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cauls-antique-pepperbox-pistol · 3 years ago

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[SPOILERS FOR THE DESOLATIONS OF DEVIL'S ACRE!! This is an alternate ending of TDoDA. Also trigger warning: suicide]

Hii, if someone remembers me talking about this alternate ending that I already had in mind before even reading TDoDA, this is what I was talking about. Editing all this here on tumblr was a pain oof. This one-shot is hella long, I think I’ve never written this much before. Also my writing is probably not WOW SUPER AMAZING, but I write cause I want to, so like 👌 (besides, I have immensely improved, you don’t wanna know what my writing looked like back in 2018-19) anyway enjoy

He felt like the air was being pulled out of his lungs. No. Like he was getting torn away from himself. Bits of his soul flying into the hands of a girl, her skin glowing brightly from the rest of him. She was struggling to hold it all in, though. Just give it back to me, he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the strength.

He felt himself shrink. It should've hurt, but it didn't. He was too weak to feel pain. Caul caught a glimpse of two familiar green eyes, fearfully staring at him from a distance. Alma. He raised one of his awful hands, wanting to grab her. But he froze as he watched each of his long fingers break off, like wood splits in a fire. He looked back at his sister, panic creeping into him. What is happening to me? His sister wasn't looking at him anymore, though. She grabbed the girl's shoulder, shouted something and nodded and the girl ran off, toward the exit. Everyone else followed and left Caul behind. He felt so tired and empty, he didn't even try coming after them. Emptiness was all there was, just like before. Something was pulling on his legs, dragging him deeper into the pool behind him. Legs. He had legs again. This isn't right.

"Jack." a familiar voice said, not too far away from him. With great effort, he turned to spot the owner of the voice. It was his brother, Myron, embraced by a blue outline, which was slowly fading. But it was all wrong. He was young, a boy, around fifteen years old, wearing a torn suit and hat that were way too big for him. "Mum and dad called for us, Jack!" he said again. "We have to go!" Caul was so tired. He just wanted to give in to the water pulling him into its depths behind him. The ocean behind him. What? The ground underneath him loosened, turning to sand. Wind ruffled his hair. Seagulls seemed to laugh down at his demise. They were at a beach. He gave his brother a confused and helpless look. Myron shielded his eyes with one hand and watched the waves in the distance. "They're pretty far out already!" he shouted over the sound of the wind. "We should really go. They're waiting for us."

"I don't want to." Caul managed to say, but then gasped at the sound of his own voice in surprise. He, too, sounded fairly young. "But we have to follow them, Jack. We have no other choice." Myron said and now he was looking back down at his little brother with a sad expression. And then, right in front Caul's eyes, Myron seemed to rapidly grow older and taller. His expression was saddening more, his face mirroring a horrible and long forgotten past. Then he repeated his words, his voice deeper, bitter and less innocent. "We have no other choice." The seagulls overhead disappeared to make way for a brewing storm and it began to drizzle. Both of the brothers were startled by the sound of thunder, but strangely, the rumbling never stopped. It kept going, until the ground beneath them joined in and shook from the noise, making the sand dance. Caul struggled to keep himself on the shore even more, as the waves grasped him. Myron pointed his face toward the sky. He took off his hat in awe, revealing two antennae sprouting from beneath his hair and brought his hat down to his chest, almost hugging it. He hummed and said, "I don't think this is supposed to happen." A lightning lit up the dark and stormy horizon. "No, we certainly can't go in the water now." Myron said, shaking his head, then turned and looked at something on the dune. He spread his arms as if a dog was running toward him. "PT, come over here! That's a good boy!" In the distance, a bear grunted. That was the last thing Caul heard and the last thing he saw seemed to be the dark clouds falling from the sky, crashing down on them. And then there was nothing. Only the deafening sound of silence. No one else was there. Not even his brother. Only he was. Alone behind his eyes. He had passed out.

[—]

They all woke up to the sound of thunder. Gasping and wide-eyed, they searched the place around them for their friends. "Noor!" Jacob shouted and then a hand grabbed his. "I'm here." Noor said, right next to him. They looked each other up and down, asking if they were okay, coming to the conclusion that, yes, they were alright and that they weren't dead. Jacob carefully and slowly stood up. "We're back." he said. It was Abe's house, its porch and yard, to be exact. "But how?" Noor asked, standing up, too. The bushes surrounding the yard rustled and they both held their breath, in fear of whatever was over there could hear it. But then they heard their friends' voices and then saw each of their heads pop out of the bushes. They came running over to them, shaking leaves off their arms and legs on the way. "I hit the button on the Expulsatator right when Caul appeared!" it was Emma, holding up a little black thing. "We made it!" But then Hugh came running, Fiona hurrying over alongside him, their hands linked. "He's still here. And alive." he said, in between heavy breaths. "Fiona just saw him." Hugh pointed in the direction they came from. "Come over to me, children!" Miss Peregrine called out, her voice wavering. Together, they all backed away to the porch and anxiously watched the woods ahead of them.

They expected something monstrous—a giant ten-fingered hand reaching out from between the trees, greedily feeling the ground for Miss Peregrine and her wards, or a large terrifying face filled with hatred beyond imagination. Instead, a tiny figure rose from behind a bush, then swayed, unsteady on their feet, and fell. It was Caul, exhausted and apparently not used to having real legs again, laying splayed on the ground, only his upper body pointing out of the bush. He groaned as he kept trying to push himself back up, but failing over and over again. "You've got to be kidding me!" Emma said. Miss Peregrine slowly approached him, but soon stopped, in order to still keep a distance. She narrowed her eyes, examining him. He was his old self again. Everything was the same, except for a few tree branches that led off his shoulders and two very prominent ones sprouting from his head, though you could almost call them horns. Red, lightning-shaped scars spread across his body.

Caul was muttering, while glaring at something behind the bushes. Then a voice. "Oh, finally!" it said, happily. "It's over, I'm free!" An older man stepped out from behind a bush, looking a bit worse for wear—his suit was torn and a huge piece of his hat was just dangling from it. His face was shining with relief, though. It was Myron. "I'm finally myself again!" he said and laughed, as if not quite believing his own words. Myron looked himself up and down, touching his face. "Just me and only me!"

"Shut up." Caul said through gritted teeth. "You should be grateful that I was keeping you alive the entire time."

"Grateful?" Myron said, shaking his head, bitterly. "No, never. You put me through hell." In the past days, Myron had been attached to his brother in some parasitical way and had seen all the horrible things his brother did, had shared a mind and body with him.

