothing the nerves that came with being the leader on a mission that could go wrong at any moment.

But they aren’t here, and this isn’t any other time. It’s better that Vanessa do this solo, no matter how much she craves the company of her crewmates.

She comes across a corner, eventually, more light shining off of the bricks from around the bend. Vanessa immediately pins herself against the wall, heart pounding as she listens for movement. This has to be the entrance to the tower, unless the castle is more prone to winding halls up here than it is on the lower floors, and if this is the entrance, then there has to be at least one guard stationed beside it. They were already fools for not flooding the space with guards, especially on a night with so many strangers in the castle, but they’d have to be catatonic to leave it completely unwatched.

Vanessa cocks her head, straining her ears. She can barely hear anything - was that a slow breath? A soft voice?

She keeps listening, her eyes firmly on the floor. If she holds her breath, she thinks she can hear breathing, rhythmic and deep. She risks a peek around the sharp corner of the wall, so concerned with being seen that she’s really only willing to risk putting one eye past the cover of the stone.

She finds herself staring not five inches away from the shining helmet of a guard.

She jumps, swallowing back a yelp and making a sort of choked gasp instead, scrambling back around the corner and fumbling for her sword. If she can just run it through him in time, he won’t be able to retaliate, or—

She pauses.

Or call for help. The man should have shouted by now, should be hurling himself around at her with a cry.

There hasn’t been so much as a sniffle.

She has to hold back a relieved laugh, the feeling creeping into the tips of her fingers and toes instead, making her feel like she could dance on air. She slides her sword back into its sheath, instead bending to reach into her boot, the ivory handle of her favorite knife a comfort against her palm.

She can’t believe she’s getting a second chance like this.

Coiling her body like the ship’s cat before a kill, she springs around the corner, poised to slit the guard’s throat before he can make a sound. She reaches for him, and—

He’s sleeping.

She stops short, her hand still outreached, to stare at the man slumped against the wall, dead to the world. He’s breathing deeply, long inhales through his nose and short exhales through his mouth, and he doesn’t even flinch when Vanessa stomps her foot experimentally. The guard sleeping across the wall from him doesn’t move, either, and Vanessa daintily steps over the tangle of legs blocking her path, the other guard having completely sunk to the floor in his sleep.

Vanessa stops in front of the entrance, an open doorway leading to stairs going up farther than she can see. She glances back at the two guards, her gut churning as she looks at them. Something is off.

As she looks back up the staircase, every instinct in her starts to scream, begging her to turn away and get as far away from the scene as possible. She thinks about the woman she’d run into before Brooke, the one that had looked like the goddess, and she thinks she can suddenly taste the sharp, metallic tang of magic hovering in the air.

“Shit,” she whispers, as she glances at the men again. If Eris - Willam, she’d told her to call her - has done this, then it has to have been to help her. She was stealing the Cup for Willam, after all, to repay her - maybe Willam had just wanted to speed the process along.

Even if she hadn’t done this, Vanessa can’t turn away now. Not when the key to her freedom is just a staircase away.

She sucks in a deep breath, steeling herself against the anxiety swirling in her gut, and she begins to climb the stairs, trying her best not to think about the way the torches have all been blown out, leaving the tower in complete darkness aside from the moonlight trickling in from the occasional thin window. Her nerves only get worse as she climbs, and by the time she reaches the heavy door waiting at the top, it’s taking all that’s in her not to just sprint back down the stairs and out of this goddamn castle.

She stares at the sliver of moonlight creeping under the door, mustering up enough courage to pull at the handle.

Think of your freedom, she thinks. Think of mom.

She opens the door.

The room behind it is eerily silent, the semicircle of guards lining the curved walls all in various positions of sleep, leaning against the wall and crumpled to the floor, like puppets with their strings cut. A beam of moonlight shines down from the roof, casting the room in a pale blue and lighting up the empty stone pedestal in the center like it was the moon itself. Vanessa stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

It’s gone.

The Cup of Peace is gone.

The cold fingers of shock numb her, allowing her to stand and stare, and stare, and stare. She can’t – if it’s not here, then where–?

She has just enough time to feel the beginning blows of disappointment and complete despair when the first guard stirs. It’s the second one that startles her into action.

“Fuck,” she hisses, stepping back out and shutting the door behind her. It slams in her panic, and she jumps again, racing down the stairs two and sometimes three steps at a time. “ Fuck! What the fuck? What in the goddamned hell ?”

She barrels down the stairs, so fast she can feel her hair streaming behind her, and she’s just about to burst out into the corridor when an arm suddenly slams into her gut, knocking her down the remaining five steps. Pain bursts in her elbow when she crashes onto the cobblestone floor, shock and a piercing ache the only things she can really focus on as she groans.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a man says, and Vanessa manages to roll onto her back to glare at the guard who’d been waiting for her on the stairs, a smug smirk on his face. Vanessa recognizes him as one of the two sleeping guards. “Did that hurt?”

Vanessa curls her lip at him, and instead of responding, she goes for the sword at her hip, more than willing to fight her way out of this. It’s a stupid move, proof of how scrambled her brain is, because her wrist is suddenly trapped in a strong grip before her fingertips can even graze the hilt.

“Oh, no you don’t,” a deep voice says next to her ear, and she’s suddenly being jerked to her feet, so hard she’s a little afraid her arm might be dislocated.

“Fancy sleep spell of yours,” the first guard says, coming down the stairs too slowly. Too smugly. Vanessa resists the urge to spit at him. “Too bad you didn’t time it quite right.”

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t know pirates could do magic,” the voice behind her says, and the other guard snorts.

“Women,” he says, and disdain crosses his features, “especially women like her .”

This time, Vanessa does spit at him. It only lands near his feet, but she thinks the message comes across nicely. His face tells her he thinks the same.

“I didn’t cast that spell,” she says, and they both laugh.

“Yeah,” the guard behind her says, “and I’m the bloody queen.”

“Your best friend, right?” the other guard says. He’s close now, just out of reach of a kick. “Wonder how she’s gonna take this one. This is far worse than when you ran with those rubies.”

Vanessa lunges at him, but the guard behind her has her arms twisted behind her too tightly, and she’s the one who ends up whimpering in pain. “I didn’t take anything,” she grits out, looking up to glare at him, meeting his eyes defiantly.

He cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s why everyone up there is clamborin’ down here, eh? To tell us the Cup is still there, safe and sound?”

“It was already gone when I got there, you have to believe me, you have to have seen whoever—”

“I did see,” the guard in front of her says, suddenly cold. The smirk is off his face, replaced with an expression of such anger and hatred that Vanessa’s breath catches. “I saw you .”

…

They take her to the throne room.

Vanessa struggles the whole way, dragging her heels and protesting loudly until the guard not holding her threatens to stuff her mouth with his sock. She quiets, but she still goes as slowly as she can, resentment and fury bubbling up in her chest and begging to be released somehow, some way.

She’s been framed.

It’s the only explanation. Willam, fucking Willam had decided to fuck her over again, this time worse than anything she’s ever done before. It had never been enough to do the goddess’s bidding - no, she’d always had to be entertaining while she did it.

Guess she hadn’t been entertaining enough. Serves her right, making deals with the goddess of chaos at age fucking sixteen.

Ἔρις. Strife. Discord herself.

Vanessa is such an idiot.

She’s been framed, and she’s spent so much time lying and stealing shit that no one’s going to fucking believe her. The idea of freedom is laughable now. She’d thought she’d been trapped before, but at least she’d had the sea. She’ll be lucky if her jail cell has a view, luckier if death doesn’t place her with Sisyphus.

A sudden wave of fear and dread nearly buckles her knees in, and she takes a deep breath. Fuck.

Her friends. Scarlet. A'keria. They’ll get her out.

She has to believe that.

They drag her through the halls, roaming guests and stationed guards that Vanessa had missed going through the secret passage staring with wide or narrowed eyes, fury and shock radiating off of them in waves. Vanessa only has a short amount of time to wonder how they know so soon after she’s been caught before she notices that she’s not the only thing they’re staring at.

Through the wide windows overlooking the sea, dark clouds can be seen twisting over the moon and the stars, plunging the kingdom into inky blackness. They hover far too close to the suddenly violent waves, which foam white with agitation.

Vanessa is very quickly realizing that she’d never given a second thought as to why the Cup is so important, so valued. She’s beginning to think it isn’t because of the jewels rumored to be glittering on it.

Dread sinks into the pit of her stomach, her anger only a flicker of relief from it. What the hell is she about to be accused of?

By the time they reach the throne room, Vanessa’s arms burn from where they’re nearly being pulled out of their sockets, and the only thing lighting the halls are the dim, flickering chandeliers, the moon having been swallowed up by darkness long ago. There’s an eerie hush that leaves Vanessa’s heartbeat too loud in her ears, the creak of the door to the throne room startlingly loud when one of the guards pushes it open.

It reveals the party at a standstill, pale, terrified faces turned towards her in a silent accusation. Vanessa’s fear and anger burn brightly against them, and she digs her heels into the stone when the guards attempt to pull her in.

“No,” she grits out, “I didn’t— I couldn’t have —”

She cuts herself off with a grunt as someone behind her kicks the back of her knee, making her crumple and allowing the guards to drag her through the rest of the way. Her protests echo off the walls as they bring her to the king’s feet, jerking her up, so that she’s standing straight before him. It makes her sneer. The last person she wants to acknowledge is the fucking king of fools, and here she is, forced into it.

Turns out things haven’t changed so much, after all.

She tries to meet Yvie’s gaze from where she’s standing at her father’s right hand, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the ground, expression pained. She thinks Vanessa did this. Betrayal and hurt blossom in Vanessa’s belly at the thought, and the sudden urge to convince Yvie that she didn’t do it is nearly overwhelming.

She may have lost Yvie’s trust twelve years ago, but she can at least prove her innocence on this.

“I didn’t steal it,” she says loudly, looking straight into the king’s eyes and ignoring the way they crackle like lightning. It’s suddenly important that she get the first word in. “I—”

“You tricked me,” a voice hisses, and Vanessa tears her eyes away from the king’s only to meet Brooke’s, her eyes like pieces of flint. Guilt swirls in with the rest of her turmoil. “You got me to trust you, and then you used me to steal the one thing keeping this kingdom alive.”

Vanessa opens her mouth, but any and all protests die on her tongue. She had done that. Normally, she’d find her way around it - pick at the one thing that had been exaggerated and ignore the rest. But Brooke has stated it so frankly that all she has left is, “So? I didn’t steal it.”

Brooke’s lips tighten. “Yes, you did. ”

Vanessa bares her teeth, indignation flaring bright in her chest. How had she ever felt guilty for lying to this bitch? “No, I didn’t. It was already fucking gone when I got there, so maybe you should ask one of your guards why that is, and not me. ”

“They saw you .”

“They were asleep !” Vanessa shouts, and Brooke meets her flame with a cool, hard edge.

“How were they all— ”

“ Enough !”

Vanessa startles as the king slams the butt of his staff into the stone, the sharp rap of it loud enough to ring in her ears. She swallows the words that had already been dancing on her tongue in the wake of Brooke’s, and she watches with some satisfaction as Brooke’s jaw snaps shut, looking sufficiently chastened.

“I will not have bickering and accusations flying around my head when such matters are at hand,” the king snaps, glaring at Vanessa, and then Brooke. “You are famed for your diplomacy, Duchess. Is this what your queen was speaking of so highly?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Brooke mutters, and her eyes drop to the floor. Despite her composure, however, Vanessa can practically see the anger radiating off of her in waves. She wonders if no one else had ever noticed, or if she’s simply the first to get this kind of a rise out of her.

She likes the idea of the latter.

“My apologies,” Brooke offers, and she sounds just sincere enough that the king sinks back into his seat, his expression fading into one that resembles disappointment or heartbreak more than anger.

“Forgiven,” he says, and then he turns his gaze to Vanessa. It takes everything in her not to freeze under his stare.

“Vanessa Mateo,” he says tiredly, “where is the Cup of Peace?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” she says slowly, and his expression darkens at the condescension in her voice. She can’t bring herself to care. She’s taking the fall for this either way.

Fucking Willam.

“My guards claim you are the thief,” the king says, voice raising. “I will believe their word over a pirate’s, one that’s already stolen from me, no less. Now, I will only ask once again, before we start taking fingernails.”

“ Father! ” Yvie snaps, and Vanessa jerks upright at the sound of her defense.

“Words only go so far,” the king says stiffly, but some of the rage immediately leaves his face, leaving him look more haggard than fearsome. “If I can’t get the answers this way, I must resort to other methods.”

“She’ll answer you,” Yvie tells him firmly, and then she turns to meet Vanessa’s eyes for the first time since Vanessa was shoved in front of her. Yvie’s expression is imploring, and Vanessa knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “Vanessa, please. Just tell us where you—”

“I didn’t do it,” Vanessa says stubbornly, anger making her voice rough and loud.

Yvie’s mouth flattens. “Then tell me why you left the party. Tell me why you snuck away from my fiancée. And tell me what you were doing up in that tower.”

Vanessa opens her mouth. Closes it again. She scrambles for an even halfway feasible excuse and comes up with nothing. So. The truth it is. No matter how crazy it makes her sound.

“I was…” she trails off, nerves nearly getting the better of her. She pushes past it. She’s not known for her daring for nothing. “I was goin’ after the Cup. No hidin’ that. But it was already gone when I got there, and I… I’m pretty sure I know who took it.”

Yvie’s face is a myriad of emotion, but it’s Brooke’s icy tone that answers her.

“Who.”

Vanessa swallows. She glances at the king, at the transparently skeptical expression on his face, and steels herself. “Eris.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“The goddess of chaos took our Cup,” the king repeats. “The goddess that we specifically warded against.”

Vanessa shrugs, defensive anger building up in her chest and clenching her fists. “Look, I don’t know how she got past your wards! I wasn’t fucking there, was I? All I know is that I didn’t do it, and I can’t fucking help you past that! You have to believe me!”

Anger flashes across Yvie’s face for a split second before queenly restraint covers it again. Good to know Yvie’s temper hasn’t changed. “Believe you ? It’s not hard to believe that the woman who stole what was most precious to me twelve years ago would steal what’s most precious to me now. Believing that you wouldn’t is much, much harder.”

Each word hits Vanessa like a knife, and they all sink into her up to the hilt. It hurts. It’s true.

It pisses her off.

“ Fuck you,” Vanessa snarls. “You think this is some sort of vendetta against you? I haven’t thought about you in years, though it’s nice to know that I’ve clearly been on your mind anyway.” Yvie’s expression flickers with hurt. Too bad she can’t tell when Vanessa’s lying anymore. “I took only what I needed. This isn’t any fucking different, except I got screwed over this time. I’m just as fucked as you until that shit gets found.”

“Screwed over suggests you were in on this plan,” Brooke points out, before Yvie can hurl some other insult back at Vanessa. Vanessa can’t help but be grateful. She honestly can’t tell how much more of this she can take until she starts crying. “And that someone else decided that you weren’t.”

“I was supposed to steal it for Will- I mean Eris,” Vanessa says. She glances at Yvie, memories she’d rather forget bubbling up to the surface. She softens her voice, attempting to scale herself down to ‘close to civilized’ rather than ‘completely unhinged’. It makes her realize just how sore her throat is getting from yelling. “Clearly, she had other plans. I was set up. All arrestin’ me will get you is more time for Eris to get away.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Brooke asks, and it doesn’t escape Vanessa’s notice that she’s doing all of the negotiating, and not the king. She doesn’t know what to make of it. “Let you go and go off on a wild goose chase? Unlikely.”

“Of course not,” Vanessa snaps, her mind racing. She needs to get out of this, and it’s game over if she gets put into a max security cell - and considering the crime, it will be a max security cell. What can she say to—

Wait.

“Of course not,” she repeats, a batshit crazy idea writing itself in her mind almost as it’s leaving her tongue, “because I’m gonna be the one chasin’ the goose.”

Three identical frowns. “What?”

“Send me to get it,” Vanessa says, trying to sound confident instead of desperate. “I know where she lives - believe me, you don’t want to lose men by sendin’ them to the edge of the world. I’m the one you can afford to lose, and I’m the one who’s got somethin’ to prove. I’ll get it, and bring it back to you, good as new.”

The king curls his lip. “You’re forgetting that you aren’t trustworthy,” he says. “Promises mean nothing to pirates. You’re just as likely to go to Fiji than stay true to your word.”

Fiji. That sounds nice. Maybe she’ll go there, after all of this.

Vanessa clenches her jaw, plastering offense over the apathy she feels towards his accusation. “If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that I always keep my word,” she tells him, hoping to appeal to Yvie’s secretly soft heart. “Yvie can attest to that.”

Yvie had been ready to throw her in a cell over false accusations not five minutes ago. If she believes this, then she’s nothing but a fool.

Fury catches onto the king’s expression like flame to spilled oil. “You have broken my daughter’s trust far too many times to—”

Yvie puts a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. Her eyes linger on Vanessa, expression unreadable, before she whispers something into her father’s ear. His eyes widen, a scowl coming across his face almost immediately.

“ No, ” he very near shouts, and Vanessa and the rest of the onlookers jump at the sudden volume. Brooke turns to face them fully, expression full of confusion and curiosity. “I will not —”

“Father,” Yvie says. “Please.”

He stares at her for a moment, and he must see what Vanessa sees in her expression - Yvie’s not giving up on whatever it is without a fight - because he sighs, exhaustion written plainly across his features. “We will need to discuss this alone .”

Hope is a welcome warmth in the sea of emotion already churning within her, and it makes it easy to ignore the guilt that comes with it. Tricking Yvie has always been just a little too easy.

“Discuss what?” Vanessa asks, burning with the need to know, but she regrets it almost immediately when the king suddenly turns towards her, his expression alight with resentment and hatred.

“Guards?” he says, voice ringing with power.

The guards snap to attention.

“Take her to the dungeon.”

…

Vanessa gets visitors four and a half hours after she’s thrown into what has to be the castle’s nastiest, mustiest cell.

Not that she’s been counting.

In that time, she has tried seducing the guard into giving her the keys, luring the guard close enough to grab the keys from him, wiggle the bars of her window loose, and kick the uncooperative guard in the knee hard enough for him to teach her a new curse word.

She has also had four and a half hours to work herself into a broiling anger at Yvie, which is why she spits at her the minute she and her fiancée step into the cell.

It lands on Yvie’s petticoat, right in the center of one of the swirling gold patterns that line the bottom seam.

It’s not her finest moment, but god does it feel good.

“Fuck you,” Vanessa snarls, to add to the anger and hurt she can see flashing behind Yvie’s eyes. She expects Yvie to snarl back, to act on the disbelieving fury she’s wearing so plainly on her face, but Brooke steps in front of her before she can even open her mouth, forcing Vanessa to glare at her instead.

The sight of her nearly stops Vanessa’s heart.

Sometime in the four and a half hours between the throne room and her arrival at Vanessa’s cell, Brooke had changed out of her dress, exchanging her silvery gown for a dark captain’s uniform, complete with gold epaulets and a sword swinging at her hip. She radiates such command and power that for a moment, Vanessa can’t think much of anything except that Brooke’s pants are far too tight to be in proper regulation.

“Back to the wall,” Brooke says, and Vanessa obeys without thinking, taking several steps backwards until her soul finally comes back into her body and stops her before she can humiliate herself further.

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” she snaps, ignoring the flush crawling across her cheeks. She keeps her eyes firmly on Brooke’s. “I’m dead anyway.”

“Who said?” Yvie asks, and Brooke makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan.

“Really?” she asks, as Yvie walks around her to approach Vanessa. “You still want to do this? After that display?”

“What?” Vanessa asks, backing away from Yvie. Yvie gives her a hurt look - the anger from earlier having faded somewhat. It only makes Vanessa more confused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Yvie ignores her, instead reaching out for her again. Vanessa takes another step back, jumping a little when her shoulder hits cool stone.

Well. She ended up against the wall anyway.

“Vanjie,” Yvie says, and the nickname makes Vanessa pause.

God, she’s too fucking soft.

Yvie reaches out again, and this time, Vanessa lets her take her cuffed wrist in her hand. She only has a split second to wonder what the hell is happening before Yvie pulls a key out of her corset, the sight of it making Vanessa’s breath catch.

No way.

“What are you doing?” she asks, as Yvie inserts the key into her cuffs.

“Being an idiot,” Brooke says, and Yvie’s mouth twists in the way that means she’s pissed, but trying to hide it. She wiggles the key even harder, the old lock touchy.

“You don’t have to be here,” she says, voice hard.

“Doing this alone was out of the question,” Brooke shoots back, and Vanessa rolls her eyes, rubbing her wrist when the cuff finally pops open. She opens her mouth to ask what the hell ‘this’ was, but Yvie starts talking before she can actually say anything.

“She’s not going to attack me,” Yvie says, moving on to the other cuff.

“She just spit on you.”

Yvie pauses for a moment. “She’s not going to hurt me,” she amends, and Vanessa’s stomach twists sourly. The other cuff pops open, and Yvie steps away while Vanessa rubs her other wrist, sore from when she’d attempted wriggling out of her bonds.

“You don’t know that,” Brooke says, and Yvie presses her lips together, giving Vanessa an appraising look.

She doesn’t argue the point.

Vanessa pretends the hurt she feels is anger, and she scowls, taking a menacing step towards Yvie. She doesn’t move, instead watching Vanessa with an unimpressed, flat expression. Vanessa pretends she doesn’t feel a maelstrom of emotion at the behavior and instead continues like Yvie had scrambled backwards in fear.

“She’s right,” she snarls, and she reaches for the knife stuffed in her boot, “you don’t know that. So unless you wanna find out, you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on. ”

Brooke takes a sudden step forward when Vanessa slips the knife into plain sight, but Yvie holds up a hand to stop her. The arrogance of the move makes irritation twinge in Vanessa’s gut - what the hell is she thinking?

“Are you stupid? ” Vanessa snaps. “I could have this knife in your neck in less that a fuckin’ second .”

“But you won’t,” Yvie says smugly, and Vanessa has half a mind to raise the knife to the hollow of Yvie’s throat, just to teach her stupid, self-sacrificing friend a goddamn lesson.

Instead, she drops her arm to the side, and gives Yvie a sharp look instead.

Again: soft.

“One day, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” she sniffs, and in almost an instant, Yvie’s entire demeanor changes, the queen melting to reveal her friend once again.

“As long as I’m doing what’s right, I don’t care,” Yvie says, and it’s such an Yvie thing to say that Vanessa feels her own hard exterior crack a little.

“So what’s this then?” Vanessa asks, and Yvie smiles at the way her tone has softened. Vanessa once again feels a pang for what once was, longing briefly tightening her throat and catching in her chest.

“We’re here to offer you a deal,” Brooke says, and the moment shatters. Vanessa snaps her gaze away from Yvie to look at Brooke, hardening her face against the sudden hope that blooms in her chest.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes, and Brooke defies the impossible by looking even more displeased.

“I’m not,” she staunchly agrees, and Vanessa snorts a laugh. She may be in a guard’s regalia, but it does nothing to hide the stiff politician beneath.

“Must be good, then,” she says, and she allows herself a smug grin. “At least for me.”

Brooke’s lip curls. Yvie rolls her eyes.

“It is,” she says plainly. “And you’re gonna fucking owe me.”

Yeah, and she’s going to pay back everything she’s stolen, too.

She can’t help the laugh she lets out, incredulity beating out common sense, which is screaming at her to just agree and do what she wants later. “Am I?”

“See?” Brooke asks, before Yvie can act on the insult that has spread across her face. She doesn’t look at Vanessa. “We can’t trust her. This is a stupid —”

“I’m still in the room, you know,” Vanessa interrupts, more than a little annoyed. She would just like to know the damn deal.

“I know,” Brooke says dryly, and Vanessa is nearly overcome with the urge to slap her.

“Are you sure? Becau—”

“Shut up !”

Vanessa slams her jaw shut at Yvie’s sharp tone, shock more than anything striking obedience into her. She notices Brooke straighten as well, and she smirks. It’s nice to see the ice crack, even for just a moment.

“Both of you,” Yvie continues, after a brief beat of stunned silence, “shut up and let me speak.” She’s clearly forcing calm into her voice, and Vanessa finds the fact that her temper clearly hasn’t changed comforting.

Brooke nods stiffly when Yvie looks at her. Vanessa only shrugs when her gaze turns to her.

“ I’m not the one protestin’ anything.”

Yvie clenches her jaw for a moment before she relaxes, letting out a breath far too forced to be born of actual calm. “Vanjie,” she says, locking eyes with Vanessa. Vanessa meets her gaze unflinchingly, shoving the grief and resentment she feels at the nickname behind steel walls. “I’m going to take your place.”

Silence stretches, the faint dripping of water on stone the only thing disturbing it for far too long.

“What?” Vanessa asks finally, her heart thudding in her ears. That’s not possible. It can’t be possible.

Is it?

“My father has agreed to let me stand in your place,” Yvie says, and her voice only shakes a little. She’s always been braver than Vanessa. “It’s the only way you can go and retrieve the Cup.”

The rising hope in Vanessa’s chest suddenly flattens. “The Cup?”

“Yes, the Cup,” Brooke snaps. “Keep up.”

“He’s giving you two weeks to retrieve the Cup and prove your innocence while I act as an insurance for the people,” Yvie continues, like Brooke hadn’t spoken. “If you can do that, we all go free and nobody dies.”

Vanessa feels a little like she’s floating. This is all so fucking absurd. “And if I can’t find it?”

“You come back anyway,” Yvie says, with far too much confidence, “and take back your place.”

Vanessa stares at her old friend, gratitude and hope and amusement swirling through her chest. Yvie thinks that she’ll come back for death?

Unlikely.

“Why?” she asks instead, and Yvie’s face softens. She’s so fucking naive. Vanessa’s heart hurts just looking at her.

“Because you’re my friend,” Yvie says. Vanessa’s chest twists. “I trust you.”

“Some would call you a fool for that,” Vanessa says, aiming for a light tone and instead falling flat.

“I don’t care.” Yvie sucks in a breath, looking into Vanessa’s eyes with intensity. Vanessa has to remind herself that Yvie can’t actually see into her soul. “You’re a good person, Vanj. I love you. And I trust you won’t leave me here to die.”

“But if I came back without anything, you would leave me ?” Vanessa asks, before she can stop herself. She needs to hear Yvie say no. She needs to hear her say I would never.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says instead, and she grabs Vanessa’s wrist. It hurts. “Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. My father—”

“I’ll do it,” Vanessa says, like Yvie hasn’t just crushed her heart between her fingers. Of course Yvie would leave her. She’s only a pirate, after all. A servant. Besides, Brooke looks five seconds away from changing the king’s mind herself. If that happens - and Vanessa doesn’t think it’ll take much - Vanessa’s two weeks will turn into two seconds. “You have a deal.”

“Swear it,” Yvie demands, like it means anything.

“I swear it.”

Yvie takes a deep breath.

“Let’s do this.”

…

Brooke ends up escorting her out of the castle.

They have to squint their eyes against the oppressive darkness of the night, the moon dull and just barely peeking out around the black, still-swirling clouds that had covered the kingdom like a thick blanket. The air is frigid, and Vanessa shivers against it, her breath coming out in small puffs of white steam.

She recalls a lyric from an old folk song, singing about how the Cup provides crops and sunlight and all things good. She thinks that maybe it wasn’t as much of an exaggeration as she’d thought.

Brooke seems unaffected by the cold, her face severe as she leads Vanessa to the gates, motioning for the guards to pull it open. The silence she’s treating Vanessa to is nearly colder than the air around them, displeasure practically poking out of her like icicles.

Vanessa’s never been great about silence.

She’s always been irked by it, finding it oppressive and boring, like it makes time stretch by infinitely. As she eyes Brooke curiously, most of her anger having been released the moment she’d stepped out of that cell, she realizes that this silence is no different.

“So, now what?” she asks, and her voice is loud in the stillness of the night. “You gonna kill me now that Yvie isn’t here to stop you?”

“No,” Brooke says, incredulous. They step through the gates. “I don’t just kill people. I’m not like you. ”

“Sure,” Vanessa mutters, eyeing the other woman. She certainly looks nothing short of murderous. “That’s why you were so interested in The Damned , right? ‘Cause you’re not like me?”

“I– we are not having this conversation,” Brooke says stiffly, and Vanessa laughs.

“Can’t hide from the truth,” she sing-songs, and it makes Brooke whirl around suddenly, her eyes aflame.

“ Listen ,” she hisses, “I am nothing like you and I never will be. I have duty and honor, you have greed and - and filth. ”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows at the outburst. So, she has a temper. “She who denies—”

“You’re insufferable,” Brooke snaps, and she whirls back around, showing Vanessa her back as she marches down the hill towards the docks.

“I could say the same to you,” Vanessa retorts, and Brooke doesn’t respond. Irritation twinges in her gut at the silence. Fuck me for trying to get along with the upper-crust, I guess.

“Besides,” she says, after a long stretch of nothing from Brooke, “I’ve got duty.”

Brooke snorts. “Of course you do,” she says condescendingly, and it succeeds in raising Vanessa’s temper.

“I have my crew to look after,” she snaps at the back of Brooke’s head. “I have a ship to clean. I have deals to uphold—”

“Like the one you just made with Yvie?” Brooke interrupts, voice sharp. “Planning on upholding that?”

Vanessa tries not to let her surprise show. “ Yes ,” she hisses, like she’s shocked Brooke would even suggest such a thing, instead of how close Brooke had actually gotten to the truth. “That one most of all.”

“Funny,” Brooke says. “I don’t believe you.”

Vanessa scowls. “You’re gonna have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s right, you’re a duchess. You don’t answer to nobody. ‘Cept your fiance, of course.”

“You’re doing a great job at convincing me you care,” Brooke says drily, and Vanessa resists the petty urge to kick at her ankles.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” she sneers, and Brooke suddenly comes to a halt.

Vanessa stops herself just in time to avoid smacking right into the other woman, tearing her eyes away from her to see that they’ve reached the docks, The Damned ’s deep red hull gleaming before them.

“That’s the thing,” Brooke says, turning to look at Vanessa once again. Her expression is cold. “You need to prove everything to me.”

Vanessa just stares at her, unsure of how to respond.

Just get on the boat, and you’re home free, she thinks to herself. This will all be over soon. Fiji’s just around the corner.

“Whatever,” she says, because she’s never claimed to be the greatest wit of the seven seas. Brooke’s mouth flattens. Vanessa winks at her, grabbing the rope ladder she’d left hanging six hours ago, the rough fibers familiar under her hands.

“See you never, Miss Brooke,” she says, and she scrambles up the side of the boat, leaving Brooke standing stiffly and coldly on the rotting pier.

Fiji, she thinks, as A'keria and Scarlet rush over to her with questions burning in their eyes. And then this will all be over.

She ignores the feeling in her gut that tells her she couldn’t be more wrong, and she tells A'keria to set a course for Fiji.

She does have duty. Her duty to herself just takes precedence.

[grim-faux]

15 - The Dark

For some reason I didn’t feel the rush of exhilaration I had hoped to achieve in reaching the exit.  My mind might’ve been numbed by what I’d been through to allow such a mood, emotionally drained by the experience and horrors of what I had seen.  It was such an empty sensation, completely robbing me what of I felt was deserved. Closure. But as with all matters tangled in Mount Massive’s mockery, I was to be disappointed.

I hesitated, straining to pick out the odd sounds beneath the heavy rain.  A flash of light clarified the grounds momentarily and I burned the image into memory.  Overgrown grass obscured most of the pathways, a net of greasy branches stretched over the sky.  I moved into the cold rain and the dark, stepping carefully down the slippery stone steps.  Lightening flashed, and I thought something skittered past overhead.  Impossible, given the image wasn’t the best on the visor between the green tint and the heavy rain, there was nothing out here.  As the flash fades, I could only see the brick path and the overgrown grass before me.  I was the only living thing out here. Or nearly so.