"You should thank me for lending you all my knowledge. Admit it, without me you would have never made it this far." Myron said, then finally noticed the group of peculiars standing further away from them. At the sight of Miss Peregrine, his eyes widened and the antennae on his head shot up, pushing his hat off. He caught it in time and then smiled, awkwardly. "Alma!" he called out and waved his hand, but put it down again when he saw his sister's confused expression. Myron cleared his throat, apologised and put his hat back on to hide his antennae. Jacob stepped out of the crowd. "What you told me was true." he said to Myron. "You helped us...again. Thank you."

"My pleasure." Myron said with a nod. "I decided that it was the least I could do. But I thank you for finally setting an end to...this." Myron nodded at his brother, who stared at his hands like he'd never seen any before. Caul's eyes got big, as panic crept into him and he realised what had happened to him. "Where'd they go?" he said, his voice trembling with growing rage. "Where did my powers go? Where is my SOUL?!" As Myron tried to answer his questions as good as possible, Caul asked more and more of them. "Where am I?! Why am I not in my library?! I want to go back! BRING ME BACK TO MY LIBRARY!" he screamed, in a fit of anger. He hit the grass with his fists over and over again. "Does anyone happen to have a bit of sleep dust?" Myron shouted over Caul's voice. Murmur broke out amongst the peculiars, searching for Mother Dust's powder. Meanwhile, Caul seemed to be trying to find something, hastily looking around the place. Then his eyes locked on Noor and he got furious, as he remembered the way she was draining his light. "YOU!" he screamed and everyone, including Noor, flinched. "YOU TOOK IT! YOU'VE STOLEN WHAT'S MINE!" And then he tried to crawl over to her, but he still didn't have enough strength to pull himself forward. He wasn't used to being weak again. "I've got some!" Emma shouted. "Here, take this!" She came running toward Caul, held her breath and closed her eyes, and lastly threw the sleep dust right into his face. As a reflex, he shut his eyes and tried to get the dust off with his hands, but breathed it all in in the process. Soon, the dust was starting to work its magic and suddenly Caul's arms got too heavy for him and he gave up on removing the stuff. By then he had stopped screaming and flailing. "Goodnight, asshole." Emma spat. He said, "What...did you..." and then his head dropped down and he was suddenly deep asleep.

Myron stood over him, looking down. "We need to cover him with something, since he...well, he doesn't have clothes at the moment." he said to Emma, who was the nearest to him. She grimaced, disgusted, then turned to Jacob and shouted, "Can you get a blanket from inside?" Jacob nodded, took a step toward the house, but then stopped. "Mr. Bentham?" he said and Myron looked at him. "I think you should come and see where he lived." Myron hesitated for a few seconds, staring nervously. He knew who Jacob meant by he. "Why, of course." he said, eventually. He came over, walking past Miss Peregrine, who locked eyes with him for a moment, her face seeming to say pay your respects.

They entered the house, through the torn screen door. Myron stared at it, a bit shocked. "Was this when...?"

"Yeah," Jacob said. "When the hollow came." Myron suddenly felt uneasy and guilty, as if he had been the hollowgast himself and killed Abe. He hadn't, of course. But he had taken a part of Abraham's soul. If not, his peculiarity wouldn't have ended up diluted and might have saved his life. They stopped in the middle of the living room. "So this is my grandfather's house." Jacob said. He went over to the sofa, picking up a fuzzy blanket. "It's so...simple." Myron said, taking everything in. "I think he liked it that way." Jacob replied.

"He did." While Myron was still fascinated by the four walls around him and its furniture, Noor came up to Jacob. "Is he the wizard guy?" Noor whispered, leaning in to him. "What?" Jacob frowned. "I mean the architect." she corrected herself. "Bentham, right? The one who wrote the list with the ingredients?"

"Oh, yeah, this is him." Jacob said. "He was calling out to you in the library, remember? That was his voice. You just couldn't see him, yet." Noor made an oooh sound, nodding. "Are those antennae his peculiar trait?" she whispered again, as they watched Myron take his hat off in front of a framed picture of Abe. Jacob shook his head no. "I don't think so." Myron had returned from the library of souls, had been exposed to its power, which was the best explanation to his appearance there was.

Jacob showed the blanket to Myron. "Will this be enough?" Myron nodded. "That will be enough. There's not much of my brother to cover, anyway." he winked and smiled, chuckling at his own joke. "Well, let's get this over with." They met with the rest outside. Caul was still laying in the grass, sleeping on his stomach. No one had dared to go near him—for good reason. They had seen him play dead a few times before and didn't want to be tricked again. Only this time, he wasn't playing. Jacob dropped the blanket over Caul and together with Myron's help wrapped it around his body, as if tucking him in. He looked uncannily peaceful, but they knew that he was a monster, that had tried to kill them minutes ago. That was the thing about monsters—they're harmless when they're asleep and don't you dare wake them.

"Some of you will stay here and keep watch over the situation," Miss Peregrine announced. "and the rest will come with me to Devil's Acre to get the home guards, so they can carry my brother to a secure place where the world is safe from him." She went around and listed the ones staying at Abe's house—Bronwyn, Emma, Jacob and Noor, in case there were still powers left inside Caul. "And you, brother." Miss Peregrine glanced at Myron. Before she would leave with some of her wards, Myron had one last question. "Will my sentence be lightened?" he asked, carefully, like a child asking if they could stay up a bit longer. "That's not completely up to me." Miss Peregrine replied, without looking at him. "But if it was, would you lighten it?" he asked again. She gave no answer to that. She was already leaving.

[—]

There he was now. Asleep on the backseats of a car, the movements cradling him, familiar voices talking quietly around him as they drove. Later he was limp in the arms of one of the home guards, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, almost like a newborn. Angry, horrified and disgusted stares of people pierced through him, as he was carried down a street like a trophy. Shouts echoed from both sides, but he could barely hear any of them. Their hatred and anger toward him was justified, but their efforts were for nothing.

Everything got a bit more quiet, then. They went through a long hallway, passing rooms filled with the noise of people using typewriters. The home guard stopped, alarmed, as Caul shifted slightly in his arms, taking a deep breath. He was still asleep and only made himself a bit more comfortable. But he wouldn't be sleeping peacefully much longer. Eventually, the guard rid himself of his duty, putting Caul down in the corner of a padded cell, a place safe for him to wake up in, protecting himself and the people around him as well. Then the guard closed and locked the door behind him, the cell falling into silence.

. . .

. . . . .

. . . . . . . .