A beam of light cut through the downpour and the glossy branches, sweeping over the yard.  There light was too bright on that side to confirm it, but it had to be ‘Father’ Martin.  He’s the only person I knew of that used a torch.  Pretty sure.  He was signaling me from across the yard. I think if I had the chance, I’d like to strangle him.  Get him caught in an elevator, or cut his fingers off with a pair of giant shears.  The camera was getting low on power, had to move it. Strange sounds echoed in the wind, snapping branches or something large crashing through the gaunt bushes along the cobblestone path.  Sometimes I thought it was following me, but the rustle would soften at a distance or maybe the rain was picking up force.  I ducked down when I thought Chris appeared, but it was only my imagination forming shapes in the NVs haze.  No one was out here with me, just Murkoff staff cut up and sitting drenched on benches, staring with glazed eyes at the storm.  Did they come out here to die, or did someone leave them like this?   I was soaked before I reached the fountain.  So much for getting dry, at least rain was clean.  That sound again, something shrieking in the night and I thought there was a form overhead, in the branches as they crackled.  I tried to follow it with the camera, but my nerves gave and I whimpered as I knelt to crawl along toward the only visible light.  It no longer signaled me.  How long had Martin been out in this weather waiting for me?  Not long enough. Leaves scuttling along the ground spooked me, the way they played at the edge of the visor.  I stopped in the downpour to get up, and fought to wrangle my breathing under control.  My chest ached with my heart thudding in my chest, the wind picked up and I shivered into the soggy embrace of my coat.  There was nothing out here but dead people and a psycho guy that fancied himself a priest. I remained wary though as I moved up the steps, beneath a broken lamp blazing in the inky night.  I had to change the batteries in the camera, a tricky choir in the rain.  I crouched low and tucked the camera under my coat and popped out the old battery, then slapped in the new one.  My camera was keeping me more alive at this point, rather than provide the evidence at my psycho evaluation.  I had some difficulty slipping the strap back over my hand, my knuckle was a little swollen and I needed to loosen it in order to get it over.  Once it was done I wouldn’t need to worry over it for a while.  Probably. No one was waiting for me when I reached the top of the steps.  Only the words scrawled in blood on the wall across from me how alive are you At my feet on the damp cobblestone and in a diluted puddle of blood, rested a file in a plain folder.  Inside was a notepad tinged by the soaking rain, but enough of the note was illegible. “I don’t even know your name. But I’ve come to think of you as one of my blood, my Paul, I hope you don’t mind. And I hope you don’t indulge the vanity of self-pity, the fear that your suffering is more than others’. We all must endure this, and you are nearly done. There’s no way to heaven but by the cross. And every man needs another to help drive the nails in. I am here for you. I am waiting up ahead.” This actually would have been really comforting, except at the end where he mentions the cross.  If he thinks he’s crucifying ME, I’ll be more than happy to disappoint.  I’ll die before he gets ahold of me again.  Fuck them all.  I’m not going through all of this to wind up as some sacrifice! I tossed the folder down and cautiously crept up the steps at the right to a wire fence, the door and frame wrapped with thick chains and padlocked tight.  Stepping back, I examined the gate standing between me and presumed freedom. In favorable circumstances I’d fly over a chain linked fence.  What was it to me?  An insult to my dexterity?  Right now, too many factors worked against me to attempt the climb.  The weather was bad, barbed wire at the top, don’t mention my fingers, and I was bleeding again.  It didn’t look like there was much for me on the other side either, it this just led into another yard. Damn, where do you have to go to get out of this place? I judged the fountain to be a center piece of the yard, if that assessment was correct I would locate other pathways leading from it across the grounds.  That would keep me from getting too lost, I was incredibly disoriented with the weather and all-consuming black.  As I made the return trip, a light glittered in the distance between tree trunks and mist.  I kept my attention locked on it while trying not to deviate from the path, it was tempting to tear across the yard if only to find the source. Overhead the branches groaned and snapped, I ducked down as that noise returned, sounding like pellets in a pipe and shrieking with the crashing thunder.  I dove off into the tall grass and kept low, listening and searching for what might be there.  A shape slipped through the treetops, but the night blazed with green brilliance, blinding me through the NV.  I turned my head down and realized my knees and shins were soaked in the icy mud, but I didn’t care.  I didn’t want to move and alert whatever was out there to my location and have it come down on me screaming mad.  I didn’t want to see it, I didn’t want to know what was there. It was just getting to me, the weather and this feeling of isolation in the yard.  It made me feel like something was out there stalking me, and only me.  I needed to get into some shelter and dry off.  Or just get out of this drumming rain for a bit. I shuffled along ducking beneath the low twigs and pressing through soaked brush.  I’m certain the path was at my back but I didn’t want to find it just yet, I needed to stay hidden in the undergrowth until it felt safe.  I’m not sure what I was hiding from but I needed to stay hidden from it.  Recollections of the sewers, people shrieking behind the metal gates as an unseen force punished them.  I exhaled a sharp breath and pressed my left hand over my face.  Don’t go back.  Try not to think about it.  I murmured something strange, a comforting sort of sound to reinforce my resolve. I’ll get out of this.  But I have to keep moving. Another gate appeared in my path, and I ran my hand carefully over the chain linked fence. A stone wall was built on the other side, crates stacked on the floor.  There was a door in the wall. The gate was locked with chains— The timber above snapped and fell onto my head, and that screech rang in my ear as though it were right beside me.  I whirled away tearing through grass and sharp brush towards the stone fountain, not stopping until a light in a doorway appeared somewhere on my left.  I flew to it not hesitating before I slammed into the door at full force, and flung it shut with a loud CRACK!  I stood quivering under the light, dust swirled in the warm beam as I panted, gazed fixed on that door.  The storm howled beyond the weathered wood, sounding eerily like human sobs.  What the fuck had that been? Power in the nightvision needed to be changed out.  Already?  I just changed the battery.  Something was going on here.  Much of the same that clung to this place, a lot I didn’t understand and what I did get still made no sense. I switched out the battery and looked at the small tool shed I had crashed into.  Some basic things, a few shelves with paint cans, some pliers and wire cutters, and propane cans stacked by the door.  There were a few hooks, and one had a silver key dangling on it.  It had to be a key to somewhere, maybe one of the gates?  I had to go back out there and search them all down.  It could be done, but it would be time consuming. Before heading out I gave my camera a quick evaluation, to make sure it was still in satisfactory working order.  I rubbed off some of my bloodstains that had clotted on its side and checked some of the footage, in a dull state.  It began to frighten me how little I reacted to my own terror in the night, as though I didn’t care five minutes previously I’d been racing across the yard in a panic.  I did forget my initial goal was to confirm the camera was still operational despite its abuse, but I’d fallen into a repetition of cycling through all its functions and struggling to adjust the color settings, despite the mechanical flaw caused by being thrown out of a fuckin window.  I eventually gave up and stared at the visor as it recorded the floor of the shed. Time to go. The handle turned loosely in my hand and I pulled the door back, while keeping my shoulder by one side in case I needed to shove it close.  I didn’t have my camera up yet so all I could make out was the oily yard with its slumped shapes glimmering under the flash of electricity.  The sky was a muddy expanse stretching over the tree tops, it seemed lower than the sky should be, barely brushing above the canopy of jagged timber.  There was nothing hostile, nothing visible I wouldn’t come to expect with the relentless storm.  Complete silence but for the thick water and rumble of thunder.   It was eerie, after I had raced across the yard accustomed to the bizarre sounds, and suddenly there were none.  For a moment, I was startled by a black shape hovering near the fountain, but in a flash of light it was gone.  Just the guard slouched on the bench, on the other side of the yard.  It was him I had seen, very dead and immobile, nothing could change my mind. I returned to the gate beneath the light, where ‘Father’ Martin had left his message.  I took the padlock but found I was wrong in my assumption.  The key was thick, more along the lines of a skeleton key, and the padlock used the more modern thin keys.  Damnit. I climbed down the wall and walked along one side of the yard hunting for a door, or gate that would use the key.  There had to be some sort around here, Martin left the key in the shed for me, the mystic bastard.  Couldn’t just leave doors open, has to lock me in and leave me to the mercy of his ‘disciples.’  This place was probably Satan’s holiday house.   A light on the other side of the yard caught the visor, and I started in that direction in a casual jog.  It sounded like a shape was shredding through the canopy overhead, I hunched down as I hastened my pace through a sharp gale of wind and rain.  I doubt the light would deter it but the dark didn’t seem to do much either.  I shoved the key into the lock breathing a small sigh of relief when the latched clicked.  My hand fumbled with the slick knob, scraping my finger in the process as I forced it open and threw it shut after me.  I moved away from the door and fought back the trembles that clutched my body, just couldn’t get myself under control.  Beyond the wire door I thought there was a dark mass swimming through the storm, but a boom of thunder killed out any sound there might’ve been. Focused and still, I waited for nothing.  The water made a soft pit-pat sound as it dripped from the edges of my soaked coat and chin, insects buzzed overhead driven wild by the intense light.  The gentle atmosphere somehow overpowered the nightmare of the storm and what it concealed.  I allowed myself one whimper as I let the tremors take me, tensing my muscles to block out some of the cold.  There was something out there and it was following me.  I don’t know how to explain it.  I don’t want to explain it.  The very notion I couldn’t comprehend this terrified me.  What the fuck was it and what did it want? My mind kept flashing back to the sewers, the wails and sobs of people dying.  The sounds.  Those sort that couldn’t be replicated.  They were the kind of sound a person made the moment death took them, and would never be repeated by that individual.  Death throes. I changed out what was once a battery at half-life, and put one with full power in.  That should last me.  Maybe. It looked like some sort of greenhouse, or was once one until the asylum came to be in the early nineties.  I moved away from the wall to distract myself with this place, this façade of reprieve.  No plants were kept in here, just some pallets and materials for the grounds.  Windows along the upper walls flashed with peculiar outlines, like faces watching through still portraits and the unsettling sensation that I was not alone and had never been alone in this place.  Just nerves, I told myself.  I was cold, soaked, and the lightening hid shapes as it revealed me to those same shapes I hid from. I gave a loud sneeze and bit my tongue.  Perfect. Briskly, I moved out of the light, into the shadow of the doorway at the other end.  I raised my camera and gave the crossing corridor a look over, before I stumbled out into someone.  Smelt like people came in here to piss as though the yard was too good for them.  In this weather, it might’ve been. Looked like most of the material for reinforcing the doors had been hauled from this storeroom, it must’ve been stocked with lumber before the nightmare began.  Two by fours and plywood were leaned against one side of the wall, and on the other was a shelf with a hammer and some dried out potted plants.  Pieces of splintered wood lay across the stone path, and nails had been scattered to the sides.  A radio had been abandoned on a shelf out here, but the batteries were not the right ones for my camera. I turned to check what the other side might offer, and stepped through a doorframe into a spare shed.  At the far end the exit awaited, nearly missed as I scanned the entrance, skittish as I was.  I was spooked by the icy dots of rain that hit my face, only to realize there was a large hole in the roof above.  I shut my eyes and exhaled trying to calm myself.  Just the rain, it was just the rain.  Though I was freezing, I didn’t bother to move out from under it, as I looked over the room. Thin boards lined the walls and some propane tanks were left stacked at the furthest corner.  Shelves were dotted with eroded paint cans, and more tools to reinforce doors without restraint.  Good to know all that hard work and sweat had paid off in the end.  I could just imagine Murkoff freaking out, terrified by the things they created and not understanding any of it.  Just trying to get barricades built, doors sealed, and then curl up in the darkest corner while they listened to their colleagues, abandoned outside, get pummeled by the big fucker.  And he seemed like such an interesting man. Slowly, I turned the handle of the door and pulled it open a crack to scope out.  Tall brick walls extended from the building on either side, effectively boxing the path in.  I heard a noise like… screeching.  Nails on a chalkboard, or something?  Thick bars stretched from the wall into the dark, at the current range of the NV I couldn’t see how far. A form in the dark.  I’m not sure how to describe it, it was an outline at first, then it took a shape.  It was insubstantial and had no face, just what looked like a head perched on a rib cage as it fluctuated and shrieked and… headed RIGHT TOWARDS ME! It was right at my face before I slammed the door and braced my shoulder against the icy steel.  A strangled cry came from my throat as my ribs crunched under the force.  I didn’t see that, what was it?  That was impossible, it didn’t walk, I didn’t see its feet!  It didn’t have feet, it— The door shuddered but it was too dark to see, what I could make out was through the visor quivering just beside my face.  It… materialized, and crawled ‘through’ the crack under the door.  I only caught glimpses of the fog, I was too lost in fortifying a barrier on something that was slipping beneath it like in a cartoon.  This isn’t possible, not possible!  This isn’t natural what’s going on here!  Was that its head?  Was it looking at me?! When it grabbed at my feet I charged out of there, crashing into the metal gate under the light before I recalled how doors worked.  I fled across the yard stumbling through grass, bushes, and finally toppling over a bench I didn’t see in the black veil of night.  Somehow in my madness I fell to my good shoulder and skid across the stone path, terrible wails surrounded me in the gloom as the lightening blazed and the world came into momentary clarity.  I envisioned the patients surrounding me, Chris Walker in the distance stalking through the yard.  A shapeless form howled as it hovered over me, reaching out a twisted branch to crush my head.   Strange sounds curled around me, and I knew was making them.  I tried to block it out as I twisted to rise but something was wrong, I rolled sideways and fell down again before my legs could carry my weight.  Once I was mobile, I raced the rest of the way to a bright light shimmering in the distance like a salvaging beacon.  It only occurred to me as I flew up the steps that it was the same Asylum that I had recently escaped.  It was the last thought in my head as I barreled through the nearest door, into the dark and dry safety of this horrible place. I didn’t get a chance to fling it shut, my instincts screamed – flee, flee, escape, HIDE!   I crammed my body into the furthest corner between the bookcase and a desk.  There I cringed, panting, shivering, wide eyed, and waiting for the thing to find me.  I just couldn’t understand what I saw.  Couldn’t comprehend it.  I wasn’t into the supernatural, I’ve never see shapes or heard voices…. Up until I came to this crazy place.  How could I have been charging all over this messed up Asylum, and only now out in the yard I come across something vaguely supernatural.  It didn’t make sense.  I felt like I just lost my mind.  I was fuckin insane.  Completely bonkers. “God help me, I think I’ve seen the Walrider.” My ears are ringing.  That shrieking snarl, when I was face to face with it….  I don’t know what happened.  There was a flash, I thought it was the lightening, but it felt like I suffered a sharp blow to the head.  I thought I’d seen into its face, o god, inside its skull… I didn’t feel right.  Not bad, I didn’t feel good either, but not bad, but something….something doesn’t feel right.  Like I lost something, or forgot something.  Just my nerves, I’m shook up and cold, and probably not in the best of health with all the blood loss. I wipe some of it from my hands, but with the heavy rain the clots can’t hold.  Couldn’t stop here, had to push on.  Find that proverbial light out of this hell hole.  No ‘illusion’ of MKULTRA would stop me. My legs felt soupy as I made the long trek back to the gate, the only route I knew that might offer a way out.  Or lead someplace dry.  It took some time to find the gate, I left the door wide open and became confused when I saw the smaller shed through the rain.  After further searching, in which time I’m certain I was more lost than I should have been, I did find the greenhouse.  I shut the door behind me and listened, primed to bolt if I saw it, or heard that unnatural call it generated.  I couldn’t fabricate the exact noise in my head, only that it was inhuman and terrifying. The metal door was untouched, and still in one piece.  It had been crawling ‘under’ the crack.  How the hell? As before, I opened the door slowly and strained to hear.  Noises did come, illusions my mind conjured of screams as the thunder rolled, or the rustle of leaves beside the metal bars flipped about.  I felt like I was losing my mind.  Give me naked thugs, deformed giants, freak doctors with huge scissors - give me a ghost, massive nope factor right there. I slid through the door and shut it behind me.  On the ground swirled dark splotches in clear puddles, another one of Martin’s markers for me.  I had this insane thought that maybe it was hiding in the blood.  What was I thinking anymore? A soft hiss issued from the other side of the bars, and I threw myself against the set to the left when I thought it was coming back.  I saw nothing, no vague outline, nothing.  Just the blaze in the sky, sometimes I thought there was a corpse sitting in the distance, washed by rain, or was it the black outline of a tree framed by light?  I couldn’t tell anymore.  If I kept moving, everything would be all right.  If I waited, it would find me. I turned the corner and stepped off the stone path into thick grass, with about an inch of water coating the soil.  The mud clung to my shoes and weighted my feet, I wobbled but managed not to fall over.  It was a challenge staying on my feet as it was, I didn’t need to fall to my hands and stuff mud into the wounds. A lamp blazed down into some sort of storage yard, from when Murkoff remolded the place for reopening.  A lot of materials they couldn’t get rid of such as concert barriers and pallets were sorted and stacked.  I ducked back from the halo of light when the brittle timber above snapped and dropped into the grass, not far from where I hid.  I raised the camera and kept low listening as the sounds moved off, a soft tinkling of metal pellets echoed from the distance.  The same sounds I heard in the sewers, when I thought I saw shadows. Beside the lamp was a ladder fixed against the brick wall.  I fastened the camera in its hoister and started up, keeping a tight grip each step I pulled up.  The heavy downpour coupled with my muddy shoes made the exercise a difficult one, I nearly lost my footing twice before I had a suitable rhythm down.  Overhead, jagged bolts crossed over the black sky, blinding me briefly but I held my climb steady.  I’ve done this hundreds of time, the weather just complicated the task. The ladder ended abruptly, or it seemed to when I couldn’t see how far I had to climb.  I crawled onto the roof of the greenhouse, or whatever the building was and fumbled for my camera.  I bit the edge of my lip when I tried to force my hand through the strap and wound up jamming my finger on the thick material instead.  Carefully, I slid my fingers under the loop and gripped the camera tightly in my hand, trying to ease out the knot of pain rolling in my knuckle.  I tasted blood but I think it was worth it, distracting myself momentarily from everything else. I used my left hand to steady myself as I stood and stepped up the remainder of the slant, onto the flat surface of the roof.  It was comprised of wooden shingles roughed by hours of sun and harsh winters, easy to keep traction on even with the thick runoff.  I focused on the visor of the camera as I stepped along, the power is more than half done with.  A flicker of light reveals the shattered portion of the roof, for which I gather a short dash before I make the leap.  In a surge of brightness that follows, I nearly stagger back from a shape below my line of sight, but it’s solid and thin and not the thing in the dark. A man sits on the roof of the greenhouses entrance.  I must’ve looked like a lunatic to him, running everywhere in the dark and hiding in the glass.  Or, was he watching it too?  He’s emaciated and stares into the unyielding storm, silent and still, aside from the brief movement of his hand scratching at his chin.  Beside him sits a small walkie-talkie. I shuffle to the low section of the roof, eyes fixed on him should he realize my presence.  I kneel low and reach beside him to pick up the small device without disturbing his watch.  My camera is already dimming, I toss the depleted battery aside and put in the one I’ve just picked up.  It’s dead as well, which would explain why he’s not listening for chatter.  I toss that battery as well and put in one of my own. Half dead, but it’ll do. I pull myself back up to the roof and resume my way.  The path comes to an end, above the curl work of barbed wire topping a fence below.  As I glance around, I’m certain someone has screamed out there in the yard, but I can’t decide which way only that it sounded painful.  On my left there’s a decorative ledge running along the Asylum’s wall, the opposite of which direction I’m almost certain that shrill originated.  I step back and get up some speed before leaping.  When I hit, my shoes skid over the water coating the slick cement, but I keep on my feet.  Another roof was not far from the ledge to the left, I walk over to it keeping the camera firm in my grip as I leapt to the soaked wood without issue.  In the branches I pick up the crackle and rustle of something, but I can never see a definite shape.  I pause to crouch down and film open air and the rain, until the echoes have either faded or my mind ceased to fabricate them.   I push myself back to my feet and continue, barely three steps before I reach a piece of plywood lain down bridging the roof to some scaffolding.  More evidence of Murkoff’s attempted repairs before everything went to shit.  Some boards are set over the short space, which I cross as I constantly search the ground and the canopy.  It feels like the sounds are following me.  I’m almost elated by the notion, despite the pulsing in my veins.  Did I want to see it again?  I don’t think so.  But I was curious.  The initial shock had worn away, and every scuttling noise I thought was the thing in the dark terrified me.  But it also teased my inquisitive nature.  I teetered on a delicate and dangerous line, if I drew to near the sun it would burn me.  But I couldn’t help myself.  I wanted to forget why it frightened me, and learn why I should be frightened by it.  My heart thumped with the acuity, just a glimpse of the shadow to know I wasn’t losing my mind. I step from the short structure of scaffolding, onto a flat cement ledge.  There’s no other direction to take, the ground below I can barely find without the zoom.  To my right is a thin gutter line, a possible path I’m not comfortable to attempt in the fierce weather.  But I could manage it.  I set my heels against the wall and shuffle out testing my stability, the edge ends just beneath my toes but I press my back against the cold brick and chance it.  I have my camera crammed under my chin at an awkward angle to avoid bumping the wall with my elbow.  I can barely keep my balance, and see enough just through the visor this way. As I slipped around a sharp corner, my leg nearly gives out and I slip a bit but catch myself by pushing off the wall a fraction.  I sway in the open air as the wind tugs at my drenched coat, if I budge I will fall and snap my leg, or something worse.  It will be painful.  I let my body sway until my back gently touches the brick wall, then I continue, shuffling slower this time.  The small path ends on a large cement ledge, I drop to my knees to catch my breath.  A set of planks awaits a few feet from where I lean over, appearing very sinister in the flash of light and the crack of thunder that follows. The noises around me have calmed somewhat, and it’s just the rain and I.  This doesn’t comfort me, though it should.  I feel unsettled, like the eye of the storm.  Using my camera I search for my next heading and zoom in on a slanted roof a short distance, beyond those unassuming planks.  I return to my feet and secure the camera in my grip, I take a short dash before I leap.   When I hit, my foot slips over the rain cascading off the rough planks and I topple sideways.  I clutch the camera to my chest and jam my elbow against the slant, twisting around to force my body parallel with the edge.  I shove my feet against the friction and hold, until I’ve stopped completely.  The night feels cold and silent, except for the rain drumming on my face generating its soft prattle.  Water gathers at my side where I’ve blocked it, filling my coat and jeans with the frigid liquid.  I’m so cold. After a minute I collect my senses and inch away from the edge of the roof, until I can flip over and get up on my hand and knees, and crawl to the top. When I make it to the other side, I’m dismayed to find no other path to take.  This should be good news, but I preferred being someplace high where I couldn’t be reached.  I examined the distance to the floor from the roof before I put my camera away, then lower myself from the edge of the roof by my hands.  A light shining from a pole above cut through the dark, offering some visibility before I dropped to the cobblestone floor.  Some crates had been left beneath the roof, as though to protect them from the elements.  Steps lead a few feet down towards a dead guard, and a steel door I bet would be locked.   I made my trip down to confirm this belief, and to get out of the rain for a bit.  At times it felt colder sheltered from the constant pummel than wandering through it.  The guard has nothing worthwhile on his person, not even a candy bar.  Not that I want one, but I was thinking about it.  Up a set of steps on the opposite side, sat some neglected sawhorses and another collection of pallets.  Otherwise, another dead end.  I climbed over the short wall, down to where the ledge sheltered the small walkway and where the guard sat.  I could see a path to take if it led anywhere worthwhile, a stack of pallets across from me was fixed beside a dumpster, both positioned under a cut out in the fence.  The sounds came again, rattles in the pipes or a frail cylinder cast by the strong wind.  I shrank into my coat but didn’t bother to raise the camera or seek out the source, I’m not certain at that particular moment what I was thinking, other than I needed to move. I raised my right hand to my face and blew in my palm, to get some of the chill from my fingers.  It wasn’t very effective, but the warmth did ease the pain a little.  That same sensation came over me, the jolt to my head or some kind of vertigo.  I shut my eyes and let the feeling pass, I kept repeating in my head ‘keep moving, keep moving’ but I wasn’t ready.  I just wanted to stand out of the rain and stare at nothing, maybe wait for the storm to pass, but I know by the time it did, it would be too late for me.  The wind slid under the ledge and I gave in, crossing to the pallets and climbing up to the fence.  I couldn’t fathom who might have cut the wire, a few pairs of wire cutters and a chainsaw had been missing from the toolshed.  I was screwed if Chris Walker was out here with the chainsaw. I was still so fuckin lost.  You’d think I’d be able to find my way around outside, without the walls and abundance of locked doors, but no.  I was somewhere, maybe in the backgrounds of the Asylum.  I couldn’t locate a feasible way out of this place, had to keep heading around searching for one of the locked gates to the front.  There had been a few I looked at before finding that shattered gate, but there was the staff parking I had viewed on the one side. “Have to get out….” I stopped as I turned the corner.  On the ground lay a patient, by a steel door pinned with boards.  I gave the handle a rattle and it clanked hollowly on the other side, but the screws in the stone kept it from budging.  The patient seemed wounded or sick, I gave him his distance as I moved around to the only route visible.  Fence on one side, fuckin big building on the other.   When I reached my jeep I was going to crank up the heat, tear off my coat, and just get my skin warm.  And comfortable warm, not hot, not inferno, not hell hot, just warm.  I was beginning to loose feeling in my fingers and toes, I was soaked to the bone, and I just didn’t feel right.  My head was still ringing from when the thing screamed at me, it might’ve damaged my eardrums.  My hearing seemed fine, just that humming I couldn’t stand.  Felt like it was in my nerves. There was another door, up some steps on the right.  Same as the previous, locked solid.  Don’t know why I bothered checking, force of habit.  I did want to get some place dry for a bit, but anyplace in Mount Massive I’d soon come to regret.  Miserable place this was, would never wish it on my worst enemy because, I’m not that kind of guy. Trager’s too good for my enemies. The lightning blazed and I spied another tall fence ahead, with a patient plastered to it shuffling against its side.  I observed him through the visor as I approached, he seemed near oblivious to me.  “I can see his ghost.” What was it they were so fixated to find out here?  When I was close enough to see him clearly, I found that he had been coddling the gate for so long his face was a bloody mess and his nose was missing. It reminded me of lizards in the pet store, if they wanted to get out they’d rub their nose on the bars until their lip had worn away.  Pitiful to see a human like this, out here in the rain. For a span I recorded beyond the fence, to pick up what it was he saw or to confirm my doubts, I wasn’t sure.  Sometimes I thought there was something, a glimmer and shift in the lens, the film was always clear and never faltered.  I could hardly remember what it was I thought waited out there, only that it could stare back, and this made me uneasy.  The patient mumbled something as he moved closer to me, and I only recalled that we were standing completely exposed to the storm. Well, I realized I was standing in the rain.  I didn’t bother the other man as he sought to see his delusions. The fence ended at a wall, to which brick stairs led to a higher patio.  Across from the steps two benches were poised, on one sat a man in a straightjacket and chemical scarring marred his face.  His eyes glistened in the NV when he noticed me.  I turned to climb the steps, halfway up he called after me, “Be as one of us.” I hurried to the upper level through an open gate, one of the first in a long while.  Blood and gore was in my immediate path, I continued in that direction passing various guards and doctors of Murkoff, in a splattered display of death.  It looked like they had fallen out from somewhere, their bodies twisted and guts spilling out and glass everywhere.  Had they been thrown out of a window?  Or had they found their own way out? The door across from the dead had a plate reading Prison Block and the doors had been boarded up.  The most opportune way out for some of them, I suppose.  I located another open area in the fence, a few pallets stacked to give a clear step up over the sharp edge.  A bolt streaked across the sky illuminating the immediate area, but below the light could not reach but for the thin tree limbs reaching high. Before I risked getting lost in that lower area, I returned to where the gate entered the patio space, and took the path that had been open on my left.  It was a large area beneath an eve, where I could get some time away from the storm.  A few old drums, possibly gasoline like the ones in basement, had been discarded here.  The walls had tall, thin windows cloaked by tattered curtains, I could make out no sign of cracks of wear to indicate anyone might have tried to escape this way.  Bags of trash had been discarded by a large dumpster, and before it stood a man in a straightjacket struggling to get out. The dumpster, after the stagnant decay that had been shoved into my sinuses, smelled wonderful in the cold storm.  But the linger of rot was here, and blood had pooled at the patients feet. “Bleed for me.” It was time to leave. I climbed the pallets and braced myself for the fall before I let myself down, the soft earth compressed under my weight, but the jolt still traveled up my ribs.  I stepped away grunting and stretching to get the soreness from my muscles, I was moving through the tall grass before I had my camera up. The front grounds had really been let go, but this was beyond neglect.  Thick bushes grew everywhere catching my pants and whacking my fingers as I navigated what seemed to be the clearest path, but everything was overgrown.  The grass was up to my chest, and large concrete blocks dotted the yard, hidden until I was directly upon them.  A thin vapor spilled from them, maybe from the lower levels of the Asylum, the basement?  I turned my camera to examine the interior and found thick metal bars, and a warm draft that lifted from within. I’m sure the yard might have been open to the better behaved patients during good days, but when Murkoff took over the patients never had ‘field’ days.  They only needed to keep the front lawn looking decent for appearances, and let everything else go to hell.  There were even pallets and large propane tanks stacked along the wall.  Even for an asylum, this place must have looked nice when things were kept neat.  But Mount Massive was shut down for scandal, so there was no telling if this place ever had ‘nice days.’ The grass began to thin out as I neared a small pool of water in the middle of the yard, with a charming little bridge built over it.  Large stones had been set to boarder the small pound, but even in the dark I could identify the thick grime that grew along the waters edges.  If not for the rain cloaking the miasma of still water, I imagined it wouldn’t be all that lovely. Labored breathing pressed through the drone of rain, alerting me to duck down or be seen.  There was no guarantee I wouldn’t be seen.  A blaze of lightning followed threatening to reveal my location out of spite, and in it I saw the shape of the big fucker as he wandered the yard.  It would’ve been too good if he didn’t show up.  I knew something was wrong. Without hitch he continued on his way, pausing to glance over his shoulder as I paced through the water gently.  It wasn’t very deep, but he would pick out the odd sound given the contrast to the persistent shower.  I paused with the bridge between us, the big fucker looked in the other direction and began that way.  I breathed out a soft whine, even as the sky lit up with another blaze.  The big fuckers back was still to me, I was safe for now. I checked the camera as the light dimmed.  Another battery went in, my last one, a full one.  I had no idea how much further I had to go out here, but for the time I needed to see. There was no indication of where to go, but for some light up at the top of a stack of pallets and propane tanks.  Chris couldn’t climb after me, he could fall after me, but he was a shit climber.  At least, he’s never jumped up after me, yet.  For all I knew he could fly. As quietly as I could muster, I sprint over to the stack and pulled myself up.  I heard no sound from the big guy, he must still be enjoying the weather.  I slipped up to the high ledge, another one of those tall thin windows greeted me, but of escape there was no evidence.  I wasn’t too keen on going into the Prison Block anyway.   A small rain trail led along the wall to the left.  The water wasn’t washing over it quite so hard, but I had to take the awkward angle with my camera again to keep from losing my balance.  I’d prefer to put my camera away and not risk dropping it, but it was more disorientating being unable to see where my feet were and the wall pressed into my back. I passed over a fence topped with coiled barbed wire and came to another sharp corner, on the edge of the building.  Rather repeat my earlier slip, I stuffed the camera in its pack and carefully lowered myself sideways.  Little by little in the dark, until my right hand touched the ledge.  I made sure I had my hand on it before I pivoted, and dropped, snapping my left hand onto the edge as well, and let my weight settle on my arms.  A small grunt snapped from my throat as my ribs sang in pain, but I wasn’t falling backwards this time.  I strafed along the wall, turning the corner easily and kept going until I felt the path at my hands end. I pulled the camera free and checked what was under me.  Just the floor, it was a distance from my feet but not far enough to break my legs.  I let myself drop and turned, wary of my surroundings and what may be lurking.  The sky blazed causing me to cringe down, in the resulting flare I thought there were shapes closing in but through the visor I saw nothing too hostile.  Nothing alive at any rate. There was a small gazebo near the center of the yard, with steps leading up to it.  The aged wood creaked underfoot as I moved around the center, benches were situated around a small garden area full of black dirt and twigs, at one point it was probably filled with flowers or a hedge.  What looked like a doctor was laying on one bench, his coat tinged with dampness and his back to me.  I didn’t bother with the body and kept moving.  I crossed over and crept down the steps, back into the tall grass and into the dismal rain. Overhead twigs crackled and fell, I crouched low scanning the lens along but couldn’t locate the cause.  It could have been the limbs heavy with water after a long drought, they sometimes snapped during a heavy rainfall, but that seemed like such a pissy excuse.  I wiped the water from my face and cringed at the sensation of my missing finger, I was not getting used to that any time soon.  I picked myself up and continued, slowly as I listened for more movement, my camera scanning the dark sky as lightning flared.  It seemed to have moved off for now, if there was ever anything there.  Maybe I was just as cuckoo as the patients, and seeing things in the dark.  Suggestion was a powerful tool. There was nothing to guide me, no remarkable land marks that I could identify aside from the gazebo.  The stone paths were so overgrown with weeds, it was impossible to distinguish them from the tall grass.  I just kept going, relying on the fence that surrounded this area to direct my way.  Maybe I’d find a place where patients had escaped from.  Or maybe they already had, there was the break in the fence I first came through, that led to the open window.  Wasn’t there a document that referred to them as ‘environmental contamination?’  It still sounded wrong. It seemed to take an hour or almost to get around the yard, stopping every so often at shapes in the visor, static in the camera, sounds in the woods.  Not animal sounds, but the strange chatter and wail of the thing I could not describe.  Lurking somewhere and watching me clearly as I staggered through the unforgiving foliage.  At some point I did find my way around, into an area I thought led into the woods, but instead a patient was staring back at me from a cobblestone path.  It startled me, and I staggered away. I knew my hands were bleeding again but I couldn’t bear to turn the camera and view the damage.  My blood felt as thin and cold as the rain, but I’m certain it was my blood.  It had a differing consistency than to water streaming over my skin, but I refused to check. Finally, at long last I spotted a light source.  I could hardly believe it but I moved towards it, my battery was getting low and I couldn’t be stumbling blindly around in the dark.  The harsh brush tore at my shoulders and hands as I made my way towards what looked like a wall, or walls on either side topped with chain wire fence.  A set of steps led down into a lower area, maybe another basement.  There was evidence to indicate this as a possibility but I doubted it.  I didn’t care where the stairs led either, I just needed the reassurance of a firm direction.  The sky blazed with a wild flash, blinding me momentarily before I saw a pair of eyes glimmer in the dark. Shit!   I spun away racing back along the fence as Chris gave a howl of rage, initiating the chase.  Where had he come from?  Was that a gate to the connecting yard?  I didn’t care to know, my concentration was absorbed in not buckling under my terror.  Branches slashed at my torn fingers in my frenzied escape, it sounded as though he was close behind me.  I turned my head to check, running right into a tree that knocked me down and slapped the camera from my loose grip. “You got nothing left to live for.”  He was right on top of me.  Where was my camera? The tall grass had hid the bright visor, but not well enough.  I snatched it up as the big fucker came crashing into my vicinity, the chains clinked very close to my face in what might’ve been a grab attempt.  I lunged just out of his path and saw, in a beam of lightning the gazebo.  He can’t climb!  He can’t climb!   I was just beyond his reach as I clambered up the rail and flopped over the side, I groaned as my ribs pulsed with pain but it bought me a moment.  He shoved his arm through the gaps in the rail, but the chain caught on the rotten boards preventing him from grabbing my scalp as I lay stunned.  But I wasn’t safe yet.  With a nasally snarl, Chris charged around toward the steps.  I lifted my camera and watched through the NV feed as he set his dead gaze on me. I rolled to my feet, and threw myself over the rail to sprint in the direction I thought that light had been.  Chris swung himself over the rail, I know this because I felt the ground tremble when he came down.  I kept on my feet locating the steps and shot down them, taking the corner on my right and stumbled down more steps and nearly toppled forward.  The deep rumble of the big fucker echoed on the confining walls, he would be on me in the next instant. At the corridors end was what looked like a wall, its appearance draining the remainder of my blood… until I caught sight of the lower side.  The cement had been chiseled out and rebar ripped back.  I knelt down and crawled through, as Chris gave his disapproving roar at my neck.  I hadn’t stopped yet to flaunt it, I was on my toes running up the narrow corridor back into the storm.  An open and better kept yard greeted me at the top of the slop, but I didn’t stop to admire it.   Across the yard a large set of double doors waited, boarded tightly with planks and plywood, tall glass framed the sides spilling comforting light onto the grass.  I still raced into them and tried the handle, confirming this was not for show.  The plate beside the door read Female Ward, though I wasn’t sure of this.  I knew there were female patients involved with MKULTRA and the sleep therapy, but it wasn’t clear to me if they were involved with Project Walrider. It was asking too much that I would never find out.  But due to the wandering patients and contamination, I think I should have seen women by now.  Or… could I not recognize them as being female?  My head ached from the revelation, I needed to get out of the rain.  I was borderline hypothermia, I had to get dry. If I couldn’t find my way out of this yard soon, I didn’t doubt the big fucker would find his way to me.  I walked along the fence that stretched from the building, and found an opening into another yard.  A fountain sat in the center surrounded by benches, the strong stench of copper from it overpowered the open air.  I had turned the NV off, but the camera was still running, it always was.  I stared at the garden piece full of blood, so much I couldn’t be sure if there ever was water in it to begin with.  The heavy rain drops hit the surface, but the thick black clots held tight.  I immediately felt sick and took a moment to sit down at a bench, off to the side. “So much blood in the water I can smell it.  Like putting a penny in your mouth when you were a kid.  The whispers are making more sense, I’m looking for static.  It’s like an itch.” I stuffed the pen and notepad back in my pocket, and stood to resume the search of the lawn.  Some fresh air would help, put some distance between this grotesque red pool, and myself.  Get it off my mind if only for a second. Steep hills lead up to high fences and what must have been the brick walls of the outer courtyards, polished and slick with rain and higher than the Tower of Babel.  Was there no way out of this place?  Did the world outside cease to exist? Stupid thoughts.  Miles, you idiot.  Keep it together, I’m gonna make it out of this.  Just takes time.  Stay alive, and find that way out. I returned to the fountain.  Bodies bled out, in all manners of decay, on this side the wind picked up enough to give me a whisper of the spoil that seeped from the corpses.  A still functioning lamp spilled light on the poisoned well.  I didn’t feel safe standing in the open like this.  But I turned the camera anyway to sounds in the trees overhead, and the odd outline of something at the roof.  Or was it another of Murkoff, ready to end it all and escape this hell? I walked along the wall of the building to get out of the rain for a moment.  Stacks of pallets had been neglected here, like much of all Murkoff’s tools, as its people.  The light above reflected off glass, but one window failed to cast its sheen.  I jogged over and examined it from the ground, before I hauled myself up the precarious stack of pallets to the high window. That sickening-familiar scent of old moldering wood, rank dust, and the trace of sweet humid rot swept over me as I entered through the shattered frame.  The new reek of scorched, sodden wood saturated the air.  At the edges of the NV I could catch glimpses of walls tinged in charcoal, where the fire had reached forth to spread. Damn it, how did this happen?  Like a tar pit, the more I fought the harder I stick. There was nothing on my left, just glassed in walls around some office or lobby.  Thinking on it, that might be the barred entrance of the Female Ward.  The dust within was thick enough I could view it settling over a neglected wheelchair, tipped sideways.  It was a depressing sight.  I turned to my right, clinging to the lamps outside the windows to offer some guidance as I shut off the NV for a short while.  I was ready to raise it if something caught my attention, or if that haunting wail returned.  I shivered as a light pierced through collapsed beams, slanted across my path.  I looked up to what must’ve been an upper floor and its doorway before the fire spread, all of it black charcoal and some of it cinder now.  Steam was still rising from some of the white ash of the timber causing the air to fog thickly, but the light cut through blinding me briefly. It was Father Martin, nested in a doorframe of the second floor, flashing his light to signal me.  This was getting old. “You saw the Walrider, didn’t you?”  He gave pause as I moved closer, presumably into his line of sight.  I adjusted my collar ready to cover my nose with it, but postponed the action to glance around and turn my gaze back up to him.  I tilt my head, only vaguely interested in what he had to preach.  “You’re beginning to understand, but not yet.”  He gestured his finger upward, dramatically.  “Even Abraham had to cast his eyes to the ground.  But soon, soon.  This way.  Revelation is at hand.”  With his speech concluded, he spun away and disappeared beyond the gate. Okay, thanks.  How was I supposed to get up there?

[satan-chillin]

Fair Game

(Chapter 1/2)

Summary: Sam and Dean encountered a completely different version of themselves. An AU of Episode S15E13 "Destiny's Child".

Pairings: Destiel & Samwena/Samwitch

Rating: T

Also available in Ao3

The heavy and ornate mahogany doors opened at exactly 12:30 in the evening and came in a couple dressed handsomely, their cheeks streaked with redness from one too many flutes of champagne from the evening celebration they came from.  

  “Remind me not to wear this outfit again,” the man muttered. He wasn’t one to normally voice his complaint, thinking he would sound whiny, but it seemed that the alcohol was loosening up his tongue. “I look ridiculous in purple. Like… Like Barney.”  

  The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously comparing yourself with a purple dinosaur?” Her sigh was fond. “You should have seen yourself in the mirror, dear.”

  “I mean, I did? While you were helping me with the pocket square.” He idly touched the handkerchief. “I don’t know. I thought it’ll be nice, but, er, I might have stood out too much earlier.”

  “And that’s a bad thing? To stand out on your own book signing event?” the woman snorted. “Honestly, you’re the only person I know who doesn’t want the spotlight even if he earned that right.”

  The man shrugged. “That's me.”

  “Aye. I know you too well.” The woman walked closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know as well that you deserve everyone’s attention the most, you humble giant.”

  With their difference in height, she has to tiptoe to peck his cheek, though the man eagerly met her halfway to give her an eskimo kiss in return, making her giggle a little uncharacteristically. 

  It only served to make her endearing to him.   

  “Thank you, though, for helping me pick,” he said earnestly. He let his hands stay on her slim waist, nuzzling the top of her head affectionately. “Should I get used to this from now on?”

  “Well,” she began, patting his chest teasingly. “If you haven’t realized it yet that I’m gradually improving your wardrobe, then you’re not paying attention, dear.” She smirked at his mild indignation and pulled herself from his hold. “Although, if I have to choose,” she made a show of running her eyes from his head to toe, “My favorite will always be getting you out of your clothes.”

  The man went red from root to tips, much to the woman’s utter amusement. 

  “Come join me upstairs if you’re willing to let me do so tonight,” she said, flicking her long red hair over an exposed milky shoulder. She walked up the stairs, sashaying her hips, knowing full well that the man's eyes followed her and the sway of her lacy black dress that seemingly molded itself with her curves. 

  As the man stood there dreamily and thinking what a damn lucky man he was to have someone so beautiful not only on the outside but also on the inside, someone who understood all his quirks and accepted him for what he was, he couldn't help but finger the small velvet box he was keeping inside his pocket. 

  Tonight, he promised himself. He would ask the big question tonight. 

  He could have done it during tonight's event, but then again he wasn't really into big gestures. He was in his element in moments where it was quiet with just the two of them sharing a blanket of comfortable silence. 

  Well, springing out the question right before he was about to get sex was not the romantic scene he was aiming for either, but… anymore prolonging and he would butcher this one out.

  He knew her and been together with her for three years now, and yet he found his hands shaking and sweaty in nervousness. She loved him back, of that he was sure of, but what if she didn't want the same? Would she think that they were moving too fast? He didn't want her to think that he would limit her freedom and independence once they were legally bound together. 

  The man was roused out from his thoughts when a black mass of fur rubbed itself against his leg. He picked up the cat and scratched it behind the ear. 

  "Do you think your mom will say yes, Merlin?" the man asked anxiously. 

  Merlin merely purred in response at the attention it was getting, closing his eyes in bliss. The man humored him for a bit if only to delay a rejection he could possibly get. 

  Oh, god, I'm being a coward, he thought. An indecisive coward. 

  Merlin perked his head up and stared at the man. The cat seemed to agree with him, he thought gloomily. 

  The cat jumped back to the ground, sniffing the air and looking around. The man watched Merlin's odd movements before he broke into a run to the kitchen and out in the back. Puzzled at Merlin's sudden bolting, the man followed the cat sedately to the backyard. 

  "Merlin?" he called when he heard a loud and almost incessant yowl from the cat. Must have scented a prey, he thought. 

  And upon walking out to follow, what greeted him was…

  A line. 

  The man stared, stupefied. Line was putting it mildly. It was glowing in an orange hue, for god's sake! It was floating, he supposed, like a tear of some sort in the middle of—he didn't know, space, maybe? 

  "What the hell?"

  Merlin continued to yowl on the ground, encircling the line. If the man didn't know better, he'd say that the cat was excited at the discovery, like it was just handed a new toy. Merlin's pupils were round, illuminated by the reflection of the orange light. He looked up in wonder and awe. 

  It was unnatural, indescribable by words—and the man has plenty of those—yet his hand itched to reach out, to touch and see how it would feel. 

  Curiosity killed the cat, they said, though in this case, its victim was the man instead. 

  "No, Samuel, don't!"

  The last thing he heard was Rowena's warning that came a little too late. 

  ***

Dean woke with a pounding headache. 

  He groaned, sitting up from the cold hard floor and…

  Where in the world was he? 

  Dean looked around his surroundings wildly and noticed that not far from him was someone lying face down and—God, the guy wasn’t dead, was he? 

  He was saved from the trouble of checking for a pulse when the man twitched and shifted on his back, groaning aloud and blinking awake before shooting up in a sitting position and finally noticing Dean. 

  “You too, huh?” Dean said. 

  “What?” the man asked. “What do you mean by that? Where are we?”

  “My guess is as good as yours, man. I just woke up a minute earlier.”

  The man made a move to stand, straightening on his feet. He was tall, and Dean himself was tall. Dean respectfully didn’t take note of the atrocious purple suit and the hideous man-bun that got messed up. 

Just when Dean was having the impression that the man was posh with the getup and all, he approached Dean and stooped down to lend him a hand. Dean thanked him, patting away the dirt from his coat. 

  He got a better look of the area once he was standing and woah, the number of vintage cars he could see everywhere should be enough to trigger some kind of familiarity; it didn’t. They seemed to be in some kind of a large, rich man’s garage. 

  “Battery’s dead,” he heard the man mutter while tapping on his phone. 

  Dean checked his. “Mine too.” 

  His watch was ticking at 7:42 PM, and the last time he checked it had been somewhere around 11:30 PM. Dean couldn’t believe he was out cold for almost a day. Whatever tranq they administer to him, it must have been enough to knock out at least a baby elephant.

  “Are we kidnapped or something?” he asked aloud, mostly to himself. 

  The man ran his hand through his hair, his loose man-bun gone. “It’s what I think as well but the lack of bindings and the presence of a kidnapper suggest otherwise.”

  “Or this is some kind of Saw shit,” Dean suggested. At the man’s puzzled expression, Dean waved his hand. “Nothing. It’s a bad joke.”

  “Are you alright, at least? No injuries on you?” the man asked. 

  “Headache from waking up that’s ebbing away, thankfully,” Dean answered honestly. “Other than that, nothing that I know or can feel on me. You?” 

  “Mild headache. Nothing more,” the man said. He closed his eyes briefly. “Um, I know this is a weird situation we find ourselves in, but if we’re going to work together, might as well get to know each other’s names.” He extended out his hand. “I’m Sam.”

  “Dean.” Dean shook the hand. “Dean Winchester-Novak,” he said fully before he could hold himself back. Force of habit. 

  Sam frowned. “Winchester?” He smiled amiably. “Are you the Winchester one? Because my name is Sam Winchester.”

  “Seriously? Yeah, I’m the Winchester. What are we, some kind of distant relatives?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. Lots of Winchesters in the States alone, but, yeah, that’s some coincidence.” 

  “I don’t know, man. It’s interesting to find out. Sucks it’s this way, though,” Dean said regretfully. He spotted a door at the far end of the garage. “Think that one’s locked?”

  Sam followed his line of sight, deep in thought. “Only one way to find out.”

  Apprehensively, they approached the door. Dean kept his eye open for any traps because you’d never know; better be prepared, right? There weren't any visible cameras that he could see at a glance so there was that. 

    Dean twisted the knob, half-expecting an explosion or poison spikes or whatever this possibly rigged doorknob could release. 

  Nothing came. 

  Sam peered at the long hallway ahead and gave an all-clear sign. Tentatively, they exited the garage and traversed the corridor whilst frequently looking behind their backs. It was eerily quiet and a bit dark, and it felt like they were actually the one trespassing in someone else’s property. It was ridiculous. 

  There was another long hallway when they turned at the bend, though this time there was a light at the far end of it. Cautiously, they approached the room, a little emboldened since they haven't encountered anyone or anything so far, and noticed that it was a kitchen with a man standing there, his back turned as he prepared coffee. 

  When the man turned around, Dean couldn't keep down his relief. "Cas," he said with a wide grin and rushed to meet him in a tight embrace. 

  Cas was taken aback, a deep frown etched on his face and was about to ask when Dean had beaten him to it. 

  "Cas, what's going on? Where are we? I woke up in the garage of this place with Sam here. Oh, yeah, this is Sam. Sam Winchester—can you believe it?" The words rushed out of Dean. "Sam, this is Castiel Novak. Cas for short. He's my husband."

  "I'm your what?"

  Sam genially extended a hand in which Cas shook dumbly. "Nice to meet you, Cas."

  Cas glanced confusedly between Sam and Dean, studying them carefully as if trying to figure them both, particularly the one they were wearing. "I don't understand. Is this what you call a prank?"

  "What? What you mean pra—"

  "Hey, Cas, you done there?" came a male voice from outside. "We're just—"

  Sam and Dean turned to the source of the voice and found two men standing there. 

  Two men who have their faces. 

  What the hell. 

  ***

  “This is like The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, isn’t it?” Cas heard the other Dean say. 

  “What part of the alternate universe you don’t understand?” Dean retorted. “You and the Sam here with you are our alternate versions.”

  “I think it’s like in the comic books,” Sam in the purple suit said. “For example, Peter Parker is the Spider-Man in his world but there’s another world where it’s his girlfriend Gwen Stacy who’s the Spider-Woman instead.” At the blank stare he got from the other three, he sheepishly added, “It’s a popular thing in our world. I used to be a fan when I was a kid—which isn’t the point, right.” He cleared his throat. “So. You said that you’re our counterparts, and you two are brothers?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Aren’t you?”

  “We just met today, actually. I think Dean here is from another separate world that is not from where I came from.”

  "Alright, stop. This is going to be confusing. I am Dean, and my brother here is Sam. Other Sam, we're calling you Sammy. Other me, you're Squirrel."

  "Why am I called Squirrel?"

  "I didn't make the rules."

  "You just did."

  "Dean," Sam interrupted with a sigh. "Sorry. Is Deanno fine by you?"

  "That's much better."

  "Yeah, you look like a 'Deanno'." Dean snickered. 

  Sam leveled his brother a stare.

  "What's the deal with you two, anyway?" Deanno asked, ignoring Dean. He gestured around himself. "Like, is it your family's thing to kidnap your counterparts?"

  "What? No. No one's kidnapping anyone," Sam defended. “Look, like you, we honestly don’t know how you got here either. What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

  “I was driving home from an event,” Deanno recalled. “I might have stopped on the road. It was, uh—I thought I saw something.” 

  “Saw what?”

  “Wait,” Sammy cut in. “That thing you saw… It didn’t happen to be a line, right? Like a tear in space or something.”

  Deanno snapped his fingers. “Yes! That was it. Big orange line thingy!”

  Sam and Dean shared a look. 

  “It was a rift,” Cas spoke for the first time. “You two encountered rifts in space, portals to another world which is… here.”

  “What happened on our side then? Did it remain open?” Sammy asked Cas. 

  “I checked the garage. There are no rifts open there. It’s safe to assume both are closed,” Cas answered. 

  “That’s good.” Sammy sighed in relief. “I mean, my girlfriend’s probably worried to death after she saw me touching the rift, but at least she didn’t follow and possibly landed somewhere.” 

  “And my husband’s bound to be doing the same by now after I left a voicemail I was on my way home and did not arrive.” Deanno rubbed his face. “Fuck.”

  “Woah, wait, husband?” Dean reacted. 

  Deanno gestured at Cas. “Yeah, him.” 

  Dean whirled incredulously at Cas. “Hey, Cas is nobody’s husband!” 

  “Well, not him exactly, but my husband’s name is Castiel Novak. I suppose he’s my Cas’s counterpart then.” Deanno addressed Cas. “But are you really not my Cas? ‘Cause I have to say, you got his character from that adorably confused frown and the trenchcoat.”

  Cas didn’t know what to make of the wink sent his way. 

  “Can you not—he’s not your Cas, alright? For one thing, he’s a freaking angel.”

  “So? My husband is too! He’s a saint!” 

  “I think Dean means to say that I am a literal angel,” Cas put in. “Which I am. I am an angel of the Lord.”

  “Oh,” Deanno said. “My Cas is a theology professor. He’s very much human except in bed—”

  “Dude, TMI!” 

  Hm. It seemed that his alternate self has quite a prowess in copulation, Cas mused. Interesting. 

  Sammy looked like he was embarrassed to be acquainted with the other Dean while Sam wasn’t sure whether to cringe or laugh. Cas believed it was the latter given that Sam was hiding his sniggering behind his fist. 

  “Okay, enough of that,” Sam said, thankfully. “I think it’s safe to assume that you two are our non-hunter versions.”

  “Is that what you do? Hunting?” Sammy asked. “Like professional deer-hunters?”

  “Uh, no. Dean and I are hunters of the supernatural. This place is more or less our home and headquarters.” 

  “You hunt supernatural creatures like vampires and werewolves?”

  Sam nodded. He was thoughtful for a second. “You don’t… Have you ever encountered any supernatural in your world?”

  “No,” Sammy said, eyes wide in awe. “Your job—I thought that’s only something I’ll read in books or watch in films. It sounds exciting!” 

  “It’s dangerous,” Sam told him. “We also lost our family and some friends in our line of work.”

  “Oh.” Sammy’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

  “Thank you. It’s already quite some time now. Doesn’t mean it’s no longer painful though,” Sam said, smiling tightly. A somber mood fell on them. “How about you? Lawyer?”

  “Ah, no. I thought about continuing to law before and realized that if I did, I would have plenty of lives on my hands in that line of career. I didn’t think I could handle that kind of responsibility,” Sammy said wryly. “I took creative writing instead, and now I’m a book writer with a few books under my belt.” He chuckled shyly.

  “It’s not something I saw myself as, but I’m happy for you,” Sam said genuinely. 

  “What about you, Deanno, what do you do?” Dean asked.

  “I own a small business,” Deannos said vaguely. “I used to be a car mechanic.” 

  “What kind of business?”

  “The car manufacturing kind.”

  “That’s far from a small business,” Dean deadpanned. “We get it, you two are our rich selves. We can handle the bragging.” 

  “Are you kidding me?” Deanno snorted.  “Okay, so maybe we pride ourselves in being successful, but we work hard to get to it. The same way you apparently do as well, except you two put your lives on high risk every single time. Now, I don’t know how much hunters get paid for, but I think your jobs are nothing on us.” 

  Sam fell silent while Dean looked startled before catching himself and settling for appearing chastised instead. 

  “I guess you’re not so bad,” Dean muttered. He knocked on the table. “So what now?”

  “You got beer?” Deanno asked. 

  “We do.” 

  Cas watched the four of them file back to the kitchen, smiling a little as he followed them sedately. 

  The tension was finally diffused. Now, on to the solution to get the two home. 

***

Sammy almost forgot the small box in his pocket. 

  He pulled it out and opened it. The ring remained safely settled within. He pocketed it with a sigh. Sam and Dean and Cas were good people—like men from fiction but good people nonetheless. Sammy’s imaginative brain that thrived on fantasies for future story plots couldn’t help but drink in all the knowledge Sam shared with him about this world. It was amazing, the elements of it all, from the creatures that existed aside from the humans and to the magic and beings that governed this universe. 

  Okay, so God being their present enemy was concerning, but still. 

  He would have thought that he was dreaming, but a pinch on his arm said otherwise. It occurred to Sammy he was probably the first man to discover the truth of the theory on Multiverse. He was exactly living a comic book or a fictional storyline right now. It was a paradise for a writer like him!

  And yet… And yet he just wanted to go home to Merlin and to Rowena. 

  “Oh, wow,” Sam suddenly said. Sammy noticed him looking at his pocket. 

  “It’s, um... I was actually planning to ask the big question before I arrived here,” Sammy told him. He sat comfortably in his borrowed clothes (the choices were flannels of varying colors, not that he minded) across Sam who poured two cups of coffee, one for each of them. “Thank you. I’m not really a heavy drinker. I’m a lightweight.”

  “Somehow, I can see that,” Sam said with a grin. “I drink moderately unlike Dean. He’s not hearing me whenever I say we’re not getting any younger.” 

  Sammy chuckled. He was an only child himself, but he thought that if he had an older brother he would either be like Deanno or Dean. There would be no in-between.  

  “How long have you been together?” Sam asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Three years,” Sammy said fondly. “We’re already living together and have a cat.” He glanced down on his drink. "I miss them, but to be honest, I don't know how to pop the question when I come back."

  "I don't think there's a formula on how," Sam offered sympathetically. "It's not easy, but if you already made up your mind to ask, then it should come to you naturally."

  "Thank you," Sammy replied sincerely. "If my Dad is still around, I would've asked him for advice. Bobby was helpful with this kind of thing." 

  Sam perked up in surprise. "Your Dad is Bobby Singer?" 

  "Pretty much. My real Dad, John, died of a heart attack when I was six months old. Bobby was a family friend and raised me with his wife, Karen, and my mother, Mary. It sounded weird but they made it work between themselves," Sammy told him. “Bobby was the one who got me into books, mostly sci-fi, fantasy, and mythology. That might have influenced me into being a writer as well.”

  “Bobby, huh? We had a Bobby Singer too, and like yours, he was our surrogate dad. He died eight years ago, and John five years before him,” Sam shared. “Mom’s case was a bit complicated. She died when I was six months old and got resurrected four years ago and died again last year.” Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I told you, it’s complicated.” 

  “I shouldn’t be surprised by now,” Sammy murmured. “I know I’m only saying this because I don’t live here, but the writer side of me actually finds this world fascinating already based on what you told me so far. It’s like there’s an itch in me to explore this world.” 

  “I understand,” Sam said. “It’s not the safest place, but I love it. This is our world, and it has seen a lot of close calls in the last few years, but this is home, you know? Dean and I don’t see ourselves wanting to replace it with a better one, a more normal one. It’s funny because I used to think it hated us with everything life had thrown us so far. Then you find out that it’s not the world or life, but it’s God himself.” 

  Sammy nodded solemnly. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this but I don’t doubt that you’ll give God hell.” Sam's expression lightened. “I’m lucky to lead a different life because if I’m in your shoes, I don’t think I can have the same lifestyle as you do. Frankly, the brave one between my girlfriend and me is her. She’s more decisive and confident, and she’s the kind of independent woman who learns and moves on easily from her mistakes. It’s the main reason why I’m uncertain to ask her to marry me. What if she doesn’t want to be tied down? Or, say that it’s fine by her, but is it okay if it’s with me? I’m not like her or you, Sam. I honestly still think she could have done better.”

  “But you’ll never know if you don’t ask her,” Sam reasoned. “You can’t let your insecurity eat you from within. It sounds to me that you two are fine in terms of communication. Maybe you can open this up to her as well.”

  Sam, who was fully aware that he couldn’t hold a decent length of relationship with a woman without his life as a hunter hindering it, couldn’t believe that he was hearing himself giving advice in romance. To another version of himself even. Strange times. 

  “Is it Jessica?” Sam decided to ask; he was curious, sue him. “It’s ages ago since I’ve been in a committed relationship myself, but Jessica is the last woman I saw myself having a future with.”

  Sammy frowned. “It’s not her, though I recall knowing a Jessica back in college.” He reached for his wallet to show a picture of Rowena. “Actually, her name is—”

  The bunker’s siren suddenly blared, and the kitchen was illuminated by the warning red lights that darkened the room and lit the hallways. 

  “What’s going on?” Sammy asked when he stood abruptly with Sam. 

  “It’s the bunker’s alarm,” Sam told him, pulling out a gun from his waist. “Stay close to me. I think we got an intruder.”    

***

Deanno whistled at the impala. “This is your ride? Sweet.”

  “That’s my Baby.” Dean stood straighter in pride. “Been taking care of her for as long as I remember, even before Dad passed her down to me.”

  “Inherited cars are often the most taken care of and loved,” Deanno said factually. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of model back home. I should propose this.” 

  “What kind do you drive then?”

  “A ‘78 Lincoln,” Deanno said, much to Dean’s utter distaste. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. My husband chose it.”

  “That’s equivalent to Cas’s pimpmobile.”

  Deanno laughed. “Pimpmobile is the endearment we have for it, alright. What can I say? It’s reliable. And at least it ain’t a Fiat.”

  Dean was inclined to agree with the last one. He wouldn’t be caught with a ten-foot pole with that vehicle. 

  “Everything in here belongs to you, your brother, and Cas then?” Deanno gestured at the other cars. 

  “They’re all here when we inherited the place,” Dean told him. “We use them as spares.” 

  “And you call me rich.”

  “You’re the one with a large business.”

  “We expanded just recently,” Deanno allowed. “But we’re not there with the big players yet.”  

  Dean grunted. Business wasn’t a forte of his, though that was largely because he never bothered to find out. Who knows? 

  Deanno was fine, Dean supposed; a little uncharacteristic for Dean to consider him another self but then again their circumstances were vastly different too. 

  On their way back inside, Deanno told him that he was raised by Mary after John died in a car accident. Mary was a handy woman who learned the rudimentary of car mechanics after John passed and left the startup company he had invested in. It had been a rocky start for both the family and the business, but with some help from friends like Bobby and his wife, Jody, they managed to make it into a stable business. 

  Deanno was put in college, initially for a degree in mechanical engineering until he had thought long and hard and went for business administration with a major in marketing instead. He said that it was the best decision he made since that was also how he met Cas after a series of girlfriends and random hookups.

  “Right,” Dean said flatly. “Your husband.”

  “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal to you, Dean,” Deanno said seriously. “This is not homophobia, is it?”

  “Of course not,” Dean replied shortly. No, it wasn’t that at all. 

  “Then what is it?” 

  He was spared the chance to answer when Jack walked in the war room, staring between the two Deans that he was seeing. Cas was close behind him, nodding at them. 

  “Hello,” Jack greeted them indifferently. 

  “I explained to Jack the situation,” Cas said. “He wanted to help but Billie specifically told him not to use his powers.” 

  “But we can still look for an alternative to bring you and the other Sam to your respective worlds,” Jack said. “Although it might take some time.”

  “Not like we have a choice, right?” Deanno smiled wryly. “Don’t sweat yourself, kid.”

  “I’ll be talking to Billie for the next step,” Jack told them, excusing himself. “Later.”

  “I’ll come with Jack,” Cas said. “If you need me, simply knock on Jack’s door.” 

  "Sure, Cas," Deanno replied on behalf of Dean. He mock-saluted, grinning from ear to ear as he watched Jack and Cas go. "We'll be here too if you need anything," he hollered after them. 

  "Can you stop doing that?"

  "Doing what?" Deanno asked innocently. 

  "That." At Deanno's straight face and the raised eyebrow, Dean elaborated, "The flirting."

  Deanno snorted. "C'mon. All in good fun."

  "You have a husband."

  "And I'm flirting with someone who's technically him but an actual angel." Deanno paused to consider for a moment. "Wait. Is that why?" A smirk formed on his lips. "You're jealous."

  "I most certainly am not," Dean said a little too quickly. 

  "See, that's the thing. You won't be doing that if you already bagged him," Deanno pointed out pityingly. 

  "Alright. That's it. No more of this topic."

  "Eh. Fine by me," Deanno allowed easily. "So who's Jack?"

  "It's a long story."

  "You can summarize," he suggested. 

  Dean sighed tersely. He should get this out of the way. "He's Lucifer's son biologically. Cas is the Dad he recognizes," he said gruffly. "He's half-human and half-archangel, and he doesn't have a soul right now."

  "Oh."

  "Yep. That's our lives."

  "Yeah. Sorry man, I won't be touching that subject too much," Deanno muttered. "I just thought the kid is yours and Cas's."

  "Cas's, not mine," Dean reminded him tersely. 

  "No, like, Jack was from both you and him."

  "What?" Dean exclaimed once he understood what Deanno was implying. "Where in the world are you getting these ideas?"

  "Hey, now. You're the one who said he's an angel."

  Dean wanted to bleach his mind when it began forming a certain image. "Jesus Christ. Cas is a guy! And he's wearing a male vessel!"

  "How about angel magic?"

  "Angel mag—" At this point, Dean believed that Deanno was sent to make his day even more difficult. "Okay. If that is even friggin’ possible, Cas and I are not together that way.”

  “Why not, Dean?”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Weak argument. My Cas is also my best friend. What’s your better excuse?”

  “How about: this is a different world, with me living a different life with different circumstances,” Dean said a matter-of-factly. “I am not you, Deanno. I am not some kind of business man with a college degree and a peaceful married life where the most exciting thing that happened to him is accidentally jumping in a portal to another world.”

  A small empathetic smile was the last thing Dean expected to get. “And doesn’t that tell you something that despite the completely different lives we have, the one thing we have in common is Cas?”

  Deanno was right, Dean was aware, and because Deanno was right and his statement was forcing Dean to reexamine things that he didn’t want to in the middle of their crisis right now, Dean was irritated and slowly but surely coming close to being mad. 

  Fortunately for Dean, he was, once again, saved by the bell. Literally. Or saved by the bunker’s alarm, to be exact. 

  Red lights fell down in the war room in an instant, alerting both of them. Amidst the siren, there were scuffling noises against metal. 

  “Dean, what’s that?” Deanno asked cautiously. Dean wasn’t sure if he was asking about the alarm or the sound along with it.  

  “Shit. Intruder.” Dean reloaded his pistol. He reached for another one and tossed it to Deanno. “Take that. We’re gonna need it.” He gestured for Deanno to stay close. 

  “I hope not,” he heard Deanno whisper. 

“And I hope that we won’t need anything stronger than a gun.” 

  Dean crept nearby the stairs leading up to the entrance. From his position, he could see no sign of forced entry. He peered upstairs for any movement. Nothing. 

  Dean was on an even higher alert, the alarm ringing incessantly in his ears. “Let’s go get the others. Something’s wro—”

  A huge black mass collided against Dean, sending him skidding across the floor and crashing him against a marble pillar. 

  “Dean!” 

  Deanno fired three shots at the… thing that tackled Dean down. It whirled at him, its attention was on him in an instant, growling and ready to pounce.  

  It was a fucking black panther. 

  “Take him down, Merlin,” commanded a voice.

  Deanno stood frozen at the huge animal lunging towards him. Its weight slammed him down on the floor where his head smacked loudly he swore he saw dark spots on his vision. Deanno fought back against the unconsciousness and was met face-to-face with sharp rows of teeth glistening with saliva and predatory golden eyes that considered Deanno as the prey.

  “G-Good kitty,” Deanno attempted. The panther snarled, its breath hot on his face. He decided to shut up instead. 

  “Where is he?” came above the same voice from before. 

  Under the red light, Deanno realized that it was a woman in a black dress. Purple lights danced around her hands, poised to attack. 

  “I won’t ask again, where is Sam Winchester?” said the woman furiously. 

  “Sam?” Deanno clarified. “You know Sam?”

  A loud piercing sound rang within the bunker, so deafening that it broke the lightbulbs and the nearby glasses. It was enough to bring the woman on her knees before she snapped her head upwards, her ears bleeding, and sent a spike of purple lightning to someone above. 