He was very slowly waking up, opening his eyes, but closing them again and every time he did open them, the room around him was blurry and spinning. He felt so light, he thought that he was floating. Caul had to think of a song and hummed along to it, swaying his head and smiling, dazed. The song started to distort into a voice, though, many voices and sounds. Someone called his name, seagulls were laughing, waves crashing and thunder bringing down the clouds. Everything was so loud. He tensed up, turning his head from side to side, as if trying to get rid of a nightmare. Keys clattered from outside the door, footsteps on linoleum floor. Caul forced his eyes wide open, gasping. He still couldn't quite see, but it was getting better. His head dropped down and he got a look at his arms. What happened to my arms? They seemed to be merged together, fused into one. He tried to pull them apart, but nothing happened. He panicked as he kept on struggling to get them free. Caul tried to scream, but there seemed to be no voice coming out. What did they do to me? he thought, as memories started to come back. Then his vision sharpened and he realised that his arms weren't actually merged together, not really, that is. Someone had put him in a straight jacket. He grunted, slammed his head against a wall of pillows in frustration. Smooth. There were pillows everywhere. On the floor, on the walls and on the ceiling. And then he realised what this place was. A wave of anger coursed through him, but before it could burst out of him, he pushed it back down. It would only be a waste of energy, so he decided to keep it for later. Caul just sighed instead.

A little window in the door slid open and a pair of eyes appeared in its frame. Caul narrowed his eyes at them, trying to recognise the person, but that turned out to be nearly impossible. "You'll remain in here for a few more hours, until we can be certain you're not posing a threat to us anymore." the guard said. "Where...are...they?" Caul mumbled, finally able to speak again, if only barely. "The ymbrynes asked us to give you the information you need, so that's what I'm here for now—you're in Devil's Acre's jail, you inhaled a large dose of sleep dust, which you're currently recovering from and we imagine you already experienced some its effects." the man said, then stopped, checked a little piece of paper and looked at Caul, who was far from okay as reality continued to crash in on him. "Anyway—" the man began, but then Caul started screaming the names of his siblings. He got on his knees, trying to stand up without his arms, but he just fell onto his side. "If you keep on screaming, we might have to keep you in there for a bit longer." the guard said and at that Caul froze, looking up at the door. "I'm calm now." he said, quickly. Of course, that was a lie. "Far from it." the guard replied. "I'M CALM NOW!" Caul screamed again. "LET ME OUT!"

"You'll only be put into another cell. So, what's the difference, hm?" the guard shut the little window in the door and then Caul heard him walk away.

This is ridiculous, Caul thought. He used to rule over this place. He was the one putting people behind bars. Now, they put him behind bars, trapped him in his own home. Forever.

He managed to push himself back up and then he sat there, thinking. He thought about his brother and hoped he, too, ended up in jail. It's only fair. And he thought about his sister, how he wished his hands would turn back into those deadly claws again and how he could grab her and watch the life go out of her. But he couldn't. He was back at the beginning now. And also at his end.

[—]

In the next few hours, they had to switch the guards several times after they complained about Caul talking too much. Which was true. He told them jokes that weren't funny, sang at the top of his lungs, screamed and pretended to cry, other times cackling for no apparent reason. The sleep dust had stopped working, unfortunately and Caul was testing the guards' mental limits, until they would give in and let him out. "Why not come in and join me?" he said once, slapping the pillows beneath him. Sometimes he'd wink at them, if they were looking inside. "It's so cozy." He was free from the straight jacket now, but hadn't moved cells yet. "I liked him more in that sedated state." one guard would say to the other, both shaking their heads in agreement. Thankfully, there was light at the end of the tunnel and Caul was finally getting a new home; another cell, but with less smooth pillows, a bed and cold, grey concrete walls. He hadn't seen his new cell, yet, though. But he was going to and he was going to hate it.

"You think they'll execute him at some point?" a guard asked another one, who was fumbling with his keys in front of Caul's cell. "I don't know. I thought the ymbrynes got rid of death sentences." said the other. "Either way, they told us to move him to a new cell." Then from inside the cell, Caul's voice blared, causing the guard to drop his keys. "Oh, please! End this nightmare that I call my life!" he wailed and then laughed. "Just kidding, though I'd gladly challenge death again." The guard picked up his keys and sighed in frustration. "You know the drill—you stay in the back of the room, while we enter. We have guns, you don't." he said, while unlocking the door. "Understood?"

"Yessir." Caul replied, snickering. They went in, one of them immediately aiming a gun at Caul, who stood opposite from them, on the other side of the cell. Caul raised an eyebrow. "Still afraid?" he nodded at the gun, grinning. "Just being careful." the man holding it replied. "Ah. Is that so?" Caul said. He made a twirling motion with his hand, then snapped his fingers. The guards stepped back, anxiously looking around, waiting for something to happen. Caul clicked his tongue, disappointed. "Hm, no, nothing. Not even a tiny spark." he was referring to his lost powers and pointed up at his branch-like horns. "That's all that's left, then." He stretched out his arms toward the guards, as if offering them to them. "Take me away, boys." The two men looked at each other, sighed and then the one, who was not holding the gun, handcuffed Caul. "Oh, please be gentle. I'm sensitive." he fake-whined, as the metal rings closed around his wrists. "You weren't gentle with us either." the guard reminded him. Caul thought for a moment, a bit caught off guard by that. "Well—" he began to say, but then the man slapped his shoulder, lightly. "And after all, we're just doing our job." he interrupted him. "Let's get you out of here."

They shoved him toward the door, urging him to walk faster by poking his back with the barrel of the gun. The guards led him through the long hallway, all the while Caul was complaining about the way he was treated. Every now and then he would also peek inside other cells, only to be stopped by the sound of the gun being cocked behind him—a warning. Downstairs, another long hallway awaited them. They had to go all the way through it, the prisoners inside recognising Caul, shouting and trying to reach out to him through the prison bars. Most of them were ambrosia addicts and were begging him for that stuff, thinking that that's the reason he was there. His face was the main symbol of that drug business and to see him was like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, the sun rising, a god descending to bestow gifts upon them. "Oh, please share some with us, sir! Even if it's just a drop!" one of them pleaded, kneading his hands together like a prayer. But they were already past him. "Not today!" Caul shouted after him, looking back. "Maybe another time!" There wouldn't be another time, though. "Face forward." the guard with the gun growled.

Arriving at the end of the corridor, they unlocked a new door and shoved Caul inside. He stumbled, then caught himself and gaped at the room in front of him. It was almost sad. The room was parted with a wall of prison bars and the cell was bigger than the first one, but no one had really thought of filling all that space. There was a bed underneath a tiny window high up in the wall on one side and a small table and chair on the other. Everything surrounded by a grey floor and ceiling and walls, all with the same shade of grey. Caul hated it, as expected. "Can I go back to the padded cell?" he said, giving them a sweet, but forced smile. "No." one of the guards smiled back at him. "Now get in." Caul groaned, annoyed, but did as he was told and trudged inside. With a gun pressed against his temple, they opened his handcuffs. He massaged his wrists and grimaced in pain. "Why did they have to be so tight?" he asked, glaring at them. "What if you cut off my blood flow? Did you think about that?"

"Don't be a baby." the guard said. "Are you a doctor or something?"

"Yes. Not a certified one, but I would consider myself a doctor, yes." Caul replied, seeming a little offended. "I'm afraid my patients didn't always survive, though..."

"Patients, yes?" the man spat. "You mean innocent peculiars who fell victim to your wicked experiments?"

"That's your way of saying that." Caul said. The guards laughed, one of them patting Caul on the shoulder and said, "Whatever you say, little man." and they went out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind them.

Before they left completely, Caul's eyes got wide and he remembered something. "Is my brother here, too?" he shouted after them. "Myron Bentham?" The guards looked at each other for a moment and exchanged a few words, whispering, then they shook their heads. "His name is not on our list." they replied, shrugging.

This can't be, Caul thought. He gripped the prison bars. "Will he be here?"

"That's up to the ymbrynes." one guard said. "Check that list again. He has to be here." Caul insisted on it, with pressure in his voice. "Fine, but we're pretty sure they only lengthened his exile here in Devil's Acre. Looks like he's better than you." the guard said and then they left, disappearing down the long hallway. "He gets to live in a fancy house, while I'm rotting in here?!" Caul screamed. "He's just as bad as I am!" Caul continued to screech about his brother having attempted mass murder, which luckily failed, but cursed Caul and his followers with seemingly endless agony and insatiable hunger, walking the earth as monsters with contorted bodies. He continued screaming about how Myron had ruined everything, the sound echoing through that whole section of the building, his hatred seeming to never end, but then a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him and he slowly slid down to the cold concrete floor. His lack of powers was still causing him problems. Through the tiny window, he saw faint light outside, the sun rising. And even though he didn't know for how long he had already done that a few hours ago, he felt like sleeping again.

[—]

Smoke was still rising up from the ground, each street and alley having turned into their own little Smoking Street. Houses had been used as punching bags by the monsters the wights had become, whose dead bodies were now scattered across the Acre, some on the burned ground and some dramatically lying limp on rooftops. Their fighting had been for nothing—they were dead, their leader alive, but behind bars and left with no powers. Miss Peregrine and Myron walked down a street, side by side. Both had the same sour expression aimed at the place around them. "You don't seem fazed." Miss Peregrine pointed out. "No. I've seen all of this happen. Saw it through his eyes." Myron said, suddenly disgusted by the recurring memories of it. Ash softly rained down on their clothes and Myron sometimes took off his hat to shake it all off, only to end up getting ash in his hair, too. This was not some leftover of Caul's desolations, though, but ash from houses and other things that had burned during the battle. Lastly, they stopped in front of Myron's house and he gaped at it, sighing in relief. "Your house is one of the still standing buildings." Miss Peregrine said. "It even kept ninety-nine of us peculiars safe for a little while." Myron slowly approached his house, taking off his hat. "When Jack got so close to it," he said, remembering the scene. "I thought it was lost for good." There was still evidence of the havoc Caul had caused around the house—there, where his personal tornado had spun, was a wide and not too deep trench surrounding a part of the house. But the Quilt stopped Caul from moving on to Myron's house. Other than its surroundings, his house seemed to be in top shape, except for some scratches.

The trench was luckily a bit narrower at the front door and Myron simply hopped over it and held out a hand to his sister and with his help she crossed it, too. Myron opened the door and an oh my God escaped his lips. He held the door open for Miss Peregrine while putting a hand on his forehead, not believing his eyes. "I'm home again, actually home." he said. "I didn't think I'd see this place again."

"I must mention that some things have changed, though." she said to him. Myron turned to look at her, alarmed. "What has changed?" he asked, turning a bit pale. "We decided to bring your Panloopticon to good use, for example." Miss Peregrine replied. "Peculiars here can use it to travel to places in an easier way now. Sort of like a main station. I suppose that is its purpose, yes?"

"Yes...that's good to hear. If only I could have been there when you started using it." Myron said, colour returning to his face. "I almost thought you meant the..."

"Wax figures?" she said, sternly and at that Myron's eyes widened, again. "Yes, we gave them a new home and they're currently being watched over and taken care of." Myron looked pained and didn't reply to any of that. He knew what he had done and there were no excuses to cover anything up with. Soon he would have to confront his crimes, but so would his brother, who was the most guilty. From the depths of the hallway, a little man came running, one side of his hair messed up. "Mr. Bentham!" he called out, flapping his hands in excitement. "Nim!" Myron said and laughed, as Nim embraced him in a hug, making him stumble a little. "It's so good to see you again, sir!" he said, barely being able to contain his joy. "I missed you, too, Nim," Myron replied, then patted Nim's back. "but I need to talk to my sister in private now." They let go of each other and Nim vanished back into the direction he came from. They also met Sharon on their way to the library, but he only greeted Miss Peregrine and didn't even look at Myron.

"Nim has helped us, too." Miss Peregrine said, as they entered the big library. "He showed us the copy of the list of ingredients that the wights were using to resurrect our brother. Only that by then, we were a bit too late." The two siblings sat down on the sofa, as if preparing for a harsh conversation. "Percival Murnau." Myron guessed. "It was him, wasn't it?" Miss Peregrine nodded at that and a chill went through her brother. "That's no surprise. I never liked him, he never liked me."

"We thought we had won and that he needed my heart." Miss Peregrine explained. "Which wasn't very pleasant information, either, considering he was still out there, but at least we were expecting him to come back for me. So we thought we had control over the situation." Myron shifted uncomfortably, looking around for something—probably for PT—but he soon stopped, remembering his grimbear wasn't around anymore. In stressing moments, he would always seek comfort by patting and hugging PT. "But you didn't have control over the situation." Myron assumed. "No. We certainly didn't." she said. "It wasn't mine, but Velya Greenshank's heart that Murnau needed—and eventually obtained." Myron nodded, knowingly. Then there was a crushing silence between the two. There was so much to say, but all that was a struggle to put into words. For now, they just silently prepared for the rest of their conversation.

"When he brought his wights to Abaton, I knew it didn't look good for me. Jack somehow robbed me of my newly obtained powers, turning me back to my old self." Myron said, gesturing at himself. "I was weak and they were way bigger and so much more powerful than me. After a few close calls, I ran away into the library and hid there. At this point, they were far too busy training outside and seemed to have forgotten about me."