  Deanno covered his head when plasters and debris fell on him. To his amazement, though, nothing hit him and the weight on his chest lessened. 

  “Don’t touch him,” warned a different voice, a much familiar one.  

  Deanno blinked. “Cas?”

  “Dean.” Cas—his Cas, Deanno was a hundred percent sure—crouched down to check on him. “Are you alright?”

  “I am, but we’ll talk later—look out!”

  The warning seemed to be unnecessary when the purple lightning from the woman hit Cas on his back and he didn’t flinch one bit. 

  “What are you?” the woman hissed. The black panther retreated to her side, snarling ferociously at them. 

  Cas’s answer was a thin, pointed blade that appeared on his hand in a blink. A flicker of recognition flashed on the woman’s face. 

  “Impossible,” she growled. 

  “If that’s what you think,” Cas shot back evenly. 

  There was a large shadow that loomed above them, forming into the shape of a pair of huge wings that encompassed the vicinity. 

  “Stop!” 

  Jack, the kid from earlier, emerged from another part of the room with eyes lit brightly in gold. Cas turned to him with wariness but more so his fascination with the newcomer and the realization as to what Jack was.

  There were hurried footsteps that followed, and Deanno didn’t have to look to know who arrived. With the present amount of people, it was bound to be a shitfest. 

  “Rowena?!”

  The woman abruptly stopped, eyes darting past Cas and to the two men who came in. “Sam?” she whispered before confusedly glancing between the two Sam Winchesters. “Who is this fake?” she demanded. 

  The fighting had thankfully stopped, but another set of explanations was clearly needed. Again.

  Deanno groaned from the ground. He wished he was as lucky as Dean to be unconscious for all of these.

[maknaesdancersrappers]

🎶 We are still kids, but we're so in love; Fighting against all odds; I know we'll be alright this time 🎶

requested by: @taurusjaehyun

wc: 1,337 (unedited)

It’s eerily quiet. Well, it is well past midnight. The sky is dark and cloudy; the moon peeking through the thick clouds every now and then. A light shower earlier in the evening dampened the gardens, the grass staining and sticking to your bare feet. You tread on through the barely lit path, reaching the entrance of the 8 foot maze of thick hedges with floral vines creeping along its planes.

You look back at the castle, looking for signs that someone had noticed your absence in your chambers. You tighten your hold around the shawl you threw around your thin nightgown as a breeze blew by; a sense of uneasiness comes over you, as if you felt someone watching… or something.

Creatures of all sorts were known to duck into the maze, but royal guards would always comb through them every three hours to capture or slay unwanted beings. Just this morning, a lone wolf was captured; and its’ pack was bound to be close.

You start to regret coming out here, if not for the monthly routine you’ve grown accustomed to.

A hand touches your shoulder and you whip around, ready to scream, but the sound of your distress was drowned by a mouth that moved over yours. When you recognize the soft, brown hair, you let out a moan of relief and melt into the kiss.

“You’re insufferable, Prince Jaehyun! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” You harshly whisper with a scowl.

“I couldn’t help it, princess. Forgive me.” He chuckles lowly, pulling you into his arms.

“I wish we would stop meeting like this.” You sigh, resting your head against his chest.

Mayhaps, you will stop seeing each other after tonight. He and his father had come from the neighboring kingdom in hopes of forming an alliance with yours through marriage. Your father had easily agreed; you were next to be wed off, luckily the same age as Jaehyun although it would be a few more years before you’re of age. You steadily accepted your fate; you were raised to be wed off, to bear children and continue your lineage, to stand by a king as his queen and serve him. You were taught that this was inevitable. You didn’t have a choice. You could have been wed to some disgusting old man if you reached the proper age and no suitor had come, but you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

But the gods must have heard your silent cries at night as you try to sleep, because when Jaehyun entered the courtroom behind his father; standing just as tall and proud as him, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He was beyond beautiful, like he’d been carved straight from the purest ivory with delicate hair spun from the finest threads. He could pass as a king on looks alone.

Although your father had agreed to the proposition, you and Jaehyun weren’t able to formally meet until later in the evening when everyone had slept and you crept out of your room to visit the garden, a habit you picked up when you found it useless to cry in your room and opted to enjoy the night air surrounded by nature. Coincidentally, Jaehyun had the same sentiments in mind, already seated at a bench and watching the stars above.

Your secret affairs began from there; you two were clearly attracted to each other and you had him take you in the shadows of a shrub, beneath the stars. You met every night during the entire duration of his stay. When he had to return home, he came to visit every month; snuck into the castle as per your instructions and met you in the maze.

But nothing lasts forever; as it turns out, Jaehyun’s father had plans to overthrow your father once your kingdoms merged and had even slain your uncle, who acted as a messenger. War was coming. You could practically smell the scent of iron from the blacksmith. Clearly, you and Jaehyun’s arranged marriage was over.

“Do you love me, my princess?” He whispers, pressing the chastest kiss on your hair.

“With all my heart, my prince.” You raise your head to face him, “I love you.”

He smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his ears; the type of smile that doesn’t bring forth the dimples on his plump cheeks. “Run away with me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Elope with me, [Y/N]. Our kingdoms are seconds away from war. They’ll never approve of us, my father had slain your father’s brother with his own hands. I want to be with you, [Y/N]... Will you love me without my status as prince?”

“Of course.” You quickly answer, “I will love you no matter what… but… Jaehyun, this is treason. If we get caught… we’ll be killed.”

“Then let’s go now, we’ll be miles away by dawn.”

You make a sound of disbelief, “You’re insane! I can’t leave - not like this, I’m barely wearing anything! There must be another way. Maybe we can reason with them… stop the war before it happens-”

He cups your cheeks into his hands, warming them up. “Blood’s been shed, princess. The war is inevitable now. Do you think they would listen to us? Do you think they’d believe we’d have an inkling of what love actually is at our age?”

“Then how do you know we truly are in love?”

“I love you enough to leave my kingdom. I, the only heir to the throne, am willing to decline it to be with you.”

Your heart is beating furiously in your chest, “And where would we go? We have no gold nor silver on us. We barely have clothes to keep us warm if we leave now.”

“Then we’ll leave tomorrow night. Pack a light bag of what you need, eat a heavy meal, and meet me back here when the entire castle sleeps.”

“What about you? Do you have what you need?”

Jaehyun gives you a little grin, taking your hand and kissing your fingers, “If you come with me, then that’s all I need.”

A slightest sliver of doubt befalls you and he senses it, kneeling down on one knee.

“I might not be your future king anymore, but I will be your husband. You don’t have to worry about whores and concubines, or me going off to wars; you don’t have to serve me for I will serve you. I will do everything to give you a life of freedom from all the responsibilities you were born into. I have nothing to give you but my arms for warmth in the cold night, my shoulder for you to cry on, my back to carry you when your feet are tired, and my heart for you to love.”

Breathing deeply, you usher him to stand up and once he does, you kiss him, “That’s hardly nothing - that’s all I could ever ask from you… But I think it’s best if we leave now… give me a moment to grab proper clothes.”

“I’ll be right here.”

It took you no more than half an hour to gather what you needed as quickly and quietly as you can, evade patrolling guards on the hallways. You returned to Jaehyun with an excited smile and as he gives you the same exuberant grin, he takes your hand and runs with you through the maze he had easily memorized. You can’t help but giggle at the events as you clutch onto the skirt of your dress because this is it; the fairytale your lady-in-waiting read to you every night as a child, the stories you wished but knew could never come true. But here it is, unfolding in front of you as he helps you mount his stallion and sits behind you, kissing your shoulder with a breathless laugh. You had your prince, now your happy ending awaits; and with one last look at him, you ride off in search for it.

a/n: mayhaps i shed a tear or two

[geekofmanyforms]

New Beginning

Chapter Three

***This chapter has been edited by my wonderful Beta Casey. Let us know what ya think.***

Familiar soft lips caressed my neck, as calloused fingers lovingly stroked my hair. A pair of strong arms wrapped me in a firm embrace, and I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this safe, this loved. A warm summer breeze filtered through the trees around us, and I could smell the sweet scent of the woods we were hiding away in. The fingers of the man I was wrapped up in traveled towards my chin — lifting my face to meet his — and I found the most beautiful blue eyes. I reached out, running my fingers through his long blonde hair and smiled, brushing my lips against his. When our mouths met, it was like something inside me had finally found its place. His lips caressed mine, slowly for a moment, before he pulled me hard against his chest; his insistent hungry mouth parting my eager lips. I was clay in his hands, being formed into something beautiful and new. I gasped as his tongue ran across my lower lip. The heavy beating of my heart sped up to a crescendo, the beats seeming to spell out one word. Home, Home, Home.

Everything about this man felt right. My skin tingled as he ran his hands down my waist, lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him, giggling as he walked me over to the nearest tree; backing me up against it. A deep moan reverberated through his chest and I sighed loudly, grasping his hair tightly in my hands. Before I could pull him towards me for another kiss: a loud banging echoed throughout the woods, the trees surrounding us shook with each bang — their leaves falling to the forest floor. I blinked wildly in amazement, glancing around us at the falling leaves. I looked at the man — who it seemed was still caught up in our shared moment — and seemingly unaware of what had just occurred. Shaking my head, I decided to ignore it and just enjoy the firm God in front of me. I leaned forward, my lips hungry for his, but again before I could taste him, another loud bang echoed through the forest. The tree I was being held up against shook violently, my back arching in protest as my spine vibrated. I lowered myself to the ground, sighing deeply. My eyes tried to stay focused as the world around me started to become fuzzy; darkening around the edges. A dream. This had all been a dream. I held on tightly to the man."The Hybrid," my mind finally supplied. I took in one last look, his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at me. My Nik.

"Elarrrraaaa?!"

My eyes flew open at the loud banging on my bedroom door. I looked over at the clock and groaned — it was way too early for this.

"Elara?! You up yet? " Jeremy hollered through the door obnoxiously.

"Jer! I'm awake, for God's sake! Please end your obnoxious yammering!" I yelled back.

This earned me a laugh from the other side of my door. I pulled the pillow over my face, trying to remember the dream I had been having. It involved me and a particular Original Hybrid. I'm not really sure if it was a dream, or maybe memory. Whatever it was, it had been good — no — great.

It had also been a nice reprieve from all the stress that I had piling up since meeting with the Salvatores. Seeing Damon had let loose all of my memories. Now I knew everything. I knew how I had become a Reincarnate, why I live life over and over again. Being cursed by the Original witch over a thousand years ago: I will forever be forced to live until my eighteenth birthday, when the curse will activate, sending me on to a premature and painful death. Then, I will be reborn starting a new life. In my new life, I may or may not remember my past, and who I have been to others. It really depends on what sparks a memory. That's one of the worst parts of it, losing huge chunks of my life for long periods of time. I placed my fingers on the bridge of my nose, placing pressure against a potential headache.

I heard rustling from beside me, "What do you want Bekah?" I moaned in frustration, my voice muffled through the fluffy pillow.

A small sigh erupted to my left. I pulled the pillow away from my face and turned my head. As I was expecting, Rebekah sat beside me, head tilted downwards as she twirled a piece of her curly blonde hair between her fingers. Her white flapper girl dress, as always, brought a smile to my face.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, "Oh, don't tell me the eldest Salvatore has already put you under his spell?"

She made a few dramatic gagging sounds as I threw my pillow at her. I knew full well it wouldn't do anything but fly right through her, but I just liked making her laugh. She has enough pain to deal with, so, when she visits me, I try to make it better, even if it's only for a moment.

I succeeded; She laughed brightly at my false attempt to hit her. I winked and flopped out of bed, and then made my way to my closet.

"If I remember correctly, you fell for the charms of Salvatore once as well, sister,"

I moved a few outfits around and then looked back at her with a smile.

"So Beks, are you gonna help me decide what to wear while your here? I know how much you love today's fashion..." I joked, earning an eye roll.

she sighed. "Ugh, no. Sadly I'm here on business,"

My smile died as she eyed me warily. I lowered the clothes I had in my hands and tried to keep my face from showing too much trepidation. She stood and eerily made her way towards me, her eyes sad and distant — this couldn't be good.

"What is it this time, Rebekah? You know I don't have long to help you anyways," I whispered.

I was using this moment to casually let loose that I had restored all of my memories. Rebekah frowned at me, knowing what I meant, but not knowing I had found out about my impending doom. I needed to tell her that when I had remembered Damon, I had recalled everything about my curse. Including everything that came with it, my life with the Originals being a huge part of that. Katherine, Emily, and I had discussed my curse during the life I had spent with the Salvatores, just before I had died when she had been shacking up with the brothers. I should have hated her, and I did, to an extent, but I had lived too many lives to judge hastily. Damon was as much to blame for coming back early and not finding me as she was.

Rebekah stopped in her tracks, watching my expression closely with watery blue eyes. I turned away from her, placing the clothes I had been holding back in my closet. I casually looked through a few more options as I swallowed deeply, trying to remove the lump in my throat.

"I just turned 17, Beks — which means the curse will take effect on my next birthday. I only have a year,"

I fought back tears as she brushed her hands through her curls nervously. She stepped forward, joining me in front of my closet.

"When did you remember?" she whispered.

I looked into her eyes, ignoring the grey, ghosty sheen of her skin.

"When my memories of Damon were restored, I remembered everything Katherine had told me the day before I died," I explained.

Her eyes rounded — her confusion was evident. I guess I'd never told her about Katherine.

"Katerina once told you about the curse...?" she asked in shock.

I nodded slowly, wary of her reaction. "Even if she hadn't, all of the memories of my initial life with you and your family came back to me as well. The ones with Katherine were just shown to me first."

Bekah placed a hand on her hip and raised a brow, clearly wanting a more thorough answer. I rolled my eyes and took another outfit from the rack, letting out an exasperated huff when Bekah shook her hand in front of it with a disgusted frown. I placed it back on the shelf and continued.

"Katherine and I have always had an understanding," I said nonchalantly.

It was hard to explain my relationship with Katherine. My time with the Salvatores was not the first I had met Katerina Petrova. Rebekah narrowed her eyes at me, knowing I wasn't entirely open with her.

"Listen Beks, trust me, kay? I promise to help you as much as I can between now and my next birthday," I pleaded,

I threw out my best puppy dog eyes; some of the things I remembered needed to stay with me for now. Let's just say, I had done something the Original Hybrid wouldn't be too fond of...

Rebekah tilted her head before nodding quickly, her blonde hair bouncing. "Ok, well I just wanted to let you know your old pal Katerina is on her way here. She plans on setting things up ahead of Nik. She hopes to earn her freedom by helping with his curse,"

Rebekah let out a haughty laugh. I frowned profoundly and sent my closet a brief look of disdain before I walked over to my chest of draws. I grabbed my nearest pair of jeans and hopped lightly to get my foot in the leg. Rebekah watched me in interest, still adjusting to the fashion of this period.

"So, that's just great. Does she know about me yet?" I growled in annoyance, throwing out my best bit of sarcasm.

I blew a bit of hair out of my face, glanced back at Rebekah, then yanked a black tank top over my head.

"No, not yet. I'm sure she would have called Elijah already if she had,"

She observed my face and shook her head when I reacted as expected. A small smile lifted the edge of my lips at Elijah's name. I missed him, he had always been a brother to me. I ignored Rebekah's smirk and headed over to my vanity, plopping myself down on the stool. I grabbed my hairbrush, quickly yanking it through my tangled red hair. I could see Rebekah in the reflection of my mirror, wincing as I manhandled my hair. She reached out towards me, her hand hovering inches lovingly from my head. She flexed her fingers as if she wanted to run them through my fiery locks as she once had, before pulling away slowly and frowning. She had always loved brushing my hair. I pulled the brush away and sent her a half-smile. I turned around on my stool and looked up into her eyes.

"Soon, Beks. I promise. I will get you out of that coffin," I said as my voice broke.

Rebekah leaned down towards me and ran a finger over the air near my cheek, a lost look shadowing her eyes.

"I know you will. If anyone can, it will be you."

Standing back up, she tossed a few loose curls over her shoulder and looked down at me with a cheeky grin.

"And, to answer the question you refuse to ask but are dying to know, Elijah is doing fine."

She looked away and frowned deeply as she closed her eyes, lowering her head she began rubbing her neck roughly.

"That being said...so is Nik. He is excited about getting closer to ending his curse," she said, the last bit with strong distaste in her voice.

I took in a sharp breath and turned back around, avoiding her searching reflection as I rolled my eyes, shrugging nonplussed. She knew where I stood on the subject of the Hybrid in question, so why bring it up?

"Elandra, just be careful this time — you know it has always ended badly. The first is why you were cursed, to begin with. Our family isn't good for you," she said regretfully.

I looked up at her reflection with a questioning look and found myself sinking into her deep blue eyes. I didn't want to discuss Nik. It was a sore subject for me. She knew that better than anyone — her entire family did.

"Beks, I have no plans to repeat the past. After all, it would be ludicrous to even try. It's not like it could last, and I don't think he could handle it," I whispered "I don't wish to be the cause of one of his massacres — not again," I added, placing my brush back on the table.

Her face filled with understanding. We had been through so much together, and I would be forever grateful for whatever allowed her to visit me while she was in the in-between. I stood up and turned around, standing face to face with the apparition of my best friend and soul sister. I brought my fingers close to her transparent face and traced the air near her cheek. I wanted to get as close to her as possible, even if neither she nor I could feel it.

"I gotta go, sis. Check-in with me later, ok?" I asked with a smile.

She agreed with a silent nod before disappearing entirely. I took a deep breath and sprayed myself with my Burberry perfume before grabbing my red bag and heading downstairs. Jenna and Elena were talking as I entered the kitchen.

"Elena, Do I look like an adult? As in respectfully parental?" Jenna asked.

I caught the brown doe eyes of my fraternal twin sister scan my outfit with distaste. My shoulders sagged, and I tried to keep my mood from falling as fast as my stomach when I noticed how utterly flawless she looked — as always. Her long, silky brown hair caught the light from the kitchen window as she moved around the room. Damned perfect Petrovas. I shook off my self-consciousness and gave Jenna a thumbs up brightly.

"Depends on where you're going," Elena said flatly.

I rolled my eyes at Elena and grabbed a pop tart from the cabinet.

"Don't listen to her Jenna, you look hot — and a respectful hot at that!" I laughed.

She gave me a small twirl before she spoke, a laugh still in her voice.

"Jeremy's parent-teacher conference — Hair up or down?" she asked.

She pulled her hair up, and then let it fall to demonstrate. I shrugged.

"Well, one is sexy stewardess," I said. "The other-"

"-Boozy housewife," Elena interjected.

Jenna smiled at us both. "Up it is. You're both feisty today," she said.

"Well I don't know about Elara, but I feel good today, which is rare, so I've decided to go with it. Fly free, walk in the sunshine, and all that stuff," Elena said.

Elena took a bite of her apple as she eyed my pop tart with distaste. I bit into it forcefully, moaning loudly and rolling my eyes into the back of my head.

"I'm just a happy go lucky kinda gal, Aunt Jenna, ya know that. Can't be sad forever," I looked around the kitchen as I made my way to the fridge for some lemonade. "Where is Jeremy?"

Elena looked at Jenna expectantly.

"He left early. Something about getting to woodshop early to finish a birdhouse," Jenna said, shrugging slightly.

I glanced at Elena, and our eyes met for a moment before looking back at Jenna. I popped open the lid of my lemonade and took a swig. Poor Aunt Jenna…

"There is no woodshop... is there?" she asked, her tone falling.

"No," Elena and I said in unison.

Jenna shook her head and placed a hand on her forehead. I stepped up beside Elena and took her hand, leaving Jenna to prepare for her conference, knowing she wouldn't be happy afterward. Jeremy hadn't been coping very well. It was harder on him and Elena then it was for me. After all, these weren't the first parents I had lost. It really does get more comfortable with time. I would see them and all of my other families again very soon, even if it would only last a short time before my next reincarnation.

"I'm driving, Lena!" I shouted.

I snatched the keys from her hands swiftly. Elena sighed and tossed her bag in the back seat before hopping into the passenger side. I slipped behind the car and got into the driver's side. I really loved driving and wanted to take advantage while I could. I never knew if there would still be cars when I lived next. We all could be Apparating everywhere by then. That would be so cool!

"What are you thinking about? You have a huge grin on your face," Elena questioned

"The future. Just wondering about the future," I said, sliding on my sunglasses.

I looked into the rearview, briefly noticing a grey-skinned, blonde-headed Original, smirking and shaking her head from the back seat. I ignored her and continued driving to one of the seven circles of hell, also known as High School.

Elena and I sat quietly in History while Mr. Tanner rattled on about Mystic Falls 145 years ago. Ugh, like I wanted to relive that. It had been rough enough the first time, with corsets and fluffy full-size dresses.

I kept my eyes planted on the shy flirting going on between Stefan and my sister. His spiky dark hair was easy enough to find in a small group like this, even without his striking good looks to add with it. I started keeping a tally of every time they would glance at one another, only to quickly look away. It was sickening. Of course, anyone with my past love life would be annoyed by new, young love — well, young on my sister's side, that is.

I laughed at my own joke, earning a look from Mr. Tanner. I smiled sweetly and ushered for him to continue. I started watching the time instead of the young couple when they finally stopped their glances after getting caught by Mr. Tanner.

I giggled quietly as the bell rang, giving me my freedom. School is a terrible burden after so many centuries of being forced to go. I sidestepped after almost bumping into Elena, waiting by the door for Stefan. I was about to walk away when I noticed him pull a copy of Wuthering Heights from his bag. I snatched it out of his hands quickly, shocked when I turned it to the title page and found my former initials in the corner, written clearly in ink and quill. I caught Stefan's weary gaze and quickly looked at a shocked Elena. I must look like a crazy person to her. My face pale, green eyes wide and hurt. It was silly feeling betrayed by Stefan, but I did. He had given me this book on my very last birthday, and now he was handing it over to my sister. Was he giving it to her? I cleared my throat and handed it to her.

"Wow, a first edition. That's... awesome," I said, a lump in my throat.

I excused myself before Stefan could stop me. I ran into the bathroom and found an empty stall just as a flashback took over. I could see my eighteenth birthday celebration at the Salvatore manor. Katherine, Stefan, and his father surrounded me with smiles on their faces. I knew somewhere Damon was hiding out, too scared to tell me he was home and in love with someone else. Stefan had set up the whole thing, knowing how sad I would be without Damon. I watched myself open up Stefan's gift to me. Wuthering Heights. I had been so excited to read it, even if I knew I never would, at least not as Elandra. I snapped out of the past and back into the present, sweat covering my face and arms.

I was shaking as a headache took over. I wobbled on the way to the sink. I turned on the faucet and filled my cupped hands with cold water, pouring it over my face and onto my neck. I held onto both sides of the sink and looked at myself. My dark, auburn red hair, was matted to my pale face, my ordinarily green eyes were dulled by a rampaging migraine that was quickly consuming me. I looked away from my pallid features and took a few deep breaths. Bright red against the surrounding snow-white caught my attention, and I looked down to find drops of crimson blood had fallen into the sink, I reached up and wiped the blood from my nose. I quickly rinsed off my hand and grabbed a paper towel. I could hear someone enter the bathroom but didn't bother looking at whoever it was. My head was tilted up, eyes focused on the ceiling as I tried to stop the annoying nosebleed that occasionally accompanied my migraines.

"Are you ok? I saw you run in here," Caroline asked.

I turned my eyes in her direction and shook my head gently my neck, joining in on the party of pain. I was beginning to feel weak and tired. The agony in my head was almost too much to bear. I looked at Caroline and frowned.

"Yeah, sure. Just one of my headaches," I tried.

She gave me a dirty look, always knowing when I was lying.

"Let me take you home, ok?" she asked, reaching out and taking the hand that wasn't trying to contain my nosebleed. She knew how bad my headaches could get, and I appreciated her concern but knew she couldn't help me, not this time. I pulled away and grabbed my bag, wiping at my nose one last time.

"That's ok Care Bear, I'll have Elena drive me. I'll meet up with you later," I said, heading towards the door.

Caroline pulled my hair away from the strap of my bag and patted my upper back with a sad smile. I squinted at the bright lights of the hallway as I opened the bathroom door, absently waving goodbye as I quickly headed away. I needed help, and I knew where I could get it. This headache was unlike the others. I had taken in too many memories in the last two days. I felt like I was dying, and since it was all because of the Salvatores, a Salvatore was gonna fix it. I pushed open the doors leading to the parking lot and stepped into the shadows at the side of the building.

"Stefan!" I called out, knowing if he were near, he would hear me.

After only five seconds, I felt a gush of wind, and the youngest Salvatore stood in front of me. I knew he could smell the blood because his face scrunched up in fear and thirst. I started to wobble again, and he quickly caught me.

"Elandra! What happened?!" he whispered in panic, his eyes running over me searching for an injury.

"The memories, they are too much this time. Please help me...it hurts, Stefan," I cried, falling to my knees in front of him.

He looked around, trying to figure out how to help me. His confusion was starting to annoy me, so I pulled his warm wrist to my lips for a second, unable to speak anymore. Even the sound of the breeze around us was like a knife to my head. Lifting me back to my feet, he finally understood what I needed. He bit into his wrist, then slowly placed it against my lips. Trying to ignore the foul, metallic taste of the thick warm liquid, I drank heavily for a moment. It was gross, but I was already feeling better. I leaned against Stefan, letting the last of the pain disappear.

"Thank you," I said, wrapping my arms around him.

He brushed my hair down and patted me lightly on the back. I could tell he was uncomfortable, so I stepped back to give him his space. Blood sharing could be very intimate, and for us, it was weird and awkward.

"Are you ok now?" he asked gently.

I wiped my mouth with the paper towel I still had and nodded.

"Yes, it's just a lifetime of memories coming back in a matter of days. Not to mention the memories I still have of this life and others. It's too much for my human mind sometimes," I explained.

We both looked around; luckily, we were still alone in the shadowed alcove off to the side of the school. The leaves rustled around us as we quickly stepped from the shadows, joining everyone else. Stefan tensed behind me and grabbed my hand, pulling me with him towards the parking lot. A large crowd was gathering, laughing and shouting, I was confused until I noticed Tyler and Jeremy standing in a defensive stance in front of each other. I moaned in annoyance as Jeremy shoved Tyler against his car.

"Walk away, Gilbert. It's your final warning," Tyler spat, his hands fisted in Jeremy's shirt.

I let go of Stefan's hand and ran ahead. I quickly stepped in between Tyler and my idiot brother, my hands outstretched on either side. I looked at them both as my red hair flew around me. They both stood back with their fists clenched in front of them, ready for a fight and breathing heavily. I could feel my magic trying to aid me, but I kept it pushed down.

"Listen, Ty, please let it go," I begged him, my eyes pleading.

His own eyes softened for a moment until Jeremy ruined everything by opening his big mouth, unaware of Tyler's little wolfie problem, which makes it very difficult for him to control his temper.

I had been able to sense Ty's inner wolf ever since the first day I met him. As a witch — it had always been something I had been able to do. At this moment, I could sense his inner wolf, teeth bared in anger. Even if he had yet to activate his curse, the wolf was still there — waiting to be released. Tyler's aura was flaring violently at Jeremy's challenge.

"No, this is your final warning, dick. I'm sick of watching you play Vickie. If you hurt her one more time, I swear to God I will kill you," Jeremy threatened.

Tyler moved towards him, and I quickly stepped in front of him, pushing against Jeremy, forcing my brother to walk away. Stefan followed right beside us with Elena observing Tyler. Where had she been during this whole thing? I shoved a protesting Jeremy into the back seat of my car, capturing several odd stares from the people around us, especially Stefan. He knew I shouldn't have the strength I do. I ignored them all and kept my focus on Jeremy, still trying to get at Tyler. I slammed his door shut and turned towards Elena. She was standing beside Stefan, her hand in his and face lined with stress.

"You coming, Lena?" I asked her in a huff of breath.

She looked at Stefan and sighed before hopping in the passenger seat.

"Elandra, we need to talk. There are still a few things I'd like to know," Stefan whispered before I could get in the car.

I stared right at him, officially done with the day. He observed me like I was a wild animal that could bolt at any moment.

"Yeah, I'm sure there are, but right now I'm dealing with family issues. I'm sure you can understand that." I told him, leaning into the car.

I stopped and looked over the top of the car and straight at him again. "Oh, and you need to tell my sister what she is and what you are," I whispered, almost silently, knowing he could hear me.

His face froze, but I didn't care. It needed to be said, especially since Katherine was on her way — along with someone much worse. I slid into the car and started it up. I pulled out of the parking lot with my two annoyed siblings in tow. I tried to ignore the thoughts that tried to fight their way into my head.

Who is going to take care of them when I have to leave?

These are the types of thoughts that keep me up at night. Though this was the main thought, I would have every lifetime, this one I seemed to have it more than usual.

As we pulled into our driveway, Jeremy jumped out of the car and took off for the house. Before I could shut off the engine, Elena insisted she needed to make a pit stop. I huffed, irritated that my precocious twin sister was dragging me off to who knows where.

She coerced me to stop the car in front of the Salvatore Boarding House and hopped out quickly. I shut off the car and jumped out after her; I could sense only one brother home, and it was not the one she was looking for.

I stepped in front of Elena and opened the door without knocking, heading inside.

Elena stood on the front porch, her face scrunched up in shock.

"You can't just burst into someone's house, El!" she quickly protested.

"Come on, Lena. Stop being so perfect!" I whined.

Elena's mouth fell open, and she grunted in annoyance, snapping her mouth closed with a huff.

"Fine. Stefan? Stefan?" she called out.

I left her in the doorway and went to make myself a drink. I avoided the red stuff that they had, yet again, haphazardly left in a jug by the Scotch. I would need to remind them that they were supposed to be playing human, and humans tended to keep their blood inside them — not on their bars. I rolled my eyes and tuned in to Elena, now speaking to the elder Salvatore brother.

"You must be Elena. I'm Damon, Stefan's brother," Damon said.

I stepped into the entrance and leaned against the wall a few feet behind Damon. I smiled, inwardly at his predatory posture. He was so different from the man I had once loved, but centuries of a life cursed with Vampirism would do that, I figured.

Especially when he spent that life hell-bent on revenge.

I was told the story of their Vampiric life by none other than the one who had ruined it, Katherine. She had found me centuries after I had left the life I had lived with the Salvatores. She owed me a life debt and wanted to repay it by helping me with my curse. I had saved her life once when she had still been a human. Saving her had led me to my own death, due to a very angry Hybrid. I had met Katherine when she was due to be sacrificed and pitied her. I hadn't been aware of who she was at the time and decided to help her. I very stupidly helped her escape her captivity. I hadn't received all my memories in that life yet, so I was unaware of exactly why she was being sacrificed. When Nik came across me later, he was unaware that I wasn't a doppelganger of the woman he once knew, but her reincarnated. He was already beyond angry at Katherine's escape, so in his fury, he snapped my neck.

That was the only time Nik had ever seen me; I keep myself hidden from him and Elijah. The only Originals to know of my existence and curse are Kol and Rebekah. For now, at least, they are both daggered. As far as Rebekah knows, Nik is still unaware of my affliction.

I followed Damon and Elena into the living room, staying out of Damon's view. He was so enamored with my sister that he hadn't even noticed me yet. I ignored my silly jealousy, reminding myself that this life was just as temporary as the others, and the Salvatores had always had a soft spot for the Petrova doppelgangers. I was snapped out of my daydreaming by the mention of Stefan's ex. I stepped further into the shadows of the large living room, curiously awaiting Elena's response. Was he going to tell her what she was?

"The last one?" Elena asked.

Damon stood in front of her place on the couch. "Yeah. Katherine, his girlfriend? Oh, you two haven't had the awkward exes talk yet," he said, feigning embarrassment.

"Nope," Elena spoke softly, looking down at her fidgeting hands.

Damon gasped slightly. "Oops, well, I'm sure it will come up now. Or maybe he didn't want to tell you because he didn't want you to think he was on the rebound. We all know how those relationships end,"

I leaned against the bookcase behind me. Damon was definitely trying to come between Stefan and Elena, and that wasn't something my Damon would have ever done. I guess the man I knew really was gone…

I ignored the rest of their conversation and decided to head upstairs. I was bored with eavesdropping, so snooping it was. I opened every door I walked passed until I found a bedroom that could only belong to Damon. It was a warm and inviting room, with a massive four-poster king-size bed that sat in the middle of the room. A pile of books sat beside the bed, and I chuckled at the memories they invoked. He had always loved reading before bed.

I walked over to the large oak chest of drawers along the right side of the room and pulled open the first drawer.

"Silk boxers, huh," I said with a chuckle, lifting a jet black pair with a grin.

I closed the drawer and moved on to the next. Unexpectedly, I found a small leather photo album underneath a pair of jeans. I checked over my shoulder towards the door to make sure I was still alone, then slowly opened the album. The first picture was of Katherine, of course. I fought my irritation and flipped to the next page. Next was Damon and Stefan on their horses, faces lit up with silent laughter. I smiled down at this picture, knowing that I had been just out of view happily laughing with the man I loved and my future brother-in-law. I flipped to the next image and held in a gasp. It was me.

I was in the garden, painting. My long hair fell gracefully against my back, and concentration was plastered on my face.

"That's my favorite," Damon said from the doorway.

I jumped, dropping the album. Luckily, it never hit the floor. I felt a stiff breeze, and Damon was beside me, holding the pictures in his hands.

"This is very fragile — we don't want it destroyed, now do we," he said, stiffly.

I looked into his crystal blue eyes and almost forgot that we had ever been apart.

"It's the picture I gave you when you left," I whispered,

It took me a moment to remember my manners, but I was just so shocked he still had it. I stepped away and leaned my head down.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have invaded your privacy,"

I walked further away from him and sat down on his bed, crossing my feet beneath me. He eyed me closely.

"You're different," he said.

"Well, yeah, of course, I'm a bit different. This is a different era. I've lived several lives since we last met," I chuckled, brushing my hair over my shoulder.

Damon sat beside me, taking my hand in his. "I thought I'd never see you again. I never forgave Stefan for what happened to you," he spat.

I gave his hand a squeeze and pulled away, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

"Damon, it wasn't his fault — I chose to walk home alone. He didn't even know I had left until it was too late."

I wanted to tell him it wasn't his either, but that would mean revealing that fact that I had known all along about his early return from the war, and that he had chosen Katherine. I was sure blaming Stefan for my demise was just a way to hate someone else for what he really blamed himself for.

Damon turned away from me, pain written all over his face. "Did you suffer?" he asked, his voice cracking.

I didn't expect that question, so I wasn't sure whether to tell him the truth or not. Yes, I suffered. Of course, I did. It's a part of the curse; every death I face must be painful. Looking at his awaiting face, I knew I couldn't tell him that. Only two people knew — Katherine and Rebekah.

"No, It was quick," I whispered, choking back the truth.

He ran his fingers through my hair, his eyes asking me for permission. The world around me froze. I wanted to kiss him, to feel the love that had once lived between us, but something was stopping me. I could list off all the reasons why I shouldn't kiss Damon, but the one real reason that was holding me back at this moment had escaped me. Still, I knew I had to say no.

"Damon, we can't. Not now. I'd like to get to know you again, and there are a few things you need to work through — like Elena and Katherine,"

I knew he still held a torch for Katherine. She had really dug her claws into him. I stood, allowing the distance to snap him back into reality.

"You're right. How did you know about Katherine and me?" he asked, almost guiltily.

I wrung my fingers together, the awkwardness of the question makes me nervous.

"She told me, actually. I met her again in the life after the one I shared with you," I said,

I decided to keep the fact that I knew he was with her while he was supposed to be with me to myself. Some things I'd hoped to never rehash, although, I hoped that he would really listen to me and understand what I was saying as I revealed the truth of her location. Naturally, he chose to ignore it. Damon's face fell.

"Listen, I never expected you to stay celibate, Damon," I laughed.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I couldn't hold his gaze.

"So, there's been others for you...?" he asked grumpily.

I kept my eyes on my feet and shuffled slightly.

"Yes, Damon. I have even loved again, but you have to remember, I didn't always remember you...us. Those memories don't always return," I told him.

He sped in front of me, causing me to yelp in surprise. He leaned in, his nose inches from mine, his eyes looked me over slowly.

"Well, now that I have you back, you should know, I won't give you up again so easily," he said firmly.

I wanted to tell him the truth that he would lose me again in only a year, but I refused to see that kind of pain on his face. After all, he would let me go, he would let me go for Elena. She was as much his weakness as his brother's. I knew after he realized that Katherine wasn't as trapped as he thought she was, he would finally realize she never truly loved him. It would always be Stefan, and truthfully, not even him. Katherine would always choose herself. Until then, I would let him believe what he wanted. I would play along… for now.

"Well, let the games begin. I'm excited too, yet again, be courted by you, Mr. Salvatore," I said with a curtsy.

His answering smile was blinding. A knock on the door interrupted us, bringing a frown to my face.

"Come in little brother," Damon sighed with a roll of his eyes.

I elbowed him in the ribs, laughing at his exaggerated gasp. Stefan walked in, stepping beside me. He looked at Damon and quickly noticed the little distance he put between us. I watched a thought pass across his face before being hidden as he schooled his features. He was angry about something, and I could guess exactly what that was.

He stepped in front of me and took my hand. I leaned my head back in surprise and looked into his eyes. The mischievous and vicious look that was passing through his forest green orbs reminded me too much of Nik at that moment, and that wasn't a good look on Stefan.

"I think you should stay here tonight, Elandra. We don't want something happening while my blood is in your system," Stefan said smirking at Damon.

I pulled my hand from his and growled at his thinly veiled attempt to piss Damon off. I knew it was because Damon had told Elena about Katherine, but still, it was a dick move. I had thought better of Stefan. I stepped closer to him and shook my head in disgust. His smirk melted a bit.

Damon's face fell as he started to come up with his own idea of what led to my feeding from Stefan. He looked at me and then Stefan and his eyes blazed with cold fury.

"You fed Elandra your blood!?" he shouted, pushing Stefan against the wall at Vamp speed.

I quickly followed their movements, a perk of being what I was. Damon held Stefan against the wall by his shirt, his face inked in black veins, his white teeth pointed and bared at Stefan's neck.

Stefan avoided looking at me and smirked, laughing.

"Yeah, she called for me in the shadows beside the school. Again, you weren't there, were you, Damon? But I was, as always," Stefan spat.

I could feel my hands shaking in anger. Damon's face was broken. I could imagine what he was picturing, and it was far from what actually happened. My power surged through me, and I couldn't hold it back anymore. I threw my hands forward and pushed a force field between them. Once they were separated, I pushed them to the floor, holding them, making sure neither could move. They both looked up at me in shocked horror. Damon's oceanic blue eyes were worried, and he strained as he tried to reach out to me.

"How dare you, Stefan! I asked for your help today. I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?!" I shouted, my voice echoed in the large room.

Stefan closed his eyes, too ashamed to meet my gaze. I used a little extra force to push him further into the floor, enjoying the cracking of his bones as they began to protest, and looked away towards his brother.

"Damon, you should know me better than that. Even if I have changed, I would never do anything with your brother. I am not Katherine! I was sick and used his blood to heal myself." I forcefully spat. "Now, I'm leaving. I know you both are probably a little freaked right now, but I want nothing to do with either of you at the moment,"

I spun on my heels and hightailed it out of the bedroom. I sped down the stairs towards the front door and found Elena waiting for me in the car. Her doe eyes wide, she could sense my anger, but knew better than to ask me what happened. I slipped into the driver's seat and gripped the steering wheel tightly as I started the car, speeding out of the driveway, tires squealing. I finally released the brothers when I could no longer see the large stone house in my rearview.

Masterlist

[waypathfinder]

Crimson Lane - Chapter 13 - The Long Dark Night (Part 2)

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot 

Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

Links

Tumblr Master Post

Archive of our Own (from the start)

Archive of our Own (chapter)

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Chapter Text 

Rain trickled down the tinted windows of the black Mercedes Vito. Within, Kylo rested his head against the back seat, listening to the gentle roar of rubber tyres on wet bitumen. Gloved fingers threaded and eyes closed. Head bobbing as though he were sleeping.

The van sped from the red-light district of Mustafar. Streetlights beamed onto Kylo’s face, the shadow of rain dancing across his features. The van weaved through the darkness until the lights became sparser and the road rough. Telltale signs they were coming into the rundown region of Jakku. 

They came to a stop and Kylo opened his eyes. The door of the van slid open and the smell of musty rain pitted against dry streets flooded the interior.

“Ren,” Dom said, voice quiet. “We’re here. The guys are waiting for you inside.”

Kylo nodded. Dom wasn’t like the others. At five foot seven, he was the smallest of the knights, contracted by Snoke for tech work and driving. He was a gentle soul with a crooked smile and a love of small wonders, bugs mainly. Snoke had busted him hacking into his archives four years ago. Then, he’d been given the same sentence as Kylo: Freedom, at a cost. Now Dom had a string of offences that were far worse: fraud, embezzlement, hacking and sabotage. He couldn’t walk away now, even if he wanted to.

Kylo stepped out into the gutterless street, pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck as he dashed across the pavement. The road was unnaturally dark and eerily quiet, with wisps of steam rising from the surface.

That familiar blue door was as dark as the ocean floor now, the edges of it cracked and splintered, where Hux and the knights had kicked through the lock.

Kylo reached out, ready to push it open.

“Wait!” Dom held the barrel of the gun, handle outward for Kylo to grasp. “You’ll need this.”

Kylo furrowed his brow, taking it slowly. “Don’t ever hold a gun like that.”

“I trust you, Kylo.”

“You shouldn’t trust anyone here, least of all me.” He took the gun carefully, checking the safety was in place, and slipping it beneath the waistband of his trousers.

He pushed the door again and this time the hinges creaked loudly and with a strained breath, he stepped inside.

Blood.  

It was everywhere.

On the floor, on the walls, the stench of it acrid and sweet in the air.

“Holy shit,” Dom whispered behind him.

“You don’t need to come in.”

Dom nodded, backing away, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll wait outside.”

Kylo kept his head straight, staring ahead with half-closed lids.

Drip, drip, drip . The rain was leaking through the hallway light, creating a pool of water on the hall rug. Kylo stepped over it. A gust of wind pushed the door open from behind him, as a draft crept down his back in an icy chill. He turned around.

He was alone. But still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling something or someone was walking with him.

Ahead, there was a light in the living room, with the shapes of Hux, Kane and Seth, hovering around a central figure.

He froze in place at the sound of Lor’s weary words spilling out.

“I already told you, I’m not working with anyone. It's only ever been me. I used old access codes and--”

“That’s not really true though, is it?” Hux’s weaselling words followed. He turned to his knights. “Gentleman, help him remember.”

LIke a cackle of hyenas, Hux and two of the knights circled around Lor, who was tied up in his dining chair. Kylo set his jaw in place, resolving to show no emotion at the sight of his Godfather bruised and bloodied, the hair of his beard burnt and the skin beneath it raw and glistening. Kylo looked through him, to the wall behind, forcing out the sight of the broken man.

“Well, well, well. So good of you to join us, Ren.” Hux marched to him. The son-of-a-bitch didn’t have a single hair out of place. Meanwhile, the rest of the knights were puffing, knuckles red and splattered with dried blood.

There was an emptiness in the air and inside him. From some far-off place in his consciousness, Kylo could hear the stoic guard of the grandfather clock, bearing witness. Each tick, counting down the seconds San Tekka had to live.

It was too much, and the old man’s head dropped to the side, staring at the floor, pink saliva dripping from his cracked lip.

“Did you get anything?” Kylo asked, trying not to flinch at the sight of Lor's pathetic form.

“Actually, yes.” Hux walked over to the dining table. The one Kylo had sat at mere hours ago. His glass of water, still there, untouched.

“Here.” Hux handed him a small cylinder-shaped USB drive.

Kylo stared at it for far too long. There was no mistaking it. He had hidden and protected that piece of hardware for the last four months, using every moment Snoke had left his laptop unlocked to carefully steal information from it and on to the drive. It had everything he needed to bring Snoke and the First Order to justice once and for all. It was the only way he could make Snoke pay and release everyone else he had trapped in his vicious cycle of crime.

And there Hux held it in the palm of his hand like it was nothing. Without the drive there was no escape, Snoke would always find him and hunt him down. Kylo had tried to run away once, as a teenager… it had not ended well. He still had the scars to prove it. There was no choice but to stay now and continue playing the game, waiting to be caught or killed.

Kylo’s world was crumbling around him; everything he had hoped to put into place was now crashing down like a landslide. He cleared his throat, blinking back the hint of tears.

“What’s on it then?”

“Everything. You, me, Snoke. Every underhanded job the First Order has ever done.”

Kylo nodded, slowly, eyes transfixed on the drive. “It’s a good thing we found it then.” He pocketed the drive but Hux reached out.

“It’s a good thing I found it.” Hux reached out with an open palm, waiting.

“Come now, Kylo. Finders keepers.”

“I’ll take it back to Snoke myself. He’s expecting it”

“You’re right, he is expecting it, which is why he asked me to deliver it personally .”

Kylo pursed his lips, reluctantly placing the drive back in Hux’s waiting palm.

Hux’s fingers closed around it quickly, sliding it into his own trouser pocket.

“You know, there was an awful lot of dirt on you. You should be thankful it didn’t find its way to the press.”

“We all are, I imagine.”

Hux chortled. “Yes, I suppose so.” And then he looked around the room, pulling Kylo aside. “There’s no way San Tekka would have had access to this kind of information. You know what this means?”

“There’s someone else on the inside.”

“One of the girls, perhaps?”

“It’s possible.”

“I’ve been working on him for hours, but the son-of-bitch won’t talk. Maybe you can be more convincing.”

Kylo looked over at Lor thoughtfully. His godfather. The man who had cleaned him up after his first school fight so his mother wouldn’t scold him, the man who was there for them when his father couldn’t be, the man protecting him, even now.

“He’s weak. If he knew anything he would have talked. Anyway, Snoke wants him dead.”

“Hmm,” Hux mused to himself. “It seems like a waste.”

There was a flicker of movement from the dining chair, as Lor coughed himself awake. Kylo nodded his head towards him, indicating that they should be quiet.

“What do I care if he listens to any of it? He’s a dead man anyway.” He turned to Lor, pointing his finger in the shape of a gun. “You hear that, old man? We’re going to blow your fucking brains out. That’s what happens when you cross the First Order.”

“But first--” Hux squatted in front of the man – “you’re going to tell us who you're working for?”

Lor’s mouth opened and closed.

“No one,” he answered hoarsely.

Hux stood, wringing his hands with impatience. “I’m growing tired of your lies!” He nodded to the right and from out of the shadows, one of the knights stepped forward and punched him on the side of the skull.

Lor’s head dropped forward, as a cry of pain escaped lips. Seemingly grasping onto the last threads of strength, Lor turned to Kylo and peered at him with those old blue eyes, with understanding and resolve.

“Tell us!” Hux screeched.

Another blow to the head, this time from Seth Ren. He was a newer member of the fold, one of the few whose lusts for violence and money had lead him to seek a job from Snoke directly. Once the sound of knuckles cracking against bone had subsided, Seth readjusted a bloody ring on his finger and stepped back into the darkness.

Kylo gnawed at the thumb of his glove. A habit he hadn’t done since he was a kid. The

other hand, reached behind his back, feeling the cool, matte handle of the pistol.

“We can do this all night, old man.” Hux gestured for another one of his men to step forward.

“No one.” Lor’s lips mouthed the words. And then he shook his head, raising tear-stained eyes to Kylo.

He had nothing left.

And he would never break.

”Please.” The words came out empty, a breath of air, gasping. But Kylo heard it, deep in his heart, in the dark places of his mind where his nightmares lived and breathed. He would hear that word for the rest of his life.

Kylo shook his head, the motion was barely there, a silent message. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t—

“ Please! ” This time Lor found his voice, desperate and broken.

Kylo squeezed his eyes shut for a pause and when he opened them, Lor’s gaze was reaching out to him. Begging.

Kylo pulled the gun from behind him, levelling the barrel so it was aimed between Lor’s eyes. “Time’s up, traitor.”

“Wait!” Hux jumped out in front of him, gleefully pulling out his phone and setting it to record. “Smile at the camera, maggot.”

“Stop it,” Kylo said between gritted teeth.

“Come on, San Tekka. I want to see a big smile while we put a bullet in your head.”

Kylo’s hands shook; he was so close to grabbing Hux and slamming his face into the window. He breathed again. Centre. Control . He needed to stay in control.

Lor whimpered, forcing a weak smile onto his lips.

“There now,” Hux beamed at him, holding the camera steady.

Kylo pulled the trigger, slowly, inwards…

I’m sorry.  

The grandfather clock counted down: Three, two, one.

“No, wait!” Hux shouted, reaching out, but Kylo fired the shot.

And it was over.

Kylo would come to remember two things from that moment. One was the way the bullet drilled so neatly into the front of Lor’s head, ripping through skin, skull and tissue until the back of his head exploded on the floral and lace curtains behind. And second, was the way Lor welcomed death. Not in fear or regret, but like an old friend. His eyes genuinely smiled and there was light in them.

In the end, it wasn’t Kylo he was looking at, but behind him, to something that gave him a purpose to die. And for a long time after it happened, Kylo wondered whether he saw the woman he loved. Whether the prospect of an eternity with her made his death feel like a homecoming.

The gun released a shallow breath of smoke and the room fell silent, filled with the acrid tang of gunpowder. Kylo pocketed the weapon behind him once more, struggling to push it beneath his belt with quaking fingers. The moments, after all, played out like the blur of a nightmare. Hux and the knights spoke enthusiastically, raiding the fridge, emptying Lor’s liquor cabinet and sharing the contents.

“Well done, Ren. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Hux said, an edge of a surprise to his voice. “Snoke will be pleased.”

Kylo nodded, like a puppet on a string.

“Here.” Another knight, he didn’t even see who it was, slapped a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Drink up.”

The next few minutes played out at mixed speed. In some ways the entire world had slowed, the sounds around him pushed into the background, his own thoughts loud and demanding, and the next minute his mind was empty and then there were other people talking, their voices rising and falling, their drinks filling and emptying, laughing as they cleared out any valuables and smashed photos and threw teacups against the brown wallpaper. They were drunk.

Drunk . Kylo opened the bottle, pouring the contents into his mouth, enough that his cheeks were filled and the sharp alcohol dribbled down his chin.

Hux slapped him on the back. Snoke wanted to speak to him, congratulate him on the job. Kylo nodded, answering in monosyllables.

Hux sidled up to him, lips curled in a devious smile. “You know the rules, the one who spills the most blood, cleans it up.”

Kylo swayed, he hadn’t drunk enough to sway, but something in his body was struggling to stay upright. “Fuck off. Do that yourself.”

“No can do.” Hux tapped on his pocket. “I need to get this back to Snoke.”

“This is not your victory,” he hissed a Hux, gripping his fingers into the man’s forearm, aiming to bruise. Hux’s phone beeped with a message and he pulled the phone out, holding it in front of him like some peace offering.

“That’s him now.” Hux checked the message, smiling coyly before turning the screen to show Kylo.

Kylo can clear the evidence. I expect you back here in 20.  

“Tough break, Kylo.” Hux beamed at him. “I’ll see you back at the whore house.”

One by one they left, even Dom, who had come sometime after the gun went off, decided to wait outside, saying he was going to hurt if he had to look at the splatter of brains on the window any longer.

Once they were gone, Kylo sunk down on his knees. Head raised, eyes lowered, forcing himself to see the body, to memorise the way the blood flooded out of his head. He tried to breathe, but his chest caved in on itself and his eyes stung with tears.

There it was. He was a murderer. Whatever the reason, whatever excuses he would tell himself in the dark of night, that much was true and nothing he could do would ever take that away.

He was about to let it all go, to stop fighting the bleeding tears that wanted to stream from his eyes, to roar, and beat his chest, and rip this place apart. He was at the gates, about to let it all spill out when the phone in his pocket began to vibrate on silent.

He pulled it out. Unknown number.  

He pressed answer, and waited.

Rey leaned against the window of her room, watching the rain fall softly against the street lights. Had it really only been four days since she’d waited in this very spot for her first client? The mysterious Kylo Ren, who didn’t want her to look, touch or ask questions.

Four days and everything she’d felt about him had changed. Into what, she wasn’t sure. Her world had been shaken and broken, everything falling back into different places, feelings shifted, beliefs challenged. Her own personal earthquake.

She closed her eyes, squeezing them until they blanched with dissipating colours. The creeping fingers of dread taking hold the longer she waited...

Where are you, Kylo?  

She shook her head, staring out into the black expanse, studying every shape and movement in the street below. Mindlessly reaching into her pockets and twisting the lining of them until her fingers brushed against the small folded note Kylo had given her.

She pulled it out, unfolding it. There was no name, or note, just a number.

Should she?  

She didn’t have much battery left, but there was enough, at least, for this.

She dialled the keypad quickly, in case she changed her mind.

It rang. Twice.

The phone on the other end of the line answered. Silence.

“Kylo?” she asked, cringing at the way her own voice was so weak and uncertain.

There was a beat, and then a rushed, “Rey, are you safe?”

“I’m fine, but I—” She rolled her eyes at her own words. But what, Rey? What exactly is the reason you’re calling?  

“Look, It’s not a good time.”

“Kylo,” she whispered into the phone, holding it close. “Please tell me what Snoke is making you do tonight.”

“Rey…” he began cautiously.

“Or just come back. Please, come back.”

“Rey…”

“We can do whatever you want. Anything. Hey, I’ll let you beat me at Risk if you want.”

A laugh, muffled, strained and not altogether genuine, filled with emotion that shouldn’t be there and then silence, again.

Pained, heavy silence.

“Don’t do it,” she pleaded.

Her phone beeped, warning her that she was about to run out of battery. It wasn’t enough time.

“I don’t understand what this thing is between us, Kylo, but it’s more—”

It’s more than professional, than friends, unfettered raw attraction underlying something deep and rich. A connection and longing that was slowly filling the empty places in her heart. She didn’t know how to say it. It was too soon. She didn’t know enough about him, and what she didn’t know certainly shouldn’t make her feel like this.

“It’s more than—” her words failed her.

“I know,” he almost whispered.

Rey closed her eyes and smiled, eyes filling with tears.

“Come back,” she said through a muffled sob. “Please come back to me.”

The sound on the other end dimmed into quiet, in the background she could hear the light tapping of a clock, it’s regular rhythm contrasting against the random pitter-patter of the rain.

“I have to go.” That voice, stronger now, resolved.

“Oh, okay.”

“Bye, Rey.”

“By—” The phone went dead, even as her answer hung in the air.

She stared at the blank screen and saved the contact, “B”.

And then she waited.

On the woolskin rug by the fire, leaning against the window, in the shower, lying in bed, body naked beneath the smooth silk sheets.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

And then she finally heard a knock at the door.

She leapt out of bed, the sheet draped around her body, bare feet sliding across the cool

wooden slats.

The knock sounded again and she walked faster, heart pounding, hand outstretched to the door handle.

She reached forward, curling her fingers around the cold metal handle and then—

She stopped dead.

Kylo had the keys.

Shit. Shit. Shit.  

The silence was louder than ever, only broken by the sound of rain, lashing against the window on whips of wind.

A knock, again. Harder. It made the door rattle, and Rey took a step back, eyes wide.

Again, and then a voice, low and guttural.

“Open the door, Rey.”

She froze. How could she be so stupid? Had he heard her coming to the door?

“Rey,” the voice sterner now, but still laced with the overtone of deceptive kindness. “Open the door now, it’s your boss, Alistair.”

She took another step back. Eyes darting from the window to the door, to the bathroom. Searching for an escape...

“I know you’re in there, little minx,” he crooned. “Open the door, and we can have a chat. Just a talk, nothing else.”

The door handle rattled again, but this time she could hear the sound of keys scratching against the lock.

She stepped backwards, fist to her mouth, heart racing. The door handle shook, being tugged this way and that. Pushed, pulled, and then more keys, scratching against the handle, and low, hissing curses.

She held her breath, eyes closed, listening to the sound. Waiting for the familiar click...

“Open the door your little bitch,” he growled. And this time he kicked at it, the base of the door giving in slightly with every blow.

Rey backed against the far wall, chest heaving with every breath, eyes darting around the room for anything she might use as a weapon.

“Rey,” Snoke sang to her.

“Rey.” His fingers, pawing at the door.

“Do you think you can turn him, pathetic child?”

She closed her eyes, not daring to move.

“I cannot be betrayed.” His voice coiled around her. “I cannot be beaten. I know his mind. I know the darkness in his soul.”

Those words, like poison, how long had he been destroying him, ripping away his humanity, turning him into a weapon for Snoke’s own causes?

She hated him. Hated Snoke more than she had ever hated any man.

And she was not scared of him.

She came closer to the door, head raised, shoulders back.

“You underestimate Ben Solo,” she said firmly. “And me.”

He chuckled, cruel and callous. Rey fought the urge to open it, to face him herself. Skywalker had taught her well. She knew her own strength and Snoke was alone.

“The sad thing is Rey, you don’t even know the half of it. What he’s already done to you.” Lies. He was lying to her. He had to be. “What he’s doing tonight.”

She covered her ears, not wanting to hear.

“He’s a murderer, Rey.”

“You’re a liar.”

“You will see, when he comes home dripping in blood, wanting to fuck you like the whore you are,” he laughed. “You will see.”

Once he was alone, Kylo vomited into the kitchen sink, the sting of vodka burning his throat. Hands shaking, he looked back at Lor, laying on the floor, body relaxed, jaw open, staring at him.

He wanted this.  

Murderer, his mind whispered, and an unsettling cold seeped through him.

He begged you to do it.  

Kylo took another drink of vodka, heat rising in his lungs as it went down.

He was so sorry. So fucking sorry for all of it. He dropped to his knees, breath heaving, ignoring the way the blood pooled around his legs, the way Lor just stared at him with an empty expression.

There was only one thing left to do now.

He pulled out his phone number and dialled.

After a moment’s pause, a muffled vibration began to sound from within the clock. He trudged over to it, rivulets of blood clinging to his boots, the reek of it clinging to his clothes. Opening the case cabinet, he reached inside and pulled Lor’s phone out.

At least he had time to hide this.

He hung up the call and searched through the message threads until he found one from Poe. They were supposed to meet later tonight, in twenty minutes to be exact.

He had to leave. But first—

He typed a message.

The First Order has taken the USB drive. It had everything on it. Kylo Ren’s here. Not much time. He knows about Rey, he’s going after her. Tell her to run for her own good, she needs to get away from him.  

His thumb hovered over the send button. He had to make her run. His plan had failed and she wasn’t safe there, not without him. Not even with him.

She deserved better.

He hit send and almost instantly three little dots started dancing at the bottom of the screen, indicating that a message was being written in response.

Poe    : What’s happening? Are you okay?

He didn’t reply, dropping the phone to the side and walking away.

“Hey, Kylo.” Dom was standing in the hall.

Had he seen what he’d just done?

Their eyes met, analytical and silent.

“We should go.”

Kylo nodded, directing one last look back at Lor.

“Stop at the bar on the way home. I need a drink.”

“You and me both,” Dom said, but there was something unsettled behind his smile and Kylo wondered if, despite everything he had done, this final act had blown his entire cover.

Rey waited with her feet planted on the floor as Snoke’s laughter had followed him down the hall. Once she was sure he was truly gone she ran into the bathroom, splashing water on her neck and head, staring back at the colourless face in front of her. The face that was tired of hiding, of being scared. The face of someone who was ready to fight.

She retrieved her phone from beside the bed and dialled Poe’s number.

The phone rang once.

“Poe Dameron.”

“Poe, it’s Rey.”

“Oh my God, Rey, are you—”

“I don’t have any time, my battery is down to 1 percent and I can’t charge it here.”

“Wait, Rey, this is important you need to listen to me—”

“No,” she snapped. “ You listen to me! They’ve gone after San Tekka.”

“I know, I’m going there right away, but Rey—”

“I’ll do it, Poe. I’ll help you bring down Snoke,” she said in a rush.

The phone went dead and she smiled, satisfied that if nothing else, she had gotten this message out safely.

The rain was falling in lashing sheets by the time Kylo returned to number 12. He collapsed out of the van, and would almost have fallen flat on his face, had Dom not steadied him at the last minute. The red lamp above splashed his face with red shadows as he pounded on the door.

“Kylo Ren.” Phasma opened the door with a surly stare. “What’s the emergency?”

He pushed past her and through to the booking diary, scanning the evening’s vacancies.

“Do you mind?”

He grunted in response and she snapped the diary closed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Are any of the girls available now?”

Phasma looked disdainfully at the blood now smeared on her desk. She pulled a cloth from under the desk and cleaned it up, glaring at him as she did so. “Don’t get fucking blood on the desk. It’s bad for business.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

Phasma raised a solitary eyebrow at him. “You’re pissed.”

“No shit, Sherlock. A girl. Tessa. I don’t care. Any one of them. Someone who knows the rules.”

“Sure,” she said slowly, as if the concept was too difficult for him to understand. “Are you looking to double up?”

Kylo’s entire face furrowed. “No, I just need one.”

“Well, go and fuck Rey, then. That’s what you’re paying her for.”

“Rey?” he asked. She shouldn’t be here. Poe would have warned her by now . “Rey’s gone.”

“What on earth have you taken, Kylo? She’s upstairs, waiting for you.”

Why was she still here? The question carried him up the stairs. Had she not gotten the message? He was going faster now, leaping up the steps in twos, using the railing to propel his body faster. And if she had, and she was still here, then what did that mean?  

He pulled out the keys, dropping them on the floor until he found the right one and shakily put it in the lock. With his heart hammering in his chest, he sneaked in and closed it quietly, careful to lock it again.

The room was dark, apart from the soft glow of street lights shining in through the wide windows. She had left the curtains open, and as the light reflected through the glass he could make out her handprint smeared on the window.

A small puff of air leapt from his lungs, something between a laugh and a cry. He followed the path from the window to the bed, where there was a trail of clothes on the floor.

Kylo tilted his head to the side as he stared at Rey’s dark hair flowing freely over the pillow, the white sheets framing the outlines of her body, curving over her waist and hips, stretching out over her left leg, the other peeking out from beneath the sheet, silken smooth. Bare.

There was a sensation of light in his chest, weightless and warm. He stepped forward and her right arm curled over the pillow, hugging it close to her, at the same time the sheet dropped exposing the side of her breast.

Naked.  

She was naked.  

Blood throbbed at his core and he came closer. This time, the floorboard creaked and she sat upright, clutching the sheet around her body and darting her eyes through the darkness.

“Kylo!” she hissed. “You scared the shit out of—”

He was standing in the streetlight, austere lines of it mixing veins of light and darkness across his body and she bent her knees up to her chest, shuffling back. The whites of her eyes wide and unnerving.

“You’re--you’re covered in blood.”

He looked down at the burgundy stains on his clothes, damply sticking to the hard lines of his body.

“Why are you here?” he sneered, reaching behind his back and pulling out the gun. Without a care, he threw it to the ground and Rey jumped as it slid across the floorboards.

She gasped as it hit the wall. “What are you thinking?” She turned the bed lamp on and glared at him. Her face told him everything he needed to know, that and the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

“Why do you have a gun?”

He walked away, ripping the clothes off his body like they were on fire. In the bathroom, he let the water wash over him, watching the way it was stained with bright pools of red. Crimson droplets ran down his body, catching on the hairs of his leg. His breaths became heavy, shaking and constrained, as his hands scratched violently through his hair. He couldn’t stop shaking, even though the water was so hot that it scolded him, even though his chest was flaming with red lashes from the heat.  All he could see was the rivers of blood, flooding around his feet, running eddies of swirling pink spirals.

Tears streamed down his face, silently, and he gasped for air. His mind was exploding, eruptions of pain and regret and hate, the emotions overcame everything else. He needed to explode, to pound it all away. To force the reality back into the locked vault, where he kept all the hateful and cruel things he had inflicted on others. But the door was opening and the demons were escaping. And there was only one way he knew to lock them away again.

He turned the shower off, grabbing a towel that hung on the wall and wiped his face and hair with it. All the while, he advanced on her. She must have seen it in his eyes, in the manner in which he stalked, quiet and purposeful, more like a hunter than a lover.

She edged back, shaking her head.

“You spoke to Poe tonight.”

She refused to meet his eye, looking to the left and onto the door.

“And you’re still here?”

“You practically locked me in here, remember?” she snapped.

“You were always a fighter,” Kylo gave her a half-smile, but it was cold and empty. He reached the edge of the bed and kneeled up on it. “That’s what I love most about you. You never take anything lying down.”

The bed creaked with the weight of his body and his towel dropped. Rey’s lips parted, and her eyes fleetingly dropped below his navel. Her face flushed at the sight, realising how much he must have wanted her.

The weight of her gaze made him jolt and grow, but when she met his gaze again, there was fear there.

She feared the monster, and well she should, for he was a murderer, a violent, black-hearted ghost.

He remembered the sound of his old name on her lips, how his heart flipped and jumped at the way it came so natural and right.

But it was all a lie.  

“Turn the light off,” he said quietly.

He had merely forgotten who he was.

“Do it,” Kylo pressed her

She didn’t move.

But tonight had made it all rush back to him.

Ben Solo was dead.  

He reached his hand toward the light. The room plunged into darkness.

And Kylo Ren was the villain.

[kakasaku-shipper]

Natural Progression (Chapter 6)

Chapter 6

As soon as Sasuke arrived at the Uchiha compound, he undid his henge and dismissed his clone. He took in his surrounding and sighed. One of the reasons he hated living inside Konoha was because of how eerily lonesome the compound was. The stillness of the place often felt like a warning from the ghosts of those slain in the massacre to not step a foot in there, lest another tragedy struck again.  

The compound condition was such a contrast to the time before the massacre, where there were lives in every nook and cranny. People walking down the streets, kind obaa-sans and ojii-sans offering him sweets and asking about how his family was doing. In a moment where he closed his eyes, he could picture those happier days. But the next second when he opened his eyes, all he could see was red - the blood spattered all over the compound walls and the rivers of blood pooling everywhere in the streets. And before horror could grip him, all the red morphed back into cold grey as he came back to reality. He hated the paint they used to recolour the whole compound, why did they have to paint it so monochromatically in the same shade of grey rather than restoring it to its original livelier colours? The blood that the Uchiha had paid should have been enough to grant them at least that.