"Mr. Portman told me that the soul jars he used were already placed there, ready for him to take them," Miss Peregrine said. "and I wonder...did you put them there?" Myron nodded. "Yes, that was me. Luckily, there was still a bit of Abraham's soul left in me. My ability to see and handle soul jars was barely there, but just enough to do this one last deed." he explained and then his expression darkened. "It wasn't long until Jack remembered that I was still trespassing his library—as he would say—and he was far from done with me. And he needed me." Myron took a deep breath and then continued. "He didn't admit that, of course, but when he caught me, I must have blacked out and the next thing I knew was that...I was him. I was still me, but also him. We were connected in some sick and cruel way, merged, forced together to live as one." Miss Peregrine was listening closely now, fingers placed on her lips. "He had complete access to my knowledge on Old Peculiar and other things that turned out to be useful to him, while I had to endure the chaos that was his mind and watch him do all the horrible things he did." Myron said and shuddered, remembering everything. He shook his head, trying to shake off those horrible thoughts. "I wish I could have been there, by your side. Even before all this happened. There is so much I regret—" Miss Peregrine stopped him, not wanting to confront all this again at the moment. "I know, Myron, and we will get to those regrets soon," she said. "but I want you to know that...despite everything I'm still glad you're back here with us. I don't think I can entirely forgive you, but you're still my brother." Myron nodded, understandingly, smiled subtly—while his sister wasn't—and then he awkwardly cleared his throat and stood up. "Well, I better go and see Nim. He's been waiting for me for months now after all." he said, then went over to the door and before he left, he waved at his sister. She waved back and thought to her herself, it hasn't been like this in over a century.

[—]

"We checked again and he's not on the list." a guard said, already tired of the following argument. "WHAT!" Caul barked, jumping up from his bed. "You're lying!" He stomped over to the wall of prison bars, gripping them, as if wanting to break them. "Show me! I want to see it!" he demanded. The guard drew in a deep breath, turned the paper with the list on it around and showed it to Caul, at a safe distance, in case Caul tried to snatch it from him. With his eyes narrowed, Caul scanned the paper, working it over for his brother's name. Of course, he found many names but Myron's name. "This list must be a fake!" Caul protested. "In fact, you just wrote it while you were apparently gone to get the real one. Yes, you thought you could trick me and play a joke on me. You think you're so fucking funny, hm?" The guard blinked at him, probably barely following Caul's rant. "But you know what?" Caul said and picked up a chair, then threw it at the opposite wall and yelled, "I'm not someone you play jokes on!" The chair broke apart into several pieces and was now scattered on the floor at Caul's feet. "Wow, that's badly made." he mumbled. Caul picked up one of the chair's legs and pointed it at the mess he made. "This could be you." he warned, his voice low, trying to sound threatening. "Sure." the guard shrugged.

Caul sighed and tossed the chair's leg over to the rest of it. He shuffled back to his bed and let himself fall down on it, defeated. "This isn't fun." he whined. "We'll be handing out meals soon. Maybe you'll find some fun in that." the guard said. Caul's head shot up at the word meals. "Do you have souls?" Caul asked, smiling. "We had plenty of them, you know. I'm sure you kept some after you scavenged my fortress. It's okay, you can admit it."

"No, we just hand out bread and water." Caul cursed silently and his head dropped back down. He heard the guard's footsteps getting quieter, leaving the room and entering the hallway. He felt like shouting something after him, but figured it wouldn't be worth it and that it wouldn't lead to anything. Caul stood up on his bed on tiptoes and watched the street outside through the tiny gap in the wall, which they just barely called a window. The sky was gradually darkening, the sun saying its last goodbyes to Devil's Acre's smoking ruins. I did this, Caul thought to himself and a sudden pride and joy shot through him as he saw his desolated home, but that was soon interrupted by familiar voices of people walking down the street. He squeezed his face into the gap, eyes wide and spotted Jacob, Noor and what appeared to be a floating pair of pants—Millard. They've ruined everything. He got angry again and decided to get their attention. "HEY!" he screamed and they all flinched, staring into his direction. Caul gripped the metal bars in the window. "You think you defeated me, think it's over, don't you?"

"Well, didn't we?" Millard said. "You look very defeated if I'm being honest."

"Oh, this is only temporary! My strife will never end, I will never end! But yooouuu will, children!" Caul sang, but at this point even he wasn't sure about that anymore. Then he addressed Jacob, knowing he'd always been able to scare him. "And especially you, Jacob, know that. Nothing ever really has an end." Jacob backed away, a little caught off guard. Before he could talk back, Noor squeezed his hand. "Come on, guys." Noor said. "That's all just crazy talk." They were about to leave, when Caul screamed at them again. He hit his fist on the wall, cursed when he hurt himself and shook his hand, trying to get rid of the pain. "Damn you!" he cried. Noor rolled her eyes, reached her hand up into the air and stole the light from the street lamps around them. But as she did that, Caul noticed a blue light emitting from underneath his shirt and he gasped. It seemed to float out of him and he began to feel even weaker than he already did. No, no, no. He tried to grasp it, which failed, of course, for he wasn't a light eater. But then it suddenly seeped back into him, right when Noor was finished with what she was doing outside. Caul clutched his chest, as he watched them walk away. "My soul," he breathed. "it's still there. A little bit of it." There was, indeed, still a bit left in him. A part Noor couldn't eat, a part as thin as a string close to snapping, keeping him alive. But it held no powers.

During the next days, Caul got so bored, he started playing imaginary chess with the guards and cheered every time he won. He always won—because he was the only one playing. Other times, he would even flirt with the guards, only to be rejected or ignored. Again, they often had to switch the people guarding him because of that. "Who would date you?" one asked, laughing. "Oh, I know someone who would and who was dating me," Caul replied. "but he's DEAD!" And so Caul would also scream and cry sometimes, still mourning his downfall in one moment, only to break out cackling and going on about how he will escape in the next. He would always claw at the tiny window—which he would never fully reach and never fit through—to get outside. After realising he wasn't able to do that, Caul would break down crying again, then come to accept his fate and play jokes on the guards like he did before. This went on and on, over and over again. A cycle of mental torture for both the guards and Caul himself—if there was anything left of his mind to torture.