Sasuke ran his hand through his hair. He just wanted his house arrest to end quickly, he wanted was to get out of there and maybe build a tree house so he could sleep in the forests just how he liked it. But for now, he would use whatever freedom that Kakashi had granted him. Sasuke opened the small missive and scanned it. The instruction was simple enough: slip into the old headquarter at district 7, your code name is Karasu. After he found no other hidden messages on the paper, Sasuke burnt it as he redid his henge and created another clone.

 …

Finding the Root headquarter was child-play because of his rinnegan, and he was surprised to meet no ambushes thus far. He had expected some left-over militia to be lurking around and organise themselves into resistant groups against intruders sent by the Hokage. And he could feel multiple chakra signatures coming from the headquarter. Could they be non-hostile personnel?    

As Sasuke looked at his surroundings, he understood why Root’s existence was so unknown. No one would ever suspect an underground headquarters below a very old and ran down residential building, which seemed to have been abandoned. He also now understood why this part of the village was refurbished very slowly and that new high rise apartments were developed at the other ends of the village.

Before he could pull the well camouflaged latch to go underground, Sasuke reached for a kunai and whirled it to counteract the sword aimed as his head. Another blow was exchanged, and Sasuke winced at how inconvenient having just one arm was, especially because he was left with his non-dominant hand. Sure he had a henge on, but with his real left arm gone, his henge’s left arm have very limited use. He could only use it for minimum use, and worst of all, he couldn’t mold chakra into it.

“Who are you?” the attacker in ANBU uniform called out.

“Code name is Karasu,” Sasuke replied evenly as he sized up his opponent. He was clearly at a disadvantage since she was a two-handed sword user.

“Did Kakashi-senpai not tell you to wear the uniform?” the ANBU asked as she sheathed her swords.

“He just told me to come here.”

“He only told you the address?”

“He only said district 7.”

“Then how did you?” as soon as she asked the question, the ANBU groaned into her palms. District 7 was huge, and the only way anyone would find the Root headquarter location on a first glance was to look past the the very strong genjutsu that had made the building looked like a bunch of rubble. “The rest won’t be happy if they know that senpai assign this mission to you, Uchiha.”

“The rest?” Sasuke questioned.

“The rest of our original ANBU team. Your aniki was one of us.”

Sasuke nodded as he drew in a shaky breath. Just how many people his brother cared about had been deceived during the massacre? Which he incited just so that he would survive? How could Itachi coped with all that, without anyone else supporting him?

“Anyway, let’s get this mission over and done soon. And keep your henge at all times for now. The rest may understand once senpai talk to them, but I would still expect animosity from them. After all, you went to Orochimaru of all people despite senpai mentoring you.”

Sasuke cocked his head, the ANBU team sounded like..

“Yeah, all of them are losers with senpai complex,” the ANBU sneered as she rolled her eyes, earning a snort from Sasuke.

As they descended to the basement, Sasuke inspected the narrow footpath with his rinnegan and said, “I’m surprised that there’s no traps in here.”

“We have disabled it all after Danzo’s death. Any members who were not integrated to the normal ANBU and returned here had been apprehended.”

“Hmm..” Sasuke nodded. So the people in the basement were not enemies. He counted six ANBUs present in the headquarters. Two guarding the entrance and four on stand by at each corners of the room. There were also corridors extending from each sides of the room, and another level down, from what he could see with his rinnegan.

“Up ahead the corridor is Danzo’s office. That will be my best bet if we’re going to find anything,” the guide told him as she stood in the middle of the room. Sasuke nodded at her as he used his camouflaged rinnegan to look at the corridor leading to the room, as well as its door. Nothing seemed unusual so far.

As Sasuke opened his door, he could see chakra disturbances almost everywhere. It seemed that Danzo had used a very high level genjutsu as well as barriers and seals all over the room.

“There’s too many things in here. Where do you want me to start?” Sasuke asked.

“What things? We’ve turned the room upside down and found nothing,” a bulky man in toucan mask snorted. “And just who are you? You came in with Ika* but you didn’t bother even wearing your ANBU gear for such an operation.”

“He’s a sniffer,” Ika replied.

“Inuzuka?” Toucan asked as he stared down at Sasuke from his post.

“No. I’m a sensory tracker,” Sasuke told him. He could not lie about his ability. If they put him to a test he’d be screwed and lost the tiny amount of trust the ANBUs in the room had.

“And the gear? You know that it’s mandatory, right kiddo?” another ANBU in a mandrill mask asked.

“I’m not in the ANBU.”

“Then why the fuck are you even here? We have sent our best tracker and they found no shit, so who the fuck is stupid enough to send an outsider?” Toucan yelled as he pushed off his post to block Sasuke’s exit from Danzo’s office. He straightened himself to look taller to intimidate Sasuke.

“The fact that outsider’s help is required is probably because there’s no one in the organisation suited for the job,” a voice rang from the entrance. Sasuke recognised the man, it was the man who acted as Kakashi’s substitute.

“Neko, is this your beloved senpai’s doing?” Toucan mocked.

“If he came with Ika, then it is.”

“Your senpai’s a bloody idiot.”

“And you’re the ancient guy who had been in the ANBU longer than all of us here combined and still yet to get a promotion, while senpai was promoted right off the bat,” Neko, or Tenzo, Sasuke remembered he was called said with his arms crossed across his chest.

“Only because he was Yondaime’s pet dog,” Toucan retorted as he turned towards Tenzo and used his body size to intimidate him.

“Are you still pissed that all the Hokages you have served would rather use real birds to deliver missives than to trust you with such simple task?” Tenzo replied with a smirk as he glared defiantly at him.

“You bastard! You’re not even a human, you freak!” Toucan hollered as he got ready to throw a punch.

“Silence! All of you!” a new voice came from the entrance. Sasuke recognised this man too. It was the terrifying guy from the Chuunin exam.

“Oki Tori*, out, now. And get your replacement. The rest, go back to your posts,” Ibiki commanded. “Anything interesting?” Ibiki asked as he turned to Sasuke.

“The room is full of genjutsu, seals, and barriers,” Sasuke replied. “Has Kakashi-san take a look at the room?”

“He was pulled out of this mission to prepare for the war just after he finished undoing all the traps. It was handed over to me, and I’m supposed to hand it back to him today,” Ibiki said with a sigh. “Are you his pick to take over?”

“He only told me to come here and meet his contact,” Sasuke replied as he gestured to Ika, who shook her head to indicate that she had heard nothing from Kakashi.

“Well, tell him to get his ass down here. Also, we’ve found nothing so far and the captured Roots were useless.”

“Roger,” Ika and Tenzo replied. Ibiki nodded in satisfaction as he left the headquarter.

“So, what do you want to do next?” Ika asked.

“I’ll check the other rooms from the corridor as well as the level below. Then I think it would be good to check up the residential building too,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you not going to uncover anything?” Tenzo asked curiously.

“I’ll leave that decision to Kakashi-san. He’s the mission leader after all,” Sasuke answered, earning a satisfied nod from Tenzo. And to think that he thought Sakura had it bad for him.. ANBUs are really on a whole other level.

The two rooms located at the ends of the other corridors had nothing in them. One of them was the archives which had been cataloged, and the other was a weapon storage room. The level below was appalling to say the least. It looked like a dojo that could double as a meeting room. However, at the front of the room, there were torture contraptions and equipment worse than anything Sasuke had ever seen. Even Orochimaru’s torture chamber pales in comparison to that.

“Senpai told me that the only torture chamber worse than this is in Kiri. But it was only slightly worse,” Ika said as she watched Sasuke’s revolted expression.

“Even for an undercover organisation that deals with the dirtiest job, I hardly think that those are necessary..” Sasuke spoke as his eyes hardened.

“Danzo’s a messed up guy.” Tenzo told him. “His way of protecting Konoha is..”

“Is against the principles that Konoha was found under,” Sasuke said. He was glad that among all the things he did wrong, the one thing he did not regret, killing Danzo, was the right call.

“I still shudder when I thought that Danzo could have been the Hokage after Tsunade-sama’s coma,” Tenzo quipped, earning nods from Sasuke and Ika.

Other than Danzo’s office, they found nothing of note in the rest of the headquarters. The residential building looked normal too, other than a few rooms that seemed to have been cleared out.

“Were all the rooms occupied? Some were really empty,” Sasuke noted.

“We’re hoping to match the rooms with the notes in the archives. I’ve asked a former Root member, but he only knew the occupancy details of a few rooms. We’re also still in the middle of matching data with the findings of the Yamanaka clan.. It’s such a shame that most Root personnel fell during the war. It was like they were sacrificing themselves as a final act for Konoha.” Ika said with a sigh.

“Most of them felt lost and left with no purpose after Danzo’s death,” Tenzo said.

“Did they do it because Danzo ordered them too? Was he afraid that they may leak his information once he no longer had control over them? Since I heard that the seal he placed to prevent them from talking disappeared once he was dead?” Sasuke asked.

“I believe that his final command was to protect Konoha. But most of them had been raised since birth to only follow his order and nothing else. It was all they knew,” Tenzo replied.

“Ah..” Sasuke understood what he meant. It was the same with Orochimaru, some of his test subjects were the same.

“Well, it’s getting a little late. I need to go, and don’t forget to report all your findings to senpai,” Tenzo said as he disappeared. Ika nodded the same to Sasuke as she left.

...

“Maa.. How long have you been waiting?” Kakashi asked as he stepped into his house.

“A little while,” Sasuke replied, still leaning on Kakashi’s kitchenette. “I found chakra disturbances all over Danzo’s office. The rest are clear aside from a few rooms in the residential buildings that looked like it had been cleared out.”

“I’ll take my camera and we’ll head there, if you’re not too tired?” Kakashi asked, earning a deadpan look from Sasuke.  

“I heard that nii-san was in your ANBU team.”

“He was.”

“Hn.”

“He was the best comrade you can ever ask for. And he had a great sense of humor unlike you.”

“Hn,” Sasuke grunted with a sad smile on his face. “When he did it.. The massacre, what did you think?”

“Honestly, I was really puzzled,” Kakashi replied. “He was accused of killing his best friend, and then massacred the whole clan just to test himself, which did not make sense. If that was all he was after, he could always just request a solo S-ranked mission to Kiri,” Kakashi said. After a pause, Kakashi continued, “I did suspect that his action might have been an order, but dismissed it. Since Sandaime was the Hokage, I didn’t think that he would ever order such a thing to be carried out. Plus, I was on the team that accompanied Sandaime to intercept Itachi that night.”

“The push came from Danzo. And he too was responsible driving Shisui nii-san to his death.”

“I figured as much as soon as you told us the truth about Itachi after killing Danzo.”

“Is that why you asked to be assigned to investigate him? The job should be given to ANBU, and as far as I know you’re no longer an active agent.”

“Yeah. I’ve always knew that he was fishy, and I’ve had some brushes with him in the past. I just didn’t think that his methods were that extreme..”

“You Konoha nins are always too trusting on one another,” Sasuke snorted.

“That’s because we are all comrades. And I would like to see this principle bring implemented and carried out on my reign. No one in Konoha should ever be marginalised, because all of us shares the same will of fire.”

“Hn. I would hope so.”

“I’m not letting what happened to your clan be repeated. I think that incident is the biggest mistake Konoha had ever made.”

“If I go after the other two advisors, will you stop me?”

“I would kindly advise you that there are worse things than dying.”

“Like what?” Sasuke asked with a quirked brow.

“We’ll find out about their worst nightmares and make them re-live it everyday.” Kakashi said with a grin.

“I thought you just said something about being comrades?”

“They’re not my comrades,” Kakashi answered with a shrug. At Sasuke’s questioning look, Kakashi continued, “They’re Konoha’s ancient relics that should have been thrown out years ago. Plus, you can thank your aniki for the idea, I got it when he put me under tsukuyomi.”

At Kakashi’s words, Sasuke finally had his first good laugh in a really long time.

...

“Since I’ve checked the residential area, let’s go to Danzo’s office. It’s the only place I haven’t taken a look yet,” Kakashi said as he opened the latch leading towards the basement. Sasuke followed Kakashi’s movement as he closed the latch behind him.

“Do you want me to gather some intel on the suspicious rooms?”

“I’ve sent my ninkens to figure it out.” Kakashi replied.

“Hn.”

“Hatake-taicho,” Mandrill mask greeted.

“Yo! I assume Ibiki has settled the rotation roster?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Kakashi said as his eyes creased and opened the door to Danzo’s office. The first thing that came to his mind was a man that is this cautious cannot be trusted.

“Karasu, I can’t detect as well as you, but let’s start undoing the genjutsu, and any fuiinjutsu and kekkai that are placed on the walls, roof or floor. I have a feeling that this office was not the only space he used.”

...

As predicted, Danzo’s office lead into a smaller storage room below and an expansive space hidden behind his book shelf. The room below held his personal weapons and some documents, while the other hidden room took a bit of work to get through. They had to first go through a labyrinth, filled with traps which Sasuke quickly disabled before getting into the main space. There, they found and abandoned research laboratory which was currently used to store shelves after shelves of books and scrolls.

“Do you think this was where Orochimaru did his experiments before he was chased out of the village?” Kakashi asked as he rubbed his temple. He had known that Danzo would have dirty secrets and uprooting his Root would be a tedious task. But he had not expected it to be this tedious, and this was only the Root headquarter. Danzo had his networks more extensive than Orochimaru, although less than Jiraiya; and some of Orochimaru’s hideouts were Danzo’s previously, so Kami knew how many other places they had to raid. Kakashi groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. The one year time frame that Tsunade gave him looked so much tighter now.

“Looks like it. One of the few inside Konoha I would say.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know the other locations, would you?”

“As far as I know there are three more. One, the main lab was cleared years ago when Sandaime attempted to arrest him. The other two I have vague idea on the locations. And the next closest one is in Uzushiogakure.”

“Good. I’ll set you up with my ANBU team to check all those locations, in case Danzo had converted it into his base. Let’s go back to his office for a final sweep before we call it a day.”

...

“He has inscription all over this place,” Sasuke said with distaste as he glanced through the cleared office through his disguised sharingan. The walls were full of details of every Root personnel, the date they joined, their death date, and causes - mission or terminated. The ceiling was full of code ciphers, some he had seen and used under Orochimaru’s tutelage and some had characters which he had never even seen before. But the silver lining was the floor, which contained a map of Danzo’s extensive network. Sasuke was glad that he had obtained the rinnegan, because the sharingan was not strong enough to detect the inscription. He would have gone ahead and erased it by accident because through the sharingan, the inscription was cleverly disguised like a genjutsu. It took him a few tries to work out the floor, but when he channeled the right chakra frequency, the inscriptions lit up and to show Danzo’s outposts. If he tried other frequencies, maybe there would be more interesting findings..

“Hmm,” Kakashi nodded as he leaned on the doorway watching Sasuke getting work done. He rubbed at his left eye, wishing that he still had the sharingan. He hated feeling helpless, something he had always associated with his father’s passing.

“If you allow me, I’ll write down all the inscriptions in this room and hand it over tomorrow.”

“Sure. I’ll stay here too. I need to go through all these documents.”

“Hn.”

As they got to work, Kakashi summoned five kage-bunshins. His chakra limit had clearly improved after his sharingan was plucked off his eye socket by Madara. Trade-offs. It was annoying that he could no longer instantly copy jutsu and movements to freak out his opponents, or use a genjutsu without handsigns and making enemies drop like flies or teleporting stuffs, especially body parts with Kamui. But the plus side was his chakra level just rose exponentially. Having four to five fold his previous reserve was certainly really handy, but he really envied Naruto and Sasuke. Why couldn’t he get free power ups like them?

…

A/N

1. Ika means squid. Because Yugao has purple hair and the only animals I could think of that are somewhat purplish are squid and octopus. Since squid has longer tentacles and Yugao has long hair, I go with Ika instead of Tako.

2. Oki Tori literally translated to big bird, which is the Japanese for toucan. I just want a variety of animals rather than the usual Cat, Dog, Tiger..

3. Mandrill in Japanese in Mantoriru (according to Google translate). I don’t think it means anything, just the phonetic of how Mandrill would be said in Japanse.

4. I hope you enjoy some ANBU’s senpai complexes (especially Tenzo. lol). Notice me, Senpai!!!

5. Apologies for the long wait. My schedule revolves around school. And if you’re reading this because of chapter update notification in April 2019 that says that 2 new chapters are added, chapter two of the fic is the other new chapter.

[fifiliphaser]

A Fright Of Nightmare

[Ao3 Version]

Relationships: Eleven/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers & Mike Wheeler, Will Byers & Eleven, Eleven & Will Byers & Mike Wheeler  

Characters: Mike Wheeler, Eleven/Jane Hopper, Will Byers, Joyce Byers 

Words: 2179

Summary: All those memories were just constantly coming back to him. Even though everything was okay and everyone was safe, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off. In addition, he was afraid that the next time something bad happened, not all of them might make it out alive.

—A short one-shot exploring possible consequences of facing the monstrosities of the Upside Down. But as terrifying as they might be, nothing is that scary with a friend by your side.

 Beware! There might be minor spoilers to Season 2!

So, yeah, another one-shot, because I couldn’t help myself. This time, though, with Will guest starring (and maybe little hints of Byeler, if you squint really hard; I mean, I ship them a bit too, so…). More angsty than A Taste Of Freedom (let’s say it’s a kind of continuation, though it works as a stand-alone too), but with a very fluffy ending (I promise!).

Enjoy! c:

Mike was so relieved, when the summer break had finally come around. Never had he been so excited about not having to go to school before, but the year of 1985 was different from the very beginning. Having El back in his life meant that he could finally fully enjoy many activities, which last year seemed to be only a miserable substitute of real happiness. And on top of that, he could devote all of his time and attention to the very girl that had helped him become himself again.

The beginning of summer marked a few changes for El—changes both she and Mike were very happy about. She still couldn’t go out too often and use her powers outside the cabin, but Hopper agreed on her spending more time at the Byers’ than before. El was even allowed to go with Joyce to the town once in awhile, so she could get more used to being in public. Although it wasn’t clear if she would start school this September (Hopper insisted on having her home-schooled for another year), she was learning pretty fast with the help of Chief, Will’s mom and the party, and Mike was pretty sure she could make it without bigger problems. And he had to admit that he couldn’t wait to have an opportunity to spend more time with her.

For now, though, long summer days seemed to be enough for him, especially since the weather was nicer than he had initially anticipated. Mike and El were spending their time running around the woods, playing games, watching films, talking, and laughing, with all the other members of the party or just by themselves. And Mike was quick to conclude that these were the best summer holidays he had ever had.

Although the first of July started off like any other day, it promptly became very special, marking the first ever sleepover for El. Astonishment hadn’t left Mike yet, as he still couldn’t believe that Chief agreed to that idea (though he suspected it had something to do with Mrs Byers, and how insistent she was). And so they ended up at Will’s, just the three of them—the rest of the party was to join them the next day.

They spent a really nice evening, listening to Will’s new mixtape, joking, and discussing plans for the rest of the holidays. Mike was very happy, seeing how close El and Will had become over the last few months. He guessed that shared experiences of the Upside Down were what had brought them together, so he didn’t feel like bringing it up, but he was pleased that his closest friends got along so well.

Mrs Byers peeked into Will’s bedroom from time to time to check on them. Mike noticed that she seemed pretty happy herself, with a look of relief and tenderness every time she looked at any of them. He caught himself thinking that quite often she was more affectionate towards him than his own mother.

After a few hours of delightfully spent time, Will’s mom finally forced them to go to sleep, saying that Hopper would kill her and certainly ban any more sleepovers if El came home more tired than she had left it. The kids reluctantly agreed, and soon Mike found himself laying on the floor, tucked in a sleeping bag, with Will by his side, and El enjoying the bed, since she was a very special guest (and a girl).

Although he had no trouble sleeping in the sleeping bag, he stayed awake, even after his friends’ breaths had evened, and there were no other sounds to disturb the silence filling the dark room. He was happy and everything was alright, but falling asleep still terrified him. Lately, he wanted to do anything else but sleep, which didn’t seem too reasonable. Even though he was well-aware of that, he simply couldn’t afford seeing one of  these  one more time.

He gritted his teeth, scolding himself for being such a crybaby. They were nothing but dreams, and he had faced worse things in the past—scarier monsters and real life-threatening situations.

But it was all about the past, wasn’t it?

He wandered those claustrophobic cold corridors, panic slowly taking over his mind. Lights were flickering, as if the power was constantly going on and off. It made him think of the Upside Down, and such a thought was only causing more dread to fill his heart.

The weight of Will’s numb body in his arms felt crushing, but he kept stumbling forward. He couldn’t give up on him, he just couldn’t. Despite his arms being stiff, he brought Will closer, feeling his cold skin even through the material of his shirt.

He had to get him out of here. Unfortunately, he was unaided, unable to find Mrs Byers, Hopper, Dr Owens, or even Bob. All on his own, he prayed not to bump into any of those horrific dogs, roaming the lab.

And then, as if on cue, he heard a noise behind them. Rustling, that was getting closer and closer with every passing second.

Oh no .

He felt the adrenaline kicking in, somehow finding strength to start running. Everything around him was getting blurry, but he didn’t dare to stop.

And then he spotted it.

The door.

The only way to escape from that hellish place.

However, before he could reach them, he tripped on one of the bodies covering the floor. He tried to turn a bit mid-air to prevent Will from hitting the ground, but to almost no avail.

Not even a second passed, and the monster was already standing above them, its muzzle open wide, revealing hundreds of sharp teeth.

His scream was ringing in Mike’s ears, as he closed his eyes, hugging Will’s body tightly, waiting for those eerie teeth to sink into his skin.

Mike’s breath was shallow as he woke up, feeling droplets of sweat running down his neck. He covered his mouth with shaky hands in an effort to muffle his uneven breathing, not to wake up Will or El.

Another nightmare, as if he had expected that it would be different this time. They hadn’t always followed the same scenario—sometimes they were about Will, other times about El. The locations differed as well, from school, through the woods, to the lab. But the ending always remained the same—he was unable to save his friends.

He sat up abruptly, nervously running fingers through his hair. He couldn’t go back to sleep, to that nightmarish lab, to that utterly overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He needed some space, to gather his bearings. And he didn’t have the heart to wake his friends.

Mike slowly crawled out of the sleeping bag, careful not to make too much noise. He hopped over still sleeping Will and walked out of the room, in the direction of the kitchen. The house was eerily quiet, with nothing but darkness visible through the windows.

He kept going, his bare foot patting on the floor. It took him a few seconds to reach the living room, where he silently collapsed on the couch, gazing at the ceiling. He had to do something about those nightmares, otherwise he would go insane. The worst part was he didn’t know what.

All those memories were just constantly coming back to him. Even though everything was okay and everyone was safe, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off. In addition, he was afraid that the next time something bad happened, not all of them might make it out alive.

He closed his eyes, so much immersed in his own thoughts, that he initially didn’t hear quiet footsteps, approaching the living room. It was a small silhouette, stopping short at the entry to the living room, that finally caught his attention when he cracked his eye, sensing someone’s gaze on him.

He winced slightly at the sight of El. It wasn’t that he wanted to be all alone now (actually, on the contrary), but she needed her sleep too. And he would calm down eventually, he always did. “Sorry for waking you up,” he muttered sheepishly, lowering his head.

The couch beside him dipped ever so slightly, and soon a petite cool hand squeezed his own. “You didn’t.” Her voice was quiet, with a bit of grogginess still present, but her grip remained firm. “I felt it,” she explained calmly, and soon, probably upon seeing a quizzical look on his face, continued: “That you were scared. Why?,” she inquired curiously.

He could see out of the corner of his eye as she tilted her head, a few strands of her now longer hair falling into her forehead. Sometimes she resembled a small curious kitten, intrigued by the world around her, drinking it in relentlessly with that mesmerizing big brown eyes of hers. He couldn’t stop a little smile from spreading on his lips at that thought.

“I had a nightmare,” he mumbled after a while and squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to keep those gruesome images from flooding his mind.

“A nightmare?,” she echoed questioningly, not letting go of his hand.

“A bad dream,” he clarified patiently, his eyes nailed on the window, through which all he could see was that impenetrable darkness.

El nodded slightly, furrowing her brows. “You are very upset,” she stated bluntly. “What it was about?”

Mike sighed deeply. He should’ve expected that she’d ask him that question, and he didn’t blame her. She probably experienced a good portion of her own night terrors, so it wasn’t any novelty to her and there was no one else who could understand it as well as she did. Despite that, the nightmare was still so fresh in his mind, that he didn’t want to go back to it yet.

However, her inquisitive look and genuine concern he could see on her face eventually made him change his mind. He took a deep breath, wondering how to tell her about it. Bloody bodies flashed before his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “You saw the lab,” he started softly, gazing at her thoughtfully. He slowly breathed in before continuing. “I was there,” he revealed, swallowing a lump that had formed in his throat. “When it happened. I… I watched as those dogs—demo-dogs…” He sucked in a breath, not knowing which words to use to describe that horrible scene, which played out before his eyes for a thousand time.

His hands were trembling, and he felt his eyes stinging, unable to stop tears from falling down. The grip on his hand tightened reassuringly, when El moved a little closer to him. Soft fingertips touched his cheeks, gathering the tears, but she stayed silent, giving him a chance to continue. He cleared his throat, and squeezed back her hand. “And Will looked so pale and weak, and it hurt him so, so much…” His voice was breaking, barely audible. If she wasn’t sitting so close, she most likely wouldn’t be able to hear any of his words. “I thought…,” he stopped short, his mouth as dry as if it was filled with sand. “I thought I’d lose him, too,” he breathed faintly, as shivers ran through his whole body.

He didn’t even register collapsing into her arms, but burrowing his face in the crook of her neck felt so comforting. He let the tears fall from his eyes and soak into an oversized T-shirt she was wearing, she didn’t seem to mind though. Her fingers were running through his tousled hair, massaging his scalp gently, and Mike decided that it had to be the most pleasant sensation he had ever felt.

“And you lost him. In that bad dream,” she guessed softly, her breath tickling the skin on his forehead.

He just nodded, not willing to even lift his head. He felt terrible, both about the nightmare, and about El having to hear all of this and see him in such a pathetic state.

“But it was just a dream,” she reasoned reassuringly. “You  didn’t  lose us.” She planted a delicate kiss on his forehead.

He shut his eyes, compressing his lips. “But I could have,” he whispered after a few moments. “And I couldn’t even do anything.”

“You did many things,” she assured firmly, stroking his cheek. “We would be gone without you.” Her tone was serious, and he couldn’t help but look up at her, at strong conviction filling her eyes. “And I promised you.” She smiled lightly, and Mike’s heart fluttered at this sight. “You won’t lose me again. You won’t lose any of us.”

Seeing a tender look on her face and feeling comforting warmth of her body, he couldn’t help but believe her. “Promise?” His voice was still small, but no longer as tearful as moments before.

Her smile grew and those cute little wrinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes. “Promise,” she declared affectionately, bringing him closer to her, and burrowing her face in his messy hair.

[redsdesktop]

Nameless Week: Protecting Each Other.

Pairings: Red x Green/Blue Oak. ( I use Green. )

Warnings: None.

AU: Werewolf. Wanted to do Supernatural themes in prep for Halloween.

Red had always been a bit... different. Noises were too loud, smells were too strong, being crowded made him feel the frightened desire to run away. His mother said he took after his father, he hadn't understood what that meant until later on in his life, thinking she just meant the unusual color of his eyes or the way he wanted to just be by himself. It wasn't that he ever liked being alone, but he didn't know how to bridge the gap between himself and the other kids he met, he was just too different, too strange that he could never connect. So he often explored outside by himself, preferring the outdoors rather than being stuck inside, it made him feel trapped despite how much he loved being with with adoring mother.

It was one day when he was climbing a tree, he accidentally stumbled across the fact the tree he was climbing was a nest for kakunas, he'd studied Pokemon enough to know what that meant even at an early age. He tried to slowly climb down the tree to avoid detection, but it was too late, the beedrills that had been slumbering up in the higher branches had spotted him. He scrambled down the tree, falling part of the way down and he landed with a heavy thump on the ground, pain splintered up his arm as he landed hard on his wrist, he'd reached out on instinct to catch himself and only ended up making it worse. He didn't have time to cry as the buzzing sound of wings reminded him to run.

Holding his broken wrist to his chest, he ran in fear, not daring to look back as he knew he wouldn't likely outrun the angry beedrills but he still had to try. When his foot caught an upraised root, it sent him sprawling out over the ground, skidding the bottom of his chin and his elbows, making his eyes water. Instinctively, he curled up into a fetal position with his hands over his head to protect himself. But the stings never came, instead an angry voice shout out, too loudly, making Red wince. "Get outta' here, you jerks!" Red peeked out from behind his arm to see a strange boy, waving a bottle of super repel, spraying wildly at the bug type Pokemon. It seemed to have worked as the beedrills reeled back, giving in since they had been successful in at least chasing Red away from their hive.

That was the day he met Green, even though he was loud and highly energetic, the other boy was persistent in being Red's friend. He didn't know why, but Green never seemed wary of him like the other kids, not knowing that it was his heritage that instinctively labeled him as a predator among others. Green had no fear, taking the lead on their childhood adventures, teaching Red things that he hadn't known, explaining that Green's grandfather was a Pokemon Professor and he'd been taught all sorts of cool facts about Pokemon from the man. Red quietly watched and listened to Green, it wasn't until they were almost into their older digits that things began to change. Green became more aware of the rumors around Red, how Red was a freak and something was just off about him that gave the other kids goosebumps. In turn, they felt Green was weird for hanging out with the mute, shunning the boy who wanted and craved attention and recognition.

By the time it came for them to start their real Pokemon adventure, Green had all but shoved Red away, but Red was understanding, he knew his friend well enough to understand what was going on. He would always treasure their time together, but now it was time to move on to the second stage in their life. Red simply craved the freedom to explore while Green craved to be the best. On their travels, they bumped into each other, maybe it was fate, Red wasn't sure but he'd like to think Green was waiting for him, to challenge his new claimed rival. It was really the only acceptable way for them to interact, while Red wanted to just lose to Green, to let him have his happiness, something in him wouldn't allow him to take it easy on his former friend. It would be like lying and the only way he could motivate Green to become stronger, he thought, was to give it his all. Time and time again, Red won, not knowing that he was slowly creating a monster.

At the time, he should've left Green with his title, but he knew he couldn't, he had to see if Green was worthy, to test his skill and knowing Green wouldn't be satisfied without beating Red at least once. However, Red had once again come out on top and became champion, a position he didn't even really want, especially after seeing how furious Green was when he stormed out and Red remained as silent as always. However, being a champion was more than just claiming a title and returning to adventure, reporters and fans crowded him, hounding him for answers and pictures, something inside him clawed in a desperate attempt to escape. He was suffocating and he needed to leave before he did something he'd regret and lash out in his growing frustration, like a cornered animal.

Within a day of winning the Champion title, Red disappeared and wasn't heard from in years.

It was only until a kid from Johto had decided to brave Mount Silver and climb to the top that the rumor leaked. Mount Silver was known for its dangerous weather, powerful Pokemon, and its winds that howled eerily in the night. No one dared to climb too far up the mountain, except for one crazy kid with the thirst for a challenge.He'd come face to face with a man in tattered clothing, standing like a statue in the snow, watching him with red eyes that pierced through the heavily falling snow, watching him almost like a predator would. Their Pokemon battle was wild, aggressive and untamed, never before had the kid fought against such a dominating opponent and it was surprise when he finally won in the end. But before he could ask anything, the snowfall built into a blizzard, obscuring his sight and the trainer seemed to disappear into thin air.

Hearing this news, Green, without a doubt, knew who it had been. A ghost from his past that he'd thought had faded from his memory only to return so suddenly, it left him reeling. Without thinking, he knew he had to climb Mount Silver and rushed out of his house, only pulling on his jacket. His mind was a mess, for years he'd regretted what he'd done, for years he'd seethed of what Red had done. Now that he was older, his anger had faded, leaving him with just memories of his past. He didn't think of what he would do when he found Red, he just knew he had to find Red, had to see him again. As he climbed higher and higher, stumbling blindly through caves and struggling with the thinning air, he'd began to realize several mistakes he made in this crazy desire to see Red again. For one, he'd forgotten to grab his belt with his pokeballs, he'd just be pure lucky not to have been attacked by a wild Pokemon.

Secondly, it was freezing cold and all he had on was his light weather jacket which barely kept the wind from hitting his body. The snow up here was thick, sticking to his cargo pants and soaking them as they weren't water proof. He was going to die up here just because he had some crazy desire to see Red again, fearing that at any moment something bad could happen to his childhood friend.He needed to find shelter from the wind and snow as he wrapped his arms about himself, trying to trap as much warmth as he could to his body.There. In the distance was a dark splotch among the white landscape, giving Green a burst of hope and energy as he tried to hurry up towards the cave that offered safety. Once he stumbled tiredly inside, he collapsed to the ground, falling back onto his backside so he could rest and try to catch his breath in this thin air.

What Green had thought was a safe place to rest, turned out to be wrong as a low growl rumbled from further inside the cave. Green's head Snapped up with alarm, his body freezing up in more ways than one as he stared into the darkness, trying to see what had made such a noise. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet in preparation to run, but that had seemed to be the wrong choice as a grizzly Ursaring charged forward to blindly attack the one who had entered his territory. Green scrambled back, his feet tangling in a panic and causing him to fall straight back onto his ass again. Pain shot up his spine, momentarily dazing him and he knew he was a goner and mentally cursing himself in his last moments. The bear roared again, though, he thought it was the ursaring roaring and he braced himself for impact.

Instead, a quick breeze ruffled his spiky brown hair from behind as something soared over him and then there was a sound of a heavy struggle before him. Cracking open one eye he'd closed in fear, he was surprised to see the Ursaring fighting and defending itself against a Pokemon Green had never seen before. It was canine, large and with rich dark brown fur that almost looked black in the low light of the cave. It definitely looked bipedal, though looked like it could switch from two legs to forth limbs with ease. Whatever it was, the wolf-beast was savage, frothing at the mouth as those powerful jaws snapped at the thick fat of the Ursaring, taking the swipes from the bear without even noticing. Finally, it was clear who the winner would be as the bear decided to take the lose in territory and ran past Green and out into the snow and cold. Suddenly making Green very aware he was left with this monster of a Pokemon who'd soundly kicked a Ursaring's ass.

That massive, broad head turned, red eyes seemed to settle on Green with an unnerving focus, something that said that this wasn't just a animal lacking intelligence or ruled by primal instincts. Still though, Green scooted back in fear until his back pressed against the cave wall. Seeing this, the wolf turned his head away, looking almost hurt by the action. Since the creature wasn't attacking him and instead decided to just lay down on the stone ground, Green could make out something strange. The Pokemon was wearing clothes, or what little remained of clothes, jeans and a black shirt from what it looked like. Though it only confused Green more, but with the way the beast was looking at him with its own confusion and maybe even concern?

Green shivered and huddled into himself, it was still cold, he didn't know what would kill him first, the weather or this Pokemon. Seeing this obvious sign of cold, the beast moved, standing up and moving over in its smooth gait and instead of eating Green for lunch, the wolf instead curled up around Green. It reminded the trainer of how his eevee would curl up in his lap during cold nights, but this Pokemon was bigger than his eevee... and much warmer. Cautiously, he reached out, sinking his hands in the coarse outer layer of fur before his fingers found the softer dense inner layer of fur. The warmth slowly drew feeling back into his frozen fingers and the Pokemon seemed to sigh out in relief. It didn't seem like Green would be lunch and the wolf had in fact saved him from being mauled by the ursaring.

Tired and cold, Green leaned forward, resting his face against the soft cushion of fur, the heat radiating from the Pokemon slowly began to lull him asleep. He couldn't help to feel strangely safe, even though this was a wild Pokemon who had shown its strength to fight off a fully grown and angry ursaring. As he drifted asleep, he couldn't help but wonder how Red managed to live out here in such dangerous conditions. When Green found him, he would drag his friend back down home with him and make sure he never did anything stupid like this again.

Green didn't know how long he slept, but he still felt tired regardless, his entire body sore from sleeping on the hard ground instead of his state of the art sleep number bed back home. At least he was warm as he snuggled closer to the source of such warmth, burying his cold nose against a broad chest, slowly beginning to realize he was no longer resting his head on soft fur but something human. His eyes snapped open immediately in alarm as he became aware of strong arms curling about his waist, of rough fingers brushed just beneath the bottom part of the back of his shirt, against skin. It was intimate. Too intimate. He shoved himself off the man he'd been laying on for who knows how long. His hazel eyes wide in surprise and anger to cover up the flustered tint to his cheeks. He was about to rant and rave at the creep who snuck up on him when he suddenly actually took in the face of the man beneath him.

Red eyes peered up at him, unblinking and as steady as always, making Green forget was he was about to say. Red was no longer the scrawny little boy he'd once known, this was an adult. Weathered and built for survival on such a harsh place, still though his tussled hair remained the same, never to be tamed. It was the same color as the wolf, the same way the wolf had looked at him. He wanted to deny it, something like that wasn't real, only in books and movies. Green knew the truth though, knew Red had always been different, but that didn't matter. He'd been the one to protect Green, even if he had looked like a monster, he was still Red. His raised his hands, framing the other male's handsome face, receiving a cautiously hopeful look that Green returned with a hesitantly cocky grin.

"You're coming home with me. As long as you don't chew up the furniture."

[embermourne-blog]

Rewind

(Mature themes such as death, gore, etc. If you’re uncomfortable by any of that or squeamish then this is not for you!)

Kyren’s fingers traced along the glass to one of Catherine’s many display cases within her study, staring down at the mass of temporal energy kept in stasis as it endlessly churned. Finnigan had been reported found and was in the process of recovering at Northshire Abbey, leading the elven magistrix back to her former colleague’s collection of temporal artifacts and antiquities, searching for a way to use something within this vast arsenal of knowledge to enhance her abilities to protect Catherine’s son as she had sworn to do. Her left hand lifted the glass casing, right hand surging with magic to continue the stasis protocol implemented on the torrent of raw power, turning the orb about in her hand and watching as it slowly danced and shifted around it with a mind of its own. 

“What object am I currently holding, Coriadus?”

“Catherine’s records label that artifact as “Nascent”. Her reasoning indicates that it was energy collected from an accidental rift in time she had forged. It has not ceased attempting to grow, only the stasis field around it prevents it from growing further.”

Kyren’s eyes brightened with admiration at the chaos made manifest in her hand and how it innocently tumbled through her finger tips and settled in her palm. Nascent. 

“And there isn’t record of a way to stop it entirely?”

“There is. It would involve a magus siphoning the power into themselves. Very few would be able to survive the predicament without being lost to time if not entirely erased.”

“So, in other words...”

“Nothing useful, Lady Ebonmourne.”

Kyren’s lips pursed with mild aggravation, reaching her right hand down to place the dormant rift back into its home. Her left hand grasped the casing and began to lift but felt no movement. She attempted again with a risen brow with no improved results. The case would not open. The woman’s eyes widened and glanced down to the artifact in her hand. Maintaining the stasis field manually was draining her mana quickly; she had seconds, maybe even minutes to act. 

“Coriadus! Why are the cases not opening?! What is going on?!” 

“I detect Catherine’s signature at play.”

“How? What? Why?”

“You act as if you did not fail to uphold your end of the bargain with her, Lady Ebonmourne. This could be a result of the navyman venturing to Argus like you were supposed to prevent him from doing. Must I always be the observant one in these scenarios?”

Kyren’s face contorted into one of pure horror. What was she to do now? Her hand released the small rift and slowly backed away, continuing to channel what magic she could to continue restricting the growth of the time storm. 

“You have a choice, Kyren.”

“I’d love to hear it right about now!”

“Release. Me.”

Kyren’s head snapped toward the staff with a scowl, “You little snake! You dangle my freedom before my face in exchange for your own. You will just use the power to try to kill me again like you have every other year!”

“You have no choice. Release me and allow me to absorb the storm while you still live or be destroyed. This entire room, everything you’ve worked to protect and live by will be for naught. There is no telling how large that rift will grow. Perhaps the size of Azeroth, who are you to know? You may damn this very world that you treasure so intensely.” 

Kyren released a cry of rage and finality as her mana ripped itself from the storm and surged into Coriadus, relieving the beast of the crystalline spirestaff. The elemental’s form loomed over the rift, pulling the cancer into itself and melding its energy with its own. For the first time in a long time, Coriadus felt... satisfied. But only for the moment. Slowly, Coriadus turned toward the magistrix as she struggled to garner mana. With a mixture of her addiction and the overwhelming power she was just attempting to restrain, Kyren was left in a state of vulnerability. Coriadus’ right hand lifted and shot forward a beam of temporal magic at the elven sorcerer. With what power remained in herself, Kyren redirected the blast back at Coriadus. A powerful rift would open itself in front of the elemental being, pulling it into a space between spaces; a time between, before, and after all possible presents, futures, and pasts. Kyren slowly reached for the empty spirestaff with a sigh of relief until she felt a strong force tug at her body, forcing her through the rift as well. There was a brief scream of terror and then... nothing. The study fell absolutely quiet as the rift closed. 

Kyren was locked in a physical struggle with the elemental, its form shifted to the same height as her own -- or was she the same height as the elemental? It mattered not. What did matter is that both of them flew through a nexus of geographical locations, uncertain of where they’d both end up. Kyren’s pushed at the elemental with a grunt, “I took precautions this time. This won’t end as you wish it to!”

“Oh, it shall indeed! With this power, time is at my whim. The power of Aman’Thul dances from my fingertips --  you know nothing of what -I- can do, ignorant little mage!” 

There was a flash of crimson light and then the sensation of gravity tugging at their forms. Kyren was falling. The magistrix began to panic, arms flailing about as she tried to grab hold of something! 

Slow fall!

Nothing. She still possessed no mana. There had to be something! Some way to... 

There was pain. There was such sharp pain. Then there was darkness.

Coriadus’ core slammed against a rocky surface, mere seconds passing before it recollected itself and was able to perceive its surroundings. 

“Freedom, at last! Years trapped with that insufferable woman as a jailer -- oh how I’ve longed for this day.” 

The elemental’s form slowly danced along the rocks as it moved, its pale eyes focusing on a sight it did not expect. The magister was at rest upon a spike; blood drained in a steady stream from the tip of the spike as it was angled more downward than upward. Kyren’s form was limp and her body hunched over, arms and feet dangling loosely. The body still twitched, Kyren’s head still lazily moving up and down as the life was drained from her. The wildlife of this hellish landscape did not offer even a moment’s rest; already several small insectoids crawled up to the jagged spike the elf was impaled upon, a mere grunt of pain uttered from the elf as her throat was torn out. Blood spilled from the tear in the elf’s flesh, quiet gurgling heard before the twitching ceased. Kyren was dead -- made into a warm meal for carniverous bugs. 

“A fitting end for your years of torment, mortal swill.” 

The arcane elemental watched as the elf was devoured for a few more seconds before it bored of observing the insects ripping out the organs within the elf’s head, turning and moving away from the elf’s grave. Coriadus turned its head upward, observing the several magical highways that crossed the sky; Outland. With the jagged rocks all around itself, Coriadus assumed this was Blade’s Edge Mountains. The elemental being began to channel itself away from the area, wishing to return to an area of magical potency -- perhaps Dalaran? Karazhan? The Nexus? There were so many areas to feed and grow in strength now that it was free of that damnable staff and the crystal prison it held for it. Just as it’s essence began to transport itself away, something yanked it back. 

What?

Coriadus attempted once more. No results. Again! Nothing. This had to be a joke, a prank. Was the being low on mana? No! It was made of it! There had to be... 

Coriadus’ eyes settled upon the staff that lay inches away from where the thrashing of Kyren’s flesh sounded. Upon the staff were several runes attuned to his being. It was Coriadus’ signature as well as Kyren’s. He was... -bound- to it. And if the staff was destroyed? It was the elemental’s prison, it would simply fade and cease to be. This is what Kyren meant. This is why it would not end the way Coriadus planned. It was either be imprisoned and fed by that damnable mage or remain here until Outland completely destabilized OR until it was found by some "lucky” adventurer.

“Even in death you mock me, mortal! You filth! You damn... -sinister- genius. Bah! Outwitted again by this damned mutant troll.” 

Coriadus hovered itself toward Kyren’s corpse, the insects that feasted upon her remains scattering as the arcane being hovered in front of her maimed face. Both eyes were missing, half of her face had been eaten off -- the corpse was a mess. 

“How I wish you would remain this way.”

Kyren gasped back to life, looking around in confusion as she was falling yet again through the nexus between all possible destinations. What happened? She was falling out of the nexus and now... she was right back into it! Where was Coriadus?! What happened?! Kyren weakly glanced back down to the staff in her hand, brow raising as she saw Coriadus trapped within it again. The staff whispered to the elven mage. 

“What was to be was not in your, or my, best interest. I know what safeguards you placed on this damnable staff. I submit. But that does not mean I will not make you -suffer- for your treachery, mage.”

Kyren rose a brow... what was Coriadus talking about? What was to be?

The next thing Kyren knew, she was skidding across cobblestone until she came to a stop upon a rug. Coriadus flew out as well, clattering upon the stone until it came to a stop. The bronze temporal rift that allowed her escape shut immediately after she exited, causing the room to go eerily quiet. Kyren slowly looked up from where she rested, so exhausted that she could barely perform -that- action. A navyman beside an injured woman looked at her in confusion and shock... as well as hatred. She was still in her elven form.

Light DAMN you, Coriadus! You little SNAKE!

Weakly, Kyren lifted her right hand toward the navyman as if pleading for help.

“Finnie...”

[onwardintolight]

Notes:

Trigger warning for this chapter: referenced self-harm.

Chapter 4

The Millennium Falcon was quiet as it rested, eerily so after the tumult of their escape. Leia tinkered with a malfunctioning coolant valve in the circuitry bay and tried to make sense of everything. The events of the last few hours had been astonishing, to say the least. She’d gone from resigned despair to wild hope in the span of a few seconds, and had soon found herself outrunning tenacious Imperials with Han, Chewbacca and Threepio in this piece of garbage ship that currently refused to go to lightspeed. They’d narrowly avoided being captured or vaporized by three Star Destroyers and a ridiculous amount of TIE fighters, and they’d narrowly avoided being smashed to obliteration by an actual asteroid field. Now, they were sheltering in a cave inside one of the asteroids, listening uneasily to the occasional faint sounds of Imperial bombardment on the surface, and working on making the Falcon moderately space-worthy again.

Leia had no idea how they were still alive.

She picked up the welder and began repairing a damaged canister mount, fighting off annoyance at the dismal state of Han’s ship. He’d had weeks to do his repairs after Ord Mantell; that should have been plenty of time. Why hadn’t he finished, or come anywhere near close? Sparks leapt through the air in front of her, glowing bright in the dim, cramped enclosure of the circuitry bay.

Han. He had, as usual, exasperated her to no end on this trip. His antics flying the Falcon to escape their Imperial pursuers had left her white-knuckled, and they’d been at each other’s throats the whole way.  She had, however, watched as his hands expertly guided the Falcon through it all, and she admitted that somehow his half-baked gambles had allowed them a temporary escape. Honestly, she was impressed, though she wasn’t inclined to admit it to his face. And even more than impressed, she was grateful. He’d come back for her, despite it all. She hadn’t thought there was anything left for him to come back to, but apparently he disagreed; disagreed enough to risk everything.

She still remembered the look in Han’s eyes, there in the command center back on Hoth. And she still remembered what she had seen there, the visions of a future that had danced in her mind. She wondered if there was any shred of reality to them.

Her mind wandered as she worked. She thought of his hands, on the Falcon, on the small of her back, grabbing her own as they ran through countless dangers over the years. His eyes, full of want on Ord Mantell, full of concern and something deeper in the command center. His body, shielding hers from an ice cave-in during their escape, and so close against her own in the cockpit, just an hour ago, after they’d landed in the asteroid cave. Leia found herself dwelling on the memory. A bomb going off on the surface had thrown her right into Han’s lap, and he’d lost no time in wrapping his arms around her. He felt warm and safe, like home, and the energy between them pulsed, and for a moment, she didn’t want to leave. He’d goaded her, of course, made some stupid comment about her getting “excited,” and the moment was soon over, but now, for just a second, she allowed herself to wonder what might have happened if she had simply stayed there.

She blushed. Annoyed with herself, she tried to wipe it off her face with a grimace. What was getting into her? For all she knew, he was planning on dropping her back off with the Alliance and leaving again.

Taking off her protective goggles, she set the welder back down, put the mount back in position, and reached for the valve’s reset lever. It wouldn’t budge. Her hands ached, bruises still flowering from her mistreatment of them the day before, and they were cold now that the warmth emanating off her welding was extinguished. She cursed under her breath and tried again. Suddenly Han was behind her, reaching his arms around her again, cornering her in the cramped space. Instinct kicked in and she shouldered him away rather violently, sending him a glare before turning back to the stubborn lever.

“Hey, Your Worship, I’m only trying to help,” Han grumbled, infusing the title with even more sarcasm than usual.

Leia rolled her eyes and threw her whole weight against the lever. “Would you please stop calling me that?”

Surprisingly, he relented. “Sure, Leia.”

“You make it so difficult sometimes.”

“I do, I really do,” he admitted. “You could be a little nicer though. Come on, admit it, sometimes you think I’m alright.”

Leia gave up on the lever and raised one of her bruised knuckles to her lips in an effort to ease the pain. Conceding, she turned to face Han. “Occasionally. Maybe. When you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

He was staring tenderly at her still-raised hands with a curious expression, and before she could draw them away — before she could escape, run away, hide from him all evidence of her pain and weakness — he had taken them in his own, massaging carefully around the bruises. His hands were warm. She tried not to think about how good it felt. “Scoundrel?” he teased, eyes glinting merrily. “Scoundrel? I like the sound of that.” He smiled and continued kneading her aching hands, and suddenly Leia felt like the situation was careening out of her control.

“Stop that,” she demanded, embarrassed.

“Stop what?”

“Stop that.” She reached for an excuse. “My hands are dirty.”

“My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” she whispered, any defense scrambling away as he leaned in closer. She stepped back against the wall, heart beating wildly, and she noted, once again, that his eyes were flecked with green. They searched her own, knowing; deep wells of unplumbed passion. Part of her still wanted to run away, and yet….

“You’re trembling,” he pointed out.

“I’m not trembling.” The denial was almost irrepressible. Sometimes it felt like arguing was the only thing she knew how to do; her words sacrificed to the raging battle inside. Was she even arguing with him anymore, or with herself? Had her arguments ever really been about him? Sure, he had frustrated her time and time again with his words and actions, but when it came down to it, did she allow herself to let loose on him because he was the only one rogue enough to take it and understand, the only one willing to give her release?

“You like me because I’m a scoundrel,” Han continued, still looking at her in that way that made her feel as if all her protective walls were made of nothing more than clear glass. “There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

He was so close now. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the air seemed to arc with the same electricity that sparked from her welding earlier, setting off a low buzz she felt in her bones. “I happen to like nice men,” she insisted, voice barely above a whisper, but right then she knew it was futile. She wanted this. Oh gods, she’d wanted this for so long.

“I’m nice men,” he murmured. She opened her mouth to argue back, but suddenly his lips caught hers, enveloping hers, warm and gentle and smooth, better than all the dreams she’d tried to ignore; burning all her arguments and fear away until all she knew was him, finally, them together, melting together, electric and alive. She never wanted it to end. Too soon he broke it off, eyes questioning.

For a moment she just looked at him, stunned, as all her feelings resolved into the clarity of desire. “Okay, hotshot,” she whispered, acquiescing. The hint of a smile played on the corners of his lips, and before she knew it she was pulling him back towards her and kissing him again, harder, more passionately this time. He bent her back against the wall, and she reached up to stroke the hair on the back of his neck, like she’d always longed to do. He tasted like passion, and freedom, and bliss, and — some kind of commitment, even? Dedication, devotion. This, Leia thought, was sacred.

Not sacred enough for Threepio, apparently. “Sir, sir!” the droid exclaimed, tapping on Han’s shoulder. “I’ve isolated the reverse power flux coupling!”

Like that, it was over. Han turned to confront the source of their interruption. “Thank you!” he snarled, backing the droid toward the door. “Thank you very much!” But now that his eyes weren’t on her, Leia felt all her fears rushing in once more. Overwhelmed, she turned and slipped quietly out of the room.

Aside from the whirring of the life support systems and a handful of glowing indicator lights, the cockpit of the Falcon was silent and dark, a comforting contrast against the loudness of Leia’s inner landscape. Her emotions were a whirlwind of fear and desire, barreling through all of her carefully built edifices and cities of control. She sat in the co-pilot’s seat and tried to make sense of it all, a hard task when her mind was determined to keep giddily replaying what had happened just a short while ago.

Han had kissed her.

He had taken her aching hands, seen her bruises, and kissed her.

She could still see the look of elation in his eyes when she finally gave way; she could still feel the softness and warmth of his lips on hers, as he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before.

She wondered at his tenacity in pursuing her all these years, despite her attempts to push her feelings away at almost every turn. She hadn’t been kind. Even on this trip, despair had been banished only for anxiety to take its place, and she had lashed out at him continuously, her shields up despite herself. She felt as if she’d been frozen for so long, she didn’t know how to melt. But here he was changing all of that, applying heat with newfound determination, and he’d melted right through her defenses and kissed her.

And she’d kissed him back. She’d been shocked, really, at the magnitude of her passion and desire. She’d kept that part of herself locked behind closed doors for so long, because, when it came down to it, it was like Han had said: she was afraid. Terrified, in fact. Scared to death of the power love had over her: of the risks she found herself considering; of the way she really wanted this, wanted him. Scared that she wasn’t enough for him, that she’d never be enough; that he’d delve deep only to discover wreckage and emptiness, an asteroid field where some green and living planet should have been.

Most of all, she was scared of gaining something so good, so beautiful, so extraordinarily alive, only to lose it, lose him, just like she had lost everything else before.

The sound of distant bombs grew louder again, rupturing the quiet.

Could she risk it? Could she walk this ledge, forward into something new and beautiful? Could she live with the danger of falling; of all her cities falling into ruin?

Sitting there in the cockpit, gazing out into the thick darkness of the cave, she realized that she already knew the answer. Yes. Her answer was yes, had been yes ever since she made the decision to leave Echo Base with Han. Life itself was a risk, but she’d chosen it, in part to see where this particular ledge would lead, and she wasn’t ready to give up again just yet.

Still, she was entering what was for her almost entirely uncharted territory, and she’d have to be careful, take it slow. She felt her heart opening gentle to a world of possibilities, but there were limits to what she could take, and some things she wasn’t ready to give — not yet. Not until she knew he’d always be around.

Her eyes settled questioningly on the pilot’s chair, then on the controls in front of it — an extension of him, she thought, his hands so often fused with them to thread deftly through the fabric of space.

What were his intentions with her, anyway? A part of her still wondered if she was just another conquest for him; if thawing her was a challenge and once he got what he wanted, he’d be even less inclined to stick around. And yet, he’d come back for her on Hoth. She kept returning to that truth. He’d come back, even after all they’d said to hurt one another, even after she thought he was shaking her dust off his feet, leaving for good. That had to count for something. And that look in his eyes in the command center had to count too. She couldn’t deny what she’d seen plainly written there.

Outside in the shadows of the cave, something moved. Leia blinked, startled. Had she imagined it? She rose from the copilot’s seat and peered out the viewport, searching the gloom. Suddenly, with a screech and a squelch, a huge sucker, brown and tentacled and grasping, latched onto the window right above her. Jumping back, she let out an involuntary scream. Breathless, she ran to find Han, who was in the main hold, making some repairs behind a bulkhead with Chewbacca.

“There’s something out there,” she announced to everyone, embarrassment creeping in as the shock wore off. “Outside, in the cave.” She inwardly scolded herself for being so easily frightened, but when she saw the look on Han’s face as a fresh clanging sound erupted from the hull, she felt somewhat justified. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“I’m going out there,” Han muttered, already headed for the breath masks in the hall.

Leia ran after him. “Are you crazy?”

Han looked more angry than afraid. “I just got this bucket back together; I’m not going to let something tear it apart!”

“Ohhh, then I’m going with you!” Leia asserted, pushing back her fear as she grabbed another breath mask and followed him to the hatch, Chewbacca close behind.

They emerged cautiously onto the boarding ramp, scanning for any sign of the attacker. The air was strangely dense and humid, and a mist clouded their view, making it impossible to see very far in front of them. Leia followed Han out onto the floor of the cavern.

“This ground sure feels strange,” she remarked, her voice taking on a slight metallic ring as the comlink in her breath mask transmitted her words to Han and Chewie. “It doesn’t feel like rock.” She peered through the mist, some nameless feeling rising inside her and filling her with dread. There was a presence, here — perhaps their shadowy attacker? — and the cave was permeated with the threat of its menace. Even the rock under her feet (or whatever it was; it was too squishy to be entirely rock) seemed full of a silent and ominous power. She imagined the entire cavern collapsing; no, shrinking — constricting around them, crushing them like a boa snake.  

“There’s an awful lot of moisture in here,” Han observed.

Leia nodded. “I don’t know,” she worried aloud. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah,” Han agreed. All at once, he whipped around, senses on alert. “Watch out!” he yelled. There was a flash from his blaster and a large shape fell off the Falcon’s hull. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he said, hurrying forward, Chewie moaning something as he approached from the other side of the ship. I have got to learn how to understand Shyriiwook, Leia thought to herself, not for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Han continued, examining the fallen creature. “A mynock. Chewie, check the rest of the ship and make sure there’re no more attached. Chewing on the power cables,” he muttered. Leia could sense his frustration from several meters away.

“Mynocks,” she repeated, scrunching up her face in disgust. She’d never seen one before, but she’d heard horror stories of ships being completely drained of power by the creatures. The life support systems were the last to go, and by the time some pilots became aware of what was happening, it was too late — all the occupants would be doomed to freeze or suffocate, whichever came first, inside their aimlessly drifting tomb. She looked around nervously. Where there was one, there were usually more.

“Go on inside,” Han said. “We’ll clean them off if there’re any more.”

Leia thought about arguing — surely they could use an extra blaster and pair of eyes — but decided better of it when something large and leathery hit her head with a rush. A whole flock of mynocks swarmed them, screeching, clearly not happy about the loss of their comrade. Leia let out a shriek of her own and made a dash for the ramp, arms over her head to protect herself from the dive-bombing creatures. She’d almost made it when she heard the blast of Chewie’s bowcaster, and the ground moved. Launching herself at one of the hydraulic pistons, she clung to it for balance until the shaking stopped. In the silence that followed, the mist seemed to close in thicker than before.

“Wait a minute,” Han mumbled, and he stood still for a moment, deep in thought. Everything in Leia screamed danger. She looked around, wary. Suddenly the calm was shattered by another blaster shot, this time from Han. The cavern heaved, and she lost her balance, nearly tumbling to the ground as it rocked back and forth. This time the shaking didn’t stop. Han managed to run up behind her and steady her before rushing up the ramp, and she and Chewie followed, trying to keep their feet. “All right, Chewie, let’s get outta here!” Han yelled back from around the bend of the corridor. Another heave sent Leia tumbling into the wall, but as disturbing as the sudden quake was, Han’s words lit in her a deeper fear.

“The Empire is still out there!” she objected, catching up to him in the main hold as he stopped to make some final adjustments at the engineering station. “I don’t think it’s wise to —”

“No time to discuss this in committee!” he cut in brusquely, already halfway down the hall to the cockpit.

Leia felt her face flush with fury at the dismissal as she was thrown against the wall once again. “I am not a committee!” she bellowed, rushing after him into the cockpit. Chewie was already there, and by the sound of it, the Falcon’s start-up sequence was well underway. “You can’t make the jump to lightspeed in this asteroid field!” she said, throwing herself into the seat behind Han.

“Sit down, sweetheart, we’re taking off!”

Leia wanted to wring his neck, but something stopped her from retorting. As the ship swiveled around, she caught sight of the cave’s opening and froze. Something wasn’t right. As they sped towards the entrance, away from the mists that had gathered in the asteroid’s depths, the mouth of the cave, which should have looked larger as they approached, was quickly growing smaller. She thought of the boa.

“Look!” Threepio wailed from the door.

“I see it, I see it,” Han replied.

“The cave is collapsing!” Leia finally stammered.

“This is no cave,” said Han.

“What?” she shrieked, but right then she knew fully what her subconscious had already guessed. As they sped through the rapidly closing teeth of the giant space slug, she could only clutch the fabric of her seat and say a prayer to the (nonexistent, she reminded herself) gods.

A breath, and they realized it: They had escaped the exogorth, and were careening once more through the asteroid field, diving under and around the tumbling rocks. Another few harried breaths, and the ship was jolted by a blast from a Star Destroyer. The Empire had found them again. Of course they did, Leia thought. For once, she was unable to speak.

“Chewie, let’s get her to open space,” Han said, focused intensely on his weaving. The Wookiee roared in agreement. Leia held in a breath as an asteroid the size of the Falcon hurtled towards the viewport. The ship banked sideways, narrowly avoiding it, and continued to shudder, rocked by the deluge of laser blasts from behind. Leia knew the Falcon’s shields were good; they should be able to hold as long as they made the jump to lightspeed soon. Han better have fixed that, she thought.

The asteroids grew thinner. “Oh, thank goodness we’re coming out of the asteroid field,” Threepio exclaimed from the seat beside her. Leia, however, didn’t let up her death grip on the seat cushion. The blasts continued to shake them from behind.

“Let’s get out of here,” Han said. “Ready for lightspeed?” Chewie nodded in assent. “One… two…” he pulled down on the throttle. “Three!” he shouted. Nothing happened. They sat there, stunned, listening to the whine of a failed hyperdrive. Chewbacca let out an irritated yelp, and Leia rolled her eyes. “That’s not fair,” Han muttered. Chewie yowled at him, gesturing angrily. “Transfer circuits are working,” he protested. “It’s not my fault!”

Leia sighed. It wasn’t all that surprising, really. “No lightspeed?” she chided. She was weary of everything. After all they’d been through, after she’d decided to live, godsdammit, it looked as though fate had caught up to her at last. And not only to her: to them. Once again, she wished she had never dragged Han and Chewie into her world. They deserved to roam the galaxy free, and now, they were most likely about to die because of her. Or worse.

Han turned back to her for a moment, hurt. “It’s not my fault!” he repeated. Another blast rattled the Falcon especially hard.

“Sir,” Threepio cautioned, “we just lost the main rear deflector shield. One more direct hit on the back quarter and we’re done for!”

“Turn her around,” said Han. Chewie let out an incredulous wail. “I said turn her around! I’m going to put all power in the front shield.” He climbed over the seats to reach a switch in the starboard wall.

“You’re going to attack them?” Leia couldn’t believe her ears.

“Sir, the odds of surviving a direct assault on an Imperial Star Destroyer —”

“Shut up!” Leia barked, silencing the droid as Han retook the pilot’s chair. Despite her objections, she realized with a start that she trusted Han. Besides, whatever he had planned was likely better than what was currently happening. She watched in silence as the Star Destroyer swung into view, and they soared toward it, laser cannons blazing. They were headed straight for the command bridge. She could make out figures now, standing behind the bridge’s viewport. Leia tensed in her seat. Surely Han wouldn’t —

Suddenly, they swooped up, narrowly missing the deck. In one fluid movement Han guided the Falcon behind the bridge tower, latching it onto the back of the massive structure. Nobody followed. The sound of the lasers stopped. All was quiet once more.

Leia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, she exchanged a jubilant smile with the man in the pilot’s seat. Her scoundrel had just played the odds against the Empire, brilliantly, and won. Again.

[thetimeweaver]

Breaking

This was supposed to be her big break. A break from reality. A break from her mother. A break from everything that once held her back. But things were not exactly happening as planned.

“Do you have everything you need?” Her mother asked with a voice high strung and filled with worry as she slammed the car trunk closed. The two, Ella and her mother, were standing outside the freshman dorm of All-Star College, experiencing the frustration and devastation of the dreaded move-in day. It had taken them nearly half an hour to unpack and fill Ella’s assigned dorm room. Now all was left was the fated parting. Mother and child, finally going their separate ways.

         “Yeah, Mom.” Ella groaned, dancing on unsteady feet. She grabbed the handle of light-weight suitcase covered in an endless array of constellations and the never-ending abyss of space with a small set of wheels to relieve some of the burden of its contents. The handle was pulled to its tallest height, just barely reaching one’s hip.   She eyed her mother, leaning towards the entrance of the dormitory. And started towards the front door with her mother following close behind.

“Do you have your braces? Your extra castes?” Her mother said quickly, concern coating her voice as her steps quickened to keep up with her daughter. “What about the wellness center’s emergency contact? You have Dr. Clare on speed dial, right?”

Ella stopped and turned towards the one person who held the key to her freedom. “Yes, mom, I got everything I need and more.” She turned back towards the door.

“But, what about-” Her mother started, only to be interrupted by a loud, annoyed sigh.

“Mom, please. I’m gonna be fine.” She reached out and grabbed her mother’s shoulders, knuckles paling with effort. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“But Ella, your condition, I’m just afraid that you’ll…” She bit her lip, glancing between her only daughter and the door. So many uncertainties. So many possibilities. So many ways for such a fragile being to crack and break, shattering into a million undistinguishable pieces.

Ella stiffened. Her condition. How dare she call it that? Always breaking, always screaming, always crying. Always being restrained to the disastrous and stiff mixture of plaster and cotton. Only for it to be reduced to two simple, everyday words. Her condition. Osteogenesis imperfect.

Ella’s eyes slipped over her mother’s mask of worry then to the closed door. “Goodbye, mom.” She leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, lips barely brushing against her mother’s skin. With a shaking hand, she reached over and turned the door handle and strode away into her new life.

The room was rather small, roughly the size of a utility closet. The air was heavy and smelled like stale bread and mold. Reaching with both her arms stretched out wide, Ella could easily touch both, oddly pinkish walls. They were made of stone and flaunted the idea of a masquerade of tape and posters. Provided solely by the college were the absolute essentials two young adults would truly need, beds, desks with accompanying rickety chairs that were on their last legs, a mini-fridge, and a microwave that smelled like leftover meatloaf. There was also a mirror, if you wanted to call it that. Shattered and long been discarded, it sat in Ella’s side of the room, waiting for someone put it back together. All of Ella’s belongings were piled up on her side of the room, just in case her roommate decided to show up before she was completely done unpacking it all.