Days later, it finally had an end, when they dragged him to court and confronted him at a trial. At first, he didn't appear to be bothered much by everything around him. On the contrary—smirking, he leaned back on his chair and rested his legs on the table in front of him, arms behind his back, handcuffs around his wrists. The ymbrynes told him to stop that, though, so Caul brought his legs back down and rolled his eyes, muttering something about, "I'm not a child anymore." Two guards were by his side, whispering warnings to him. His siblings were there, too; Myron sitting opposite from Caul with his sister next to him, his antennae waving around, nervously. Miss Peregrine had her hands folded together and was glancing over at the other ymbrynes, waiting for the trial to start. In the course of it, Caul proudly confessed to everything they accused him of, even revealing other horrible crimes the ymbrynes did not know about—such as what he did to his brother, Myron. As soon as Caul mentioned that, everyone's eyes locked on Myron and he sank down on his chair, colour leaving his face. Caul gave him a sinister grin and mocked him, but then an ymbryne interrupted Caul. "I'm sure your brother can speak to this without your help, thank you." she said, coldly, and then she addressed Myron, nodding at him. "Mr. Bentham?"

"Yes, er..." Myron sat back upright and cleared his throat. "I do actually...have something to say to this."

"Of cooouurse he does..." Caul said, quietly and rolled his eyes again. Someone shushed him. Myron pushed back his chair and carefully stood up, his hands shaking. His eyes were scanning the table in front of him, anxiously. "As we all know, I am quite guilty as well. Very guilty, actually." he began and slowly raised his head. "Yes, I have worked together with my brother, even after I noticed that something was off about him. Yes, I did try to murder him and his followers back in 1908. Yes, I also lied to Abraham Portman about what I would use his soul for. And yes...I even forced my healer to turn peculiars into living statues with her dust. To that there is no explanation nor justification, I know this."

The court room was quiet, even including Caul. He was playing around with a few leaves that were growing on his horns, barely listening to what was going on around him. Myron continued, glaring at Caul. "But, your honour, if I may...my brother, Jack Bentham." he said, his voice becoming louder and Caul immediately turned his head to look at him. "My own brother tormented me, enslaved me, tortured me. He did not spare Alma, either." Myron gestured at Miss Peregrine. Some ymbrynes nodded, others were writing something down. "There's still something else we wanted to address..." said an ymbryne, looking up from her notes. "And it's your list of ingredients. We know now that you purposely mistranslated mother of storms to fool the wights, which did not work. But out of everything, you chose mother of birds and we would like to know why. You could have put an important ymbryne in danger, maybe even your sister." Myron looked down at Miss Peregrine in regret, then he nodded, remembering. "Yes, that wasn't right." he said. "I was angry and I shouldn't have done that."

"He was angry!" Caul laughed, his voice sudden and loud, startling everyone in the court room. "You know who was angry, too? ME! Is that your excuse, Myron?" Myron ignored his question and just went on. "All I wanted was to put an end to my brother. I knew about the prophecy for a long time and when I realised that Jack was a part of it, was meant to become this king, this monster, I tried everything to prevent—"

"But you failed!" Caul shouted and cackled. "You can't stop prophecies from coming true! Destiny will always find a way! Think, Myron, think!"

"I would love it if you didn't interrupt me." Myron said, calmly, but there was pressure in his voice. Caul rolled his eyes. "Blablablah...would love it if you didn't interrupt me...blablablah." he muttered, mocking his brother. "Jack! This is serious!" Myron yelled, slapping the table. "We're in the midst of a trial!" Caul looked around, grinning. "Really?" he said, sarcastically. "Oh, you're right! We really are!" He laughed. Myron threw his arms in the air in frustration, then put a hand on his forehead. He sighed. "I can't believe this is happening."

Miss Peregrine tugged on his sleeve, asking him to sit back down. He did, eventually and buried his face in his hands. "Already giving up?" Caul was giving his all at mocking his brother. This might be his last opportunity, after all. "Remember what I said about how your will is weak? This is what I meant!" Miss Peregrine was whispering something to Myron, who then shook his head—I can't do this—and she nodded at the other ymbrynes, signalising them to end this. "I think we're done here for today." one of them said. "NO!" Caul screamed at them, then kicked the table. The guards immediately held him back from causing any more damage. "MYRON, LOOK AT ME!" But his siblings were already being led out of the room. Caul wanted to get up, to run after them, but the guards were stronger and kept him down on his chair. He struggled and screamed bloody murder, until a guard cupped a hand over his mouth. But Caul only licked his palm and gasping, the guard quickly pulled his hand away again. Caul laughed at that, but then continued screeching, demanding to be let go. "He needs to sleep again!" an ymbryne shouted. Two men, wearing gas masks came in through the big door, one of them holding a white little bag. They rid the current guards of their duty. One put a hand on top of Caul's head, while his other hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him down. The second man opened his bag and poured white powder onto his hand, which Caul immediately recognised. "NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN!" he screamed, panicking. The one with the powder forcefully planted his hand on Caul's other shoulder and carefully brought the powder closer to his face. When his hand was above Caul, he sprinkled it onto him. Still yelling and struggling, Caul involuntarily breathed it all in, then coughed and sent out a cloud of white dust. Again, Mother Dust's powder was working perfectly and quickly. Caul was able to slur out some last words, but they were almost unintelligible. The guards let him go as his head dropped down and he went limp on his chair.

[—]

He'd been staring at the blank wall, tucked into a blanket on his bed, only his head poking out. Caul had slept through most of the dust's effects and was now just laying there, thinking about nothing. He rolled onto his other side and flinched when he spotted his sister sitting on a chair behind the wall of prison bars. He sighed. "How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice raspy. Miss Peregrine consulted her pocket watch. "For twelve minutes and twenty-four seconds." she replied. Caul propped himself up and groaned as he slowly sat up on his bed. He had never looked so miserable as he did in that moment. "Why are you here?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her, then widened them as he looked at a bright spot on the floor. He followed the beam of light, that was casting it, up to the window behind him. It was daytime, but what time exactly? "What time is it?"

"Three in the afternoon." Miss Peregrine said. "You're going to ruin my sleep schedule if you keep on doing this to me." Caul complained. "You probably won't need a proper sleep schedule, since you will stay behind bars for forever." Miss Peregrine said. "And it's up to you if we have to put you to sleep over and over again. It was for your and everyone else's well-being."

"Forever? In here?" Caul didn't seem particularly surprised, though. "Yes. That was your punishment." his sister replied. "We didn't get to tell you at the trial." Caul shortly laughed, even sounding a bit hopeless and shrugged. "Fun. Speaking of the trial, why wasn't Miss Avocet there?" Miss Peregrine hesitated at first. "She died." she said. "She died the night you surrounded Myron's house. Since one of us had been killed, we had to put an extra amount of energy into the Quilt and that became too much for her."