“Well, home sweet home, I guess.” Ella said, a frown sewn tightly onto her nude lips. She strode over to the shattered mirror and picked up a fragment, watching as the sharp edge silently dug into her paling skin. A droplet of blood leaked out of the wound, like a dew drop slipping off the edge of a sweating radiator. Finally registering the sudden pain, she dropped the piece, watching as it crashed and shattered against the concrete.

  She was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly over her stomach. Tears dotted her forest green eyes as her brunette hair fell onto her face. “Who am I kidding? I cannot do this.” Ella slowly sunk to her knees. “What if I break? What if I shatter? Who will pick up all my pieces?” Her eyes glared at the forgotten mirror, anger swelling in her throat.

Then came a knock, rapid and obtruding her storm of thoughts. Ella stood and walked towards the door, peeking out into the hallway to find a bright and eerily cheery face staring back at her. Covered head to toe in red with a dragon, the school’s mascot, costume consuming most of her body, was an older girl. “Howdy there,” the girl said, a southern drawl blanketing her words in dust and hot weather. “My name is Alessandra, but you can call me Aless if you would like. I am your RA.” She peeked into the room, taking in all the bareness and lack of readiness, she glanced down at her clip board and then back up at the room number printed on the door. “You must Ella Nichols.”

Ella’s fingers drummed along the door, waiting patiently for Alessandra to decide she was too boring to deal with and leave. “I am. Why? Is there a problem?”

Alessandra shook her head, “Nope, none at all my dear.” She paused, searching for the right, non-condescending, words. “It’s just that your mother made it very clear that you have a certain…” Another pause, smothering the already foul-smelling air with tension and unease. “Your mother wanted to make sure that I knew that your bones are little different form mine and hers.”

“They’re hollow.” Ella said, trying to ease the door closed ever so slowly. “Much a like a bird’s. But instead of allowing me to fly, they break.” Break, shatter, snap, cave in, Ella thought to herself, not daring to say the words aloud.

Alessandra shifted on her feet and clutched the clip board a little bit closer to her chest. “Well, you mother asked that I help you unpack, since you refused her aid.” She inched towards the door, attempting to pry it open just a little more so she could sneak through the crack.

“No thank you.” She said and pulled the door shut, wincing as the sound echoed around the room. A sigh escaped her lips as she placed her forehead against the cool wooden door. Just beyond was the sound of hesitant but retreating footsteps boomed down the hall. “Just because I’m a little different, does not mean I need extra help.” Her brow furrowed together as she snarled in disgust. “Why must mother always make a big deal out of it?”

She was left undisturbed for a total of three hours before being interrupted yet again by the rapping of knuckles against wood. Only this time, it was not the dragon lady, but rather Ella’s roommate. She was petite and scrawny, barely able to carry the large cardboard box that rested snuggly in her arms. Her hair was raven black and neatly braided down her back, barely reaching the top of her narrow hips. Black and blue spots slept snuggly under her caramel brown eyes, indicating the lack of sleep. Unlike Ella’s pale skin, the girl was tan and looked like she practically lived on the sun. She slipped through the door and hefted the box onto her bed. 

With a huff of breath, she turned and smiled at Ella. “That was a lot heavier than it looked, trust me.” The box barely made a dent in the bed’s conforming nature. “The name is Dianna, and yes just like Wonder Woman.” She struck the iconic heroine’s pose, crossing her wrists in front of her upper chest and gave Ella a fierce look. “What’s your name?”

“The name is Ella, like Cinderella, but without all the ashes.” She said, eyeing the girl warily. “My mother did not send you here, right?”

Dianna shot her a confused look, eyes narrowing. “Your mother, girl I have never met your mother in my entire life.” She paled as a thought crossed her mind. “No offense to her, of course.”

Ella quickly shook her head. “No, it’s just that she...” A groan slipped past her lips. “Nothing, just forget I said anything.”

Dianna shrugged, “Well, I gotta go get the rest of my stuff.” She headed towards the door. “Unless you want to help. My parents did not exactly have the time to see their youngest daughter, off. After all what is another move-in day compared the four others that came before it.”

Ella could feel her head bobbing up and down, eagerly. Then realization slowly sunk in. She could not help. She could not assist. She could not do anything without someone else helping her. Her eagerness died as it turned over into sadness. “I cannot, sorry.”

“Why not?” Dianna asked, the smile persisting to be a permanent part of her face. She glanced over Ella’s frame, taking in every detail. A pale blue sun-dress adorned her roommate’s frame, hanging loosely from her shoulders. Her green eyes were soft and a never-ending sight of apologies. “I do not see anything wrong with you, maybe a little on the skinny side. A little milk can easily fix that.”

Ella shook her head. “No, I have this thing. This condition.” The word felt like poison on her lips. “Where I cannot exactly do anything at all, without breaking. My bones are fragile and will snap like a twig if I’m not too careful.”

Dianna nodded, “Well, I guess that means you get off easy with carrying all the light stuff.” She held up her arms to show off her muscles. “Looks like I get to use these babies after all.”

Another smile ran across her roommate’s lips and Ella could not help but smile as well. “Well, I guess that beats carrying nothing.”

Walking arm and arm, the two strode out of the dormitory towards Dianna’s rusty orange punch-buggy. The interior was a messy array of dorm supplies and feminine essentials, such as high heels and packets of pumpkin-spiced coffee grounds. With arms filled with pillows and a random blanket, Ella was the first to arrive back to the girl’s dorm, only to find that the janitors had been by and cleared away the shattered mirror. She threw the pillows onto Dianna’s bed and sat on her somewhat assembled mattress, feeling weightless as she jumped onto it. The mattress springs groaned under her sudden weight. She kicked off her shoes and laid out, waiting patiently for Dianna to return.

The door slowly creaked out and there appeared Dianna, with tears streaking down her petite face. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob. Her eyes glazed over Ella as she slid to her knees.

“Dianna! What happened?” Without a moment of hesitation, Ella jumped from the bed. Only to be met with a sudden crack and then pain. Tears welled up in her own as eyes as her entire body folded in on itself, forcing her frame into the agonizing fetal position.

“Ella! What did you-?” Dianna raced to her newly-made friend’s side, hands hesitant hovering over her crumpled form. “What do I do? Who do I need to call? Ella! Speak to me!”

Just hold yourself together. Ella thought, keeping still so she would not become an endless pile of broken and tattered puzzle pieces. You knew something was going to go wrong. And now look at you. You’re nothing! Nothing but a mistake! Nothing but a burden! Who is going to pick you up now? You are just like that stupid mirror.

“Ella, I need you to listen to me.” Dianna whispered, voice suddenly clear of all emotion. Cold and tense, she sounded like the Amazonian warrior, as opposed to her meek and self-conscious side Ella had seen before. “I am going to carry you to the wellness center. If any time, it feels like I am hurting you. I need to know. Please do not keep secrets from me.”

Hands shaking like an old woman with arthritis, Dianna wrapped her arms around Ella’s breaking frame, trying her best not to cause any more damage that was sustained. “Where did you…” Break. The word clogged up in her throat, refusing to come forth. “Where does it hurt?”

“Legs. Lower legs.” Ella spat, barely able to keep the pain from splattering and staining her shaking voice. “Broken. Definitely broken.” She grunted as she was hefted from the peaceful ground to Dianna’s unsteady and bending back. “I’m so sorry. I must be the worst roommate in the world. Just when we were finally getting to know each other. I just had to go and break.”

Dianna laughed, bubbly and full of joy. “Do you know want to know why I was crying?” A pause, just enough for her to catch her breath as they trekked down the hallway towards the wellness center. “On the way back here, I realized something. For once in my life, someone has finally noticed me.” Another burst of laughter. “Wait that sounded better in my head. What I mean to say is that for once in my life, someone saw me for who I was. Not as the sister or the daughter, but as Dianna. Independent and fierce Dianna. And do you know who that someone was?” A smile spread across her lips. “It was you, my dear Cinderella. Now come on, let’s get your glass slipper fixed before our lovely RA decides to steal you away to the tower from whence you came.” 

[atanih88]

FIC: Piece by Piece - Chapter 12 (Marvel MCU, Tony/Peter)

Title: Piece by Piece Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker Rating: Explicit Chapter: 12/13 Summary: Three years after the end of the Infinity War, the world prepares to celebrate its third anniversary of freedom. The world doesn’t realize that the heroes who fought for them are a little broken. But hey, maybe broken together, is better than broken and apart.

Notes: Written for Marvel Big Bang 2018 and originally posted on my AO3. Go there for full fic. Will be posting one chapter a day here.

CHAPTER 12

The gathering lasts for a couple more hours.

To Peter it feels like he’s standing on a precipice, the only thing keeping him from falling and losing his control is nothing but sheer will.

Still—Peter doesn’t want to rush it. Not because he doesn’t want to get Tony alone and find out where all of this is going to lead. But because this is something that might happen again for a very long time in the near future. So he pushes it away. Tries as much as he can to pretend that Tony isn’t on the other side of the room, tux jacket discarded, bowtie gone and hair sticking up at odd places from running his fingers through it too many times during the night.

Peter manages to put it in the back of his mind while he sits with Shuri at the table, listening to her talk excitedly about the latest advancements she’s made. It’s nice. It feels good to bask in someone else’s excitement, to share and learn new things and talk and enjoy each other’s company without the fear that any second might be the last one before they’re killed where they stand.

‘You should come visit,’ Shuri says, smiling, ‘I think we could have some fun experimenting with that web fluid of yours. I’d love to break it down and see what we could—sh’ Shining metal fingers curl over Shuri’s shoulders, drawing her attention away from Peter and up, to look at Bucky Barnes standing just behind her. ‘Sergeant Barnes?’ She reaches up to touch the metal hand with the tips of her fingertips.

Peter pauses with his bottle of coke halfway to his mouth and looks from one to the other. Oh.

‘Your brother asked me to come get you, we’re leaving.’

‘Oh, alright.’ Shuri stands, she smiles at Peter, holding out a hand to him. ‘Remember what I said. Come visit us—we could have some fun.’ She doesn’t notice that the words bring a touch of a frown to Bucky’s mouth. Peter does though.

Still. He’s not turning down this kind of opportunity.

‘Of course!’ He holds out his hand to her and is surprised and flustered when she holds onto it with both of her own and squeezes gently.

‘It was good talking to you, Mr. Parker. Keep in touch.’

‘I will!’

Bucky nods at him in goodbye and, hand resting on Shuri’s back, steers her towards her brother.

Peter sets down his coke and leans back in his chair with a sigh. He’s tired. But a good kind of tired. The murmur of voices around him and the low music playing in the background, something with deep notes and a rhythm that makes Peter think of the deep of night time, soothes him and he closes his eyes. Just to rest them.

Just for a second.

The fingers carding through his hair wake him up. Peter blinks in confusion, his eyes wanting to stay closed but he fights it.

‘Hey, sleeping beauty. Think you can walk to the car?’

Peter opens his mouth to reply but a yawn catches him and cracks his jaw wide open and he hides if half-heartedly. ‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Let’s go, party’s over.’

It’s true. While Peter had closed his eyes for a minute, the room has emptied out. The remnants of their dinner have been cleared away from the table and all that’s left are the drinks and mugs that had come with the tea and coffee that had been brought out some time after the fireworks.

Peter stands and stretches his arms up, lengthening himself until his body catches in that sweet tightening of muscles before releasing it and letting the looseness go through him. ‘Where’s May?’

Tony clears his throat.

When Peter turns around, Tony’s eyes snap up to his face. ‘She left.’

Peter blinks. ‘She left?’

‘Well, a more accurate description would be Thor offered to escort her home.’

‘Oh my god—’

‘Alright, alright calm down. It was strictly platonic. You were sleeping—‘

‘Yeah, she should’ve woken me up! Why didn’t she—’

‘Because you’re coming home with me.’ Tony’s got his hands in his pockets and is looking at Peter over the hardwired rims of his glasses. ‘We need to talk. Unless you’ve changed your mind about that.’

There’s no way Peter has forgotten anything. ‘Yeah, I—yeah.’ Peter wets his lips, mouth feeling dry. ‘Yes. I still want to do that.’

The night is cool as they wait for the car to be brought around. They stand side by side, shoulders brushing. The clouds have rolled out into the night, they drift across the sky with the push of the wind.

One of Mr. Stark’s cars is brought around, paintwork gleaming under the lights from the compounds. A steward steps out, still looking as crisp as he had earlier in the evening. ‘Mr. Stark,’ he says, opening the door for him. Peter’s already heading around to the other side.

Peter slides inside, the sharp nip of the breeze disappearing from his skin as he settles inside the custom made seats.

The second he shuts the door, all he can smell is Tony. Peter lets his eyes fall closed again and lets his head fall back on the headrest.

‘You okay?’

Peter opens his eyes half-mast. ‘Yeah.’ In the dark of the interior, Peter turns his head to watch Tony. The car comes to life around them. He can’t see Tony’s eyes. The light reflects off the lenses and half of his face is cast in shadow.

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Yeah?’

Peter takes a deep breath, hands fisting in his lap. Despite the lead up to all of this, it feels like his stomach is being sucked up into his chest and he shifts on his seat. He doesn’t notice that he’s rubbing his hands over and over his thighs until Tony sends a pointed look his way.

‘This isn’t just me right? I’m not imagining—you’re in this too right?’ And it all comes rushing out of him because MJ is right. Peter has zero seduction skills and in the back of his mind, there��s a voice telling him that somehow he’s got this wrong. ‘Because every time we almost…’ Peter swallows. ‘You back away, like tonight and that time we went on a walk and—‘

The grip around his face is rough, cutting him off and turning his face.

Tony tastes like whiskey. Peter catches the flavour on his tongue. Tony’s hand is too tight on his face, digging into his chin and cheeks forcing Peter still for him as he rips any tentativeness out of the situation. Peter just grabs on, fingers scraping at Tony’s arms because the tux is fitted so perfectly he can’t even catch a handful of the material. So he just holds on and opens his mouth, eyes closed and groaning as Tony’s teeth scrape and catch his bottom lip, the sharpness of the pain making the pool of arousal low in his belly turn thick and golden.

By the time Tony pulls away, Peter’s aware of two things. One, he’s speechless. Like. There are no words. Because this is what people mean, this is what people mean when they say their mind is blown. Two, the pants Peter’s wearing are way too tight and his dick isn’t liking it in there much.

His head is empty and all he can do is stare at Tony, his lips still throbbing from the scrape and bite of Tony’s teeth.

Tony sits back and starts the car again. He doesn’t look away from Peter as he does it, a curl of satisfaction tugging at a corner of Tony’s mouth.

‘That answer your question?’

Peter just pulls his lower lip in with his teeth and nods over and over.

‘Good.’

~

The workshop is pitch black once the doors close behind it.

Peter doesn’t even get a chance to open the door on his side himself because Tony’s already there, door open, hand curling around Peter’s wrist and tugging him out of the car.

Peter’s heart beats like crazy and he can feel it in the beat of the pulse at his neck, at the way the sound around him seems to pulse with it. Only the emergency lights, their weak light just enough to add a touch of clarity, guides them to the stairs leading up to the main house.

With Tony’s hand locked around his wrist and his thumb pressed directly over Peter’s gland, Peter’s pants just get tighter.

The house is eerily silent around them, only the occasional squeak of Tony’s sneakers and the sound of Peter’s dress shoes echoing around them.

At one point Peter catches sight of a slinky shadow and mismatched eyes in the dark and has the brief clarity of thought to wonder if Alley Cat has been in the workshop again and followed them out, but then it’s gone when he realizes that they’re not going to his room.

Tony’s room.

They’re going to Tony’s room.

‘I really like the tux.’

The sound of Tony’s voice startles him. But then Tony’s stopping suddenly. The door clicks as it opens under the push of Tony’s palm and then Peter’s back is against it and the door slams shut under his weight. Tony’s hands slam down either side of him. What Peter doesn’t expect is for Tony drop his head down onto Peter’s shoulder and groan.

Peter sets tentative hands on Tony’s waist. ‘Mr. Stark.’

‘May is going to kill me. You know that right?’ Tony lifts his head. ‘This,’ he gestures between the two of them, ‘something like this will be all over the papers the minute they get a sniff of you spending more time with me than usual. You get that right? You’re a college student, you’re not gonna need that kind of—‘

Yeah. Peter really doesn’t care about all of that. He unbuttons Tony’s tux jacket and slides his hand up the smooth silk of the waistcoat inside.

‘Pretty sure I’ll be okay, Mr. Stark.’

‘Pete,’ Tony sighs, he pushes off the wall entirely and catches Peter’s hands in a gentle grip now, pushing them together and cradling them together. ‘Thinking you’ll be okay really isn’t gonna cut it this time—’

‘I want you.’ The words blurt out between them, clumsy and rushed and desperate. Because if he can’t make Tony understand him, Peter doesn’t get to have this.

Peter needs to have this.

‘I’ve wanted you for so long, but it was different before.’ Peter slides his hands out from Tony’s grip. ‘But Mr. Stark I—I, when I look at you, when I’m with you, I feel good. You make me feel good. I want this. So bad.’ He licks his lips. ‘Please.’

I can do this. I’ve got this. I can do this.

That’s the mantra in Peter’s head as he gathers what’s left of his courage and unbuttons his tux. His fingers fumble with the buttons but soon, the jacket falls to pool at his feet. He starts on the waistcoat next, eyes on his task and lip caught between his teeth because he can move trains and hold back giant aliens but suddenly, three little buttons seem like more than he can handle. But that too falls open and Peter shrugs it off.

‘FRIDAY,’ Tony snaps out, ‘lights.’ Then under his breath, ‘I need to see this.’

Light floods the room. The sudden blatant exposure slows Peter down but doesn’t stop him. He ducks his head, starts in on the shirt buttons.

‘Hey, Pete,’ Tony steps close, his fingers brushing against the flat of Peter’s stomach as he drags his shirt tails up, ‘eyes on me.’

Peter lets his breath out slowly. He hadn’t noticed the fine tremor of his hands but as Tony nudges them aside and takes over, he feels them now.

The cool air that washes over his chest and belly make him shiver. The snap and rough tug on his belt as Tony pulls it loose, makes him hard.

They’re so close now. Peter can hear every breath Tony takes.

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Hm?’ Tony’s hands slow and he noses along the line of Peter’s jaw. He unbuttons Peter’s dress pants. But the zipper—god. Peter feels the zipper come down tooth by tooth against the press of his erection and he closes his eyes and prays that he doesn’t come the second Tony gets his hands on him.

Tony’s teeth close over Peter’s earlobe. Peter moans and clutches at Tony’s shoulders. Reminds himself to take it easy and not break anything. He never has before, during sex. But then he’s never been with Tony Stark.

‘Got something to say Pete?’ Tony says right into the shell of Peter’s ear and follows it up with a dip of his tongue.

Peter’s eyes squeeze shut. ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god,’ he whispers, digs his fingers in to the muscles of Tony’s arms. ‘Yeah so, I’ve never done this before.’

Tony stills against him. ‘Come again?’

Peter draws back, the butterflies in his stomach turn to something else as it occurs to him that maybe this might put a damper on things. He can’t quite make out Tony’s expression though. ‘I’ve had sex! I just mean—I haven’t—done, like, a lot. With uh, with guys. I mean, hand jobs, you know? And like, blow jobs but uh—I haven’t. But I want to! I really, really want to. Can we?’

Tony tilts his head back, eyes on the ceiling.

Then Tony grabs Peter by the hair at his nape and jerks Peter’s head back. He goes in for Peter’s throat, mouth all over it. He’s biting and sucking, plastering Peter back against the door again, using his body weight to hold him there although they both know that Peter can move him in a heartbeat if he wants to.

Hot hands push into his pants from behind, grabbing handfuls of Peter’s bare ass and dragging Peter until he’s straddling Tony’s thigh, rubbing Peter’s cock against the firm muscle. Peter feels the hot painful sting of Tony sucking hard on his neck.

He’s going to have marks. So many marks.

Peter sobs when the pull of Tony’s tongue stops and teeth, sharp and unforgiving tug at his skin.

When Tony finally draws back, Peter’s dazed, breath heaving, neck damp and sore.

‘You gonna take the rest of this off?’ Tony’s hands knead his ass, pulling him rhythmically against his thigh. Over and over.

Peter nods. He’s not sure he can talk.

He toes off his shoes, Tony allowing him enough room to do it before coming right back in again as soon as Peter’s shoes fall to the floor. His pants and shorts aren’t even all the way off. Peter can’t get them past his knees because Tony’s not moving his hands from his ass. And he doesn’t want to think about how stupid he looks right now because Tony doesn’t care.

Tony’s grip shifts to just under Peter’s ass cheeks and then lifts.

‘Oh, shit. Mr. Stark—’ Peter’s dick is pressed tight between their bodies, rubbing against his own damp skin and Tony’s clothes. Tony hasn’t removed one item of clothing yet.

When Tony drops him, Peter feels that oh-shit moment before the mattress absorbs his fall and he bounces. Before he’s even pushed himself back to sitting up, his pants and shorts are yanked the rest of the way off. Tony throws them over his shoulder.

He’s staring at Peter, dragging his gaze over Peter’s legs and zeroing in on Peter’s cock, arching and swollen pink, head almost touching the skin just below his belly button.

Tony starts stripping.

Peter shifts his legs restlessly. He’s acutely aware of the weight of his balls and the tight hole just beneath them. He has the strongest urge to touch himself, to feel the phantom touch that Tony’s giving him with eyes alone.

So he does. Face burning, Peter braces himself up on one elbow. Uncertainty makes him rest his hand on his stomach for a bit, feeling his body quivering under his own touch. And then focusing on the way Tony freezes with his shirt half off, he gets that last bit of courage and wraps his hand around his own cock.

‘Oh man,’ his head drops back and he can’t even stroke himself, just holds the heavy weight of his own cock in his hand, can feel his thighs trembling with the need to just stroke hard and fast and come all over himself because then he’d get to do it all over again until he got Tony in him.

‘Jesus, kid. Keep going.’ Tony’s voice rasps over Peter’s senses and he doesn’t even have to look up. Just does as he’s told.

He slips his own touch down further, cups his balls, rubbing his fingers, pushing into the space between the sac and biting his lip to keep from yelling out in pleasure.

And then he reaches below. He feels the soft whorl of hair there, just a dusting of it over his hole. It’s dry and tight under the pad of his finger and he swallows, thinking that it’s not going to work this way. But the thought of Tony breaking him open—

His dick twitches and drools out a bead of come.

‘A warning. Keep doing that and I’m not sure you’re gonna be able to walk tomorrow.’

Tony’s hands are big on Peter’s thighs. They’re not gentle either as he grips the inside of Peter’s thighs and shoves them apart.

Peter throws an arm over his head and forces his eyes open.

The thing about Tony Stark is he has a sort of timelessness to him. Peter knows he keeps himself in shape. He’s seen Tony jogging, boxing in the ring, lifting—fighting, building things with his bare hands. So it’s no surprise that every part of Tony is toned. Peter wants to touch him all over. But that’s cool because Tony gets lower, lying down over him, goatee scraping Peter’s skin as Tony’s hips lodge between his legs, forcing them open wider. The head of his dick, hot and hard and velvet soft bumps against Peter’s balls.

It works for Peter, he just lifts and folds his legs around him, bringing him in tight.

The look Tony gives him is amused. ‘Not going anywhere. But I like this flexible thing you’ve got going on. Let’s test it out, shall we?’

‘Wha—‘

Tony grips him beneath his knees and pushes his legs back, Peter’s thighs pressed back until they’re nestled against his flanks. The position splits his ass open and bares it to the light in the room and Tony.

‘Hold them there,’ Tony murmurs, absently. When Peter does what he’s asked and holds his own legs in place, Tony spreads his hands over Peter’s ass.

Nothing has ever prepared Peter for the sensation of a tongue spearing into his ass.

He yelps, one of his hands slipping to slap down on Tony’s shoulder hard enough to make the other man grunt into Peter’s ass. But Peter’s mindless. ‘Oh G—Mr. Stark—‘

Tony lifts away long enough to look down at Peter’s sweating face, mischief shining in his brown eyes. ‘Tony,’ he corrects, ‘I think we’re at that point now, don’t you? We can explore your daddy kink later.’

Peter groans and drops his head back. ‘I don’t have a—oh, o-oh man, Mr—Tony!’

Tony spreads him as much as he can, thumbs digging cruelly either side of Peter’s hole, using them to aid in prying him open and tonguing him there, the slippery muscle of his tongue making Peter give, laving the tight ring of his hole with spit and soft licks and sucks that have him bucking up and abandoning holding a leg in place to start rubbing mindlessly at the head of his own dick, spreading the moisture down until his hips are bucking up and Tony has to pin him down by the hips.

His moans echo in the room, husky and broken and desperate. His belly is a mess and his dick is starting to hurt, Peter’s resorted to keeping his hand wrapped tight at the base by the time Tony lifts his head. His face is flushed, his eyes shining and his lips look as swollen and wet as Peter feels down there. His hole feels sloppy and open and yeah sure, he’s had fingers up there before—mainly his own—but this feels—different.

‘God, you’re stunning.’

It makes Peter smile. But it promptly vanishes when Tony dips his head back down and gives the head of Peter’s dick a lick. And that puts Peter back in the right mind space to cry. Except Tony’s biting his way up Peter’s body. He bites, sharp and wicked, down on Peter’s right nipple and a tear trickles down Peter’s cheek. Or maybe it’s sweat. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. He wraps his legs back around Tony’s waist as Tony rests a hand on his throat and slams his mouth down on Peter’s.

Peter can taste himself. And if someone had told him he’d be doing this, he might’ve scrunched up his nose and thought about it being something he would absolutely not want to do but right here, right now, it’s the most amazing thing ever and he reaches up to grab on to Tony’s face and kisses him back harder, rolling his hips up to feel Tony’s dick sliding along his wet crack.

Tony fucks his tongue into Peter’s mouth and then pulls away, hissing, to rest his forehead against Peter’s. ‘Fuck. Fuck.’

‘What? What is it?’ Peter’s heart is pounding.

‘No condoms.’

Peter blinks. ‘Uh—you don’t—you don’t have any?’

Tony closes his eyes and groans, rolls his hips against Peter’s ass making both of their breaths catch. ‘Kinda been going through a dry spell lately.’

‘Oh. Um. Yeah. So I don’t have any either.’ Peter swallows and urges Tony to look at him again, fingers stroking over Tony’s goatee, Tony’s hair, rubbing over Tony’s lips. ‘Are you safe?’

Tony’s eyes narrow. ‘If you’re—‘

‘Tony,’ Peter snaps out, not in the mood for this shit right now, ‘I don’t go around being unsafe, okay? I barely even get to do it enough to worry about not being safe. But I always am. But I trust you. And I want you in me,’ he’s going to be embarrassed tomorrow, thinking about how close his voice came to a whine at that point, ‘and if you tell me you’re good, then you’re good. But you have to trust me too. I’m not just saying this because I want to fuck. I’m saying this because this is you and —and—‘ he huffs, drops his head back against the pillow.

‘Shit,’ Tony sighs, ‘okay. Okay. And as touching as that was, we’re still having a safe sex talk when all of this is over.’

Huh. Peter feels the beginnings of a grin stealing over his face. ‘But you’re not saying no.’

‘No. God you’re a pain in the ass.’ Tony pushes himself up to kneel between Peter’s legs. He reaches to the bedside table and Peter sees him yank open the top drawer. He doesn’t take too long. Finding the lube in Peter’s drawer would’ve taken forever.

The bottle makes a soft thud as it lands next to Peter.

‘You sure you’re good with this?’

Peter nods. If he nods any harder his head might come off. ‘Yes. Yeah, please.’

The kiss Tony gives him then is different. Small, soft, lips clinging, Tony combing Peter’s hair back from his face. It ends on a gentle nip to the corner of Peter’s mouth and then pulls back. The snap of the lube bottle being opened echoes in Peter’s ears. He watches Tony pour the translucent substance onto his hand and then work it over two fingers.

Tony braces himself back over Peter, slots his hand between Peter’s legs and rubs the remainder of the lube over his hole, his crack, his balls. He wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and gives it a tight long pull before dipping his hand back down and this time, he presses the tips of two fingers to Peter’s hole. Peter catches his breath, feels his whole body react to the presence of that touch there.

‘Push out,’ Tony says and presses his fingers in.

Oh.

Oh.

Peter’s held still by Tony’s weight on him. He swallows and reaches his hands up, pressing them up against the headboard for extra leverage.

‘Try not to break it or anything,’ Tony says, and his expression seems to be saying this is a joke. But it doesn’t come out that way. Not when every part of Tony is tense now, as tense as Peter as fingers slide up inside him, making a space in him that’s not used to having anything there. It burns a little, but it’s not as bad as Peter thought. As Tony moves his fingers inside Peter, he rubs at his perineum with his thumb and Peter’s not sure if he’s going to survive this.

When Peter’s rocking back into his fingers and mouthing at Tony’s arm where it’s braced next to him, Tony pulls them out.

Little drops of sweat run down Tony’s stomach, disappearing into the short hair at the base of his dick. Tony’s dick is maybe shorter than Peter’s, not by much. Peter’s not thinking straight right now so he doubts his measuring abilities are up to scratch. What he can see for sure though, is how thick it is.

And Peter wants to see it go in.

Tony takes himself in hand, rubs the head of his dick against Peter’s hole and just seeing it almost breaks Peter apart. Tony glances up at him. ‘Alright?’

Peter bites his lip. He nods.

And Tony presses in.

Tony’s hands framing his hips, index fingers sliding into the creases of his thighs and thumbs pressing into the tops of his ass hard enough to hurt. The blunt pressure inside him is breathtaking and Peter’s breathing through his clenched teeth, brows pulled together as he tries to breathe. It hurts. Fuck it hurts but he still wants it. He doesn’t realize he’s got a hand out, flattened to Tony’s chest, that he’s panting hard as his body tries to cope with the massive intrusion.

‘Are you gonna do it? Or are you gonna make me take it?’

The words shoot through him and Peter groans. His dick, which had begun to go soft as soon as Tony started pushing in for real, twitches at the words because the image that cuts through the haze of burning discomfort is too hot not to.

Peter’s ass speared on Tony’s cock while Peter lies there, taking it.

The thumbs digging into Peter ease up and start smoothing over his sweaty skin, over and over, little strokes that after the first few start to end on the fingers tucked between his groin gently encouraging Peter to tilt his hips, enough that he feels his hole give and let in more. The noise he makes sounds alien, like he’s being choked and wounded all at once.

‘Fuck, kid—easy,’ Tony hisses. His face is scrunched up, teeth gritted, like it’s hurting him too. Maybe it is, the fit is so tight Peter’s amazed Tony can move inside him at all.

‘Sorry—I can’t—‘

Tony reaches for Peter’s cock. Peter almost cries when he feels that hand, slippery with sweat and lube wrap around his cock and begin to stroke. His hips hitch and he feels Tony’s dick slide in another inch. It burns. But at the same time the slick slide mixes with the pleasure from his cock being milked in long sure strokes that match the tiny thrusts of Tony’s hips against him.

‘That’s it,’ Tony whispers. The thrusts of his hips get stronger, forcing a little more in. ‘That’s it,’ Tony groans, head dropping, face hovering above Peter’s. He begins to work his hips properly and Peter feels he difference.

‘Oh man, oh man, Mr. St—‘ Peter chokes, forgetting how to breathe on the next thrust. Because that’s it. Oh my god that’s it.

Peter arches, mouth open on a silent moan. Tony’s balls press tight against his ass, his thighs spread wide around Tony’s hips, his ass spread wide on Tony’s cock. He’s digging his fingers into Tony’s chest, right above his heart.

Then his face is being taken in Tony’s hands and soft kisses are brushing his face everywhere. It’s only when Tony presses those kisses to Peter’s eyelashes that he realizes his eyes are wet.

‘Fuck,’ Tony sounds so reverent, ‘that’s so good. That feels so good.’ Tony sounds like this is hurting him. He pulls out, making Peter gasp at the friction but stops before leaving Peter completely. He pushes back in, forces the air out of Peter’s lungs.

And it still hurts.

But the pleasure edges it all out.

Yeah, this is good.

‘Yeah. I like this,’ Peter says.

Tony chokes out a laugh, shakes his head. And then he starts to fuck him.

Hard.

At some point, he sits back, takes Peter’s hips in hand and starts nailing his prostate on every thrust. His hands grip Peter tight and Peter loves it. Because he’s strong and he can take whatever Tony gives him and he wants Tony to know that. He wants Tony to lose himself in him, to lean on him, to take from him.

His hole is sore and it stills feels like he’s being rammed, his insides sensitive from the penetration but his dick is so hard it hurts.

’T-Tony, m’close—I’m close,’ he groans.

‘Yeah?’

And then he does something Peter isn’t expecting.

He drops his weight onto Peter, grabs Peter’s wrist, he grinds his dick in deep, slams his mouth down over Peter’s web gland and sucks.

Peter’s not sure. But he thinks he blacks out for a second, because when he opens his eyes a few moments his later, his chest hurts and the sounds he’s making are like sobs and there’s come splattered all over his stomach and chest. His body jostles as Tony fucks into him, head down, hips pistoning in and out of him. Tony gasps when he comes. He gasps and fists Peter’s hair, bringing Peter’s mouth up so he can gasp into it, and bite at his bottom lip as he spills inside him, hips slapping hard against Peter as he wrings out every last drop, until eventually he’s just a hot and heavy damp weight covering Peter head to toe.

That’s how Peter falls asleep.