"Oh." Caul only said and stared at the floor. They didn't say a word for a while, as if holding a moment of silence for Miss Avocet. As much as Caul despised the ymbrynes, Miss Avocet especially, he had never imagined the day she would die for some reason. She had been in peculiardom for such a long time, that she seemed too old to die.

"I brought someone with me today." Miss Peregrine said, breaking the silence. "He's waiting outside." Caul's head went up, a smile filling up his tired face again. "Is it Myron?"

"No, he has had quite enough of you." Miss Peregrine said. Caul's face dropped and he crossed his arms, tapping his foot, annoyed. His sister stood up and went to get the person she brought with her. She came back with a tall young man with jet-black hair, who cautiously and slowly walked in. Caul grinned from ear to ear. "Ah, Jacob Portman, peculiardom's hero! What a delight!" he said and finally found the strength to get out of bed. Jacob approached the prison bars and locked eyes with Caul. "We need to talk." he said, his face serious. Caul hopped over to him. "Of course, of course. Whatever it is, I'm all ears, it can be anything!" Caul said, beaming and he sat down on the cold floor, tailor-fashion. He looked up at Jacob, like a child, eagerly waiting for him to continue. "What do you know about my grandfather?" Jacob asked. Miss Peregrine offered him her chair and he sat down on it, while she stepped away to the door, but still watching them from a distance. "Ah, Abraham." Caul said, sighing. "Still on the search for things you don't know about him?" Jacob nodded. "A wight's hollow you sent took him away from me, killed him, after all." he said. "I didn't get to ask him much."

"Oh, right. I forgot." Caul shrugged and laughed a little. "Maybe you should have done that before he died, then."

Idiot. Anger crept into Jacob. He turned his head to check on Miss Peregrine behind him—she was examining the doorway—and then he leaned forward, getting face to face with Caul's stupid grin. "Did you know when your parents were going to drown themselves?" Jacob whispered.

Caul's grin vanished and his face tensed up, eyes wide. That touched a soft spot. "Don't ever bring this up." Caul hissed back. "Then let's have a proper conversation. Speaking to the male, remember?" Jacob said, giving him a fake smile. Caul shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "Jesus, when did you become so bold?" Caul said, actually seeming a little hurt. "Fine, I'll tell you what I know about Abe. Where do I start? Oh, yes! He was a piece of shit, who had too much pride, which got him killed in the end. I kind of miss him. But thankfully you remind me so much of Abe! It's like he's right here, in front of me, glaring at me. Just like he always did and like you are doing it right now." Jacob got up from his chair. He was giving up on talking to Caul. "This is pointless." Jacob muttered and turned to leave, but then Caul jumped onto his feet and one of his arms shot through the prison bars, grabbing Jacob's wrist. Jacob was pulled backwards and stumbled, hitting his back and head on the cold metal. Caul's other arm came for his neck and put him in a chokehold. "Pointless, hm?" Caul hissed into his ear. "Was it pointless for you to come into this world, too?"

"Let go!" Jacob yelled and tried to struggle against Caul's grip. Miss Peregrine rushed over, alarmed, but by then Jacob had already wrenched himself free. Miss Peregrine protectively led him away from her brother, who was watching them with flashing eyes and a devilish grin. "Hey, I wasn't done, yet!" Caul shouted, but Miss Peregrine shook her head at her brother and then they left and Caul was alone again. He tried shouting after them one more time—"You're just like him, Jacob! A copy of Abe, nothing more!"—and hoped the echo would take his voice far enough to reach them, but then he heard a heavy door slam shut further back in the building, telling him that they were really gone.

Later that day, Miss Peregrine came back to see her brother again, without Jacob this time. She went in and caught Caul standing on tiptoes on his bed, looking out the tiny window, grumbling something to himself. What or who he saw outside was Myron walking down the street, arms linked with Nim. He was laughing about something his servant just told him. They were happy and free—and Caul wasn't. His grip around the prison bars tightened. "This traitorous, arrogant..."

"Is there a problem, Jack?" Miss Peregrine asked and at the sound of her voice, Caul spun around, almost falling off the bed. For a moment, he only stared at her, then pointed at the window. "Why does Myron get to live his best life out there, while I'm trapped in here?!" he complained, like a little child. "Oh, he is facing his consequences, don't worry about that." Miss Peregrine assured him. "He's just not as dangerous as you are."

"Not dangerous?" Caul said. He held two fingers above his head and wiggled them. "Have you seen those things on his head? He looks like he came from outer space!" Miss Peregrine raised an eyebrow at Caul's branch-like horns. "What—oh, fine..." he said and groaned, when he noticed what she was looking at. He sat back down on his bed and wrapped the blanket around himself like a cocoon, putting on a grim expression. "Why are you even here, if you could be out there with him?" Caul grumbled. "I am talking to him quite often, actually. He has told me many things about your time together and—" Miss Peregrine began, but was interrupted by her brother shortly after. "Oh, boo-hoo! Poor Myron was enslaved! Poor Myron was tortured! Poor Myron got his legs broken!" Caul wailed, mockingly and rocked back and forth. "I was stuck in the body of a hollowgast for a few years, Alma." Miss Peregrine nodded. "Yes, I know." Caul sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't care about that."

"I do," Miss Peregrine said. "but unlike you, he tried and is still trying to better himself."

"We both know that even if I showed any signs of becoming a better person I'd still stay in here, so what's the point?" Caul muttered.

"Yes, that's true. Sometimes you can't get out of a situation, but you can make it better. That's what we always did, back when your forces were lurking behind every corner." Miss Peregrine replied. "Think about it." And with these wise last words, she left the room. Little did they know, that this was the last time they talked to each other. Caul stared down at the concrete floor, where a few shrivelled leaves lay scattered. Forever, they had said, he would stay behind bars forever. Why don't they just kill me? Another, last leaf fell from one of his horns, joining their dead friends. He was just like them. The life had gone out of him, his horns had gone naked. I am become death. His own death.

Over the course of that week, Miss Peregrine hadn't visited him again and Caul's condition worsened. He barely said a word to the guards anymore and usually just sat on his bed, boredly scraping his horns up and down on the wall. Which was good for the guards, since it made their work much easier. However, when Caul started to refuse the bread and water they were giving him, they reported his behaviour to the ymbrynes, who told the guards not to force it onto him if he didn't want it. With each day, Caul became paler than he already was and looked more and more tired. He didn't even look out the window and complain about people walking down the street anymore. Sometimes Caul would trudge over to a corner and stare up at a spider on the ceiling and after that, he'd crawl back into his bed—and that would be one whole day for him.

Eventually, he stopped getting out of bed entirely. Funnily enough, the guards actually spoke to him voluntarily now, but he never really answered. Maybe he would nod or hum in response sometimes, but that was it. Rumours were spreading quickly among the guards—you think he's going to die soon? I mean, look at him. Looks like a corpse—and they were right. Caul was slowly and quietly dying. And it wasn't long until he would finally meet his end.

At the end of that week, Miss Peregrine came back to see him, knowing that apparently he was refusing to drink and eat, but not knowing how bad it already was.

She slowly walked in, trying to be quiet, since Caul appeared to still be sleeping, though it was the middle of the day. A ruined sleeping schedule, she thought. Like he said. Miss Peregrine approached his cell and decided to wake him up. "Jack." she called out. No reaction. Then again, a bit louder, "Jack." Still nothing. She narrowed her eyes at the blanket wrapped around him. Is he breathing? No, it wasn't moving up and down. "Jack?" she called out again, nervously, her voice rising. And then she was yelling. "Jack! JACK!" He was sleeping, yes, but in a different way. In an eternal kind of way, getting pulled deeper into a state he could never return from. He had finally given in to the death that he was always able to evade for so long. A blue little string of light swirled out from his nose, floating up and out the window, into the open street—a soul leaving its host. Miss Peregrine cupped her hands in front of her mouth in shock, her eyes wide as she stared at him. She rushed out to get the guards.

#tdoda spoilers #the desolations of devils acre spoilers #the desolations of devils acre #caul bentham #myron bentham #alma lefay peregrine #jacob portman #noor pradesh #mphfpc

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lovelyirony · 5 years ago

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okay but hear me out hear me out hear me OUT: hunger by ross copperman for rhodeytony

Everyone knows that Tony would die for Rhodey. It’s as easy to see as green grass or a blue sky. He would burn everything down for Rhodey.

Something that others don’t catch onto is how willing Rhodey is to do the exact same. Rhodey doesn’t often tell people his side of the story of how the two met.

As it turns out, Rhodey wasn’t supposed to be in room 63-J, he was supposed to be in 65-J. Due to mix-ups in housing and a particularly horrible employee, Rhodey was moved into what was supposed to be a private room.

“I’m, um, sorry,” Rhodey says. “I can move to a different room, I just have to email the people--”

“Uh-uh, don’t worry about it,” Tony says, eyes shining. “There’s more than enough space in here, and I’d really prefer to have a roommate. I’ve never really shared anything before!”

Tony is a small seventeen year old. Rhodey is eighteen, takes one look at this kid who could honestly pass for fifteen, and realizes that he knows nothing about the real world. Absolutely nothing. His head is empty, and he has no idea about that either.

So Rhodey stays. He teaches Tony how to do things, although Tony isn’t completely helpless. He loves doing laundry and he knows how to cook some serious gourmet shit.

This is how Rhodey learns how to make his own pasta, and Tony smiles as he smears flour against his cheek.

Rhodey teaches Tony what coffee to drink, which restaurants are the best. (This does not stop Tony from eating at Burger King near-religiously.) Tony learns how to dress how he wants, and to stop showing up to classes in what is essentially a full suit.

Tony falls in love with old jeans, worn band tees that he finds after combing through racks of all the thrift stores.

He laughs as he makes Rhodey get a neon orange fanny pack.

“Since you claim you always lose your shit at parties,” Tony teases, grinning.

Tony’s a kid.

And yet...not a kid.

He knows immediately who to trust, who to avoid. The way he phrases things has Rhodey’s head going in circles. He’s brilliant with people, to a point where he can drive anyone away.

Except for Rhodey.

He made a promise over Thanksgiving break, when Tony realized that his mother penned a note explaining that “darling, your father and I are still in the Maldives, so you have free reign of the house for Thanksgiving...”

It meant that he would be Completely Alone.

Well, Rhodey wasn’t having that.

“If I have to clean the carpet, I’m forcing you with me,” Rhodey says. “And I promised that I would bring a dessert, and I know that you make killer tiramisu.”

“If I only have to prove that I’m clearly the better roommate, then so be it,” Tony says dramatically. “Take me away, Jim-dear.”

(He cannot stop calling him that after they stole the VCR of Lady and the Tramp from the English department’s catalog. Not like they’re gonna miss it.

Rhodey cannot stop thinking about how much he really, actually loves it, that nickname.)

Tony is shy when he gets to the house, although Dad immediately pulls Tony into the family.

“Rhodey promised us a dessert but I know that he didn’t inherit my cooking skills, so I’m assuming he’s just promised you,” he says.

“Yes he has, Mr. Rhodes,” Tony says, grinning. “How do you feel about tiramisu?”

Tony later on impresses Mrs. Rhodes--from that night on, referred to lovingly as “Mama”--with his piano playing skills. Tony’s perfect memory reads notes as if he’s always known them, and plays piano with a skilled sort of ease. He even adds his own little stylings, making it even better as Rhodey watches his parents dance.

They haven’t done that in years, not since Rhodey was little and they still had the old record player with Billie Holiday and Duke Ellington records stacked to the side among others.

Tony laughs along with the music, grinning as his little sister tells him every single embarrassing story about Rhodey.

“He thought watermelons grew on trees,” Jeannette says, cackling. “Can you believe that?!”

“I can,” Tony says, putting a finger to his chin. “And I think that if no one had told you, you still would.”

“Of course if no one had told me I still would! That’s how belief works!” Rhodey calls out.

“Shush,” Mama says, smoothing a hand over Rhodey’s hair. “Some people are dumb, baby, it’s okay.”

Rhodey makes an offended squawk, and Tony laughs.

They go to sleep in Rhodey’s bed. It’s a queen, not like they both can’t fit onto it.

And if Rhodey wakes with Tony curled into his arms, soft breathing? If Rhodey realizes that life could be like this all the time if they really wanted it to?

Well. It’s not the worst thought in the world to have. Not by a long shot.

This feeling continues on long after they graduate, when they start spending every holiday they can together. They always make a dessert together and Rhodey always gets something Super Shit from the thrift store.

Last year, it was a mug proclaiming “Best Regional Staff Manager of 1978.” He has just discovered that he could custom-order a burnt orange shag carpet, and Tony will put it into his bedroom.

And then Afghanistan.

Rhodey grieves like nothing else. He is almost always dehydrated from crying, he can barely eat, and Pepper has to check in on him.

“You smell bad,” she tells him one night.

“I know.”

“Go shower.”

“Later.”

“No, now. I swear to god if Tony knew you smelled this disgusting, he’d douse you in Chanel no. 5, and I know how you feel about that.”

Rhodey manages to get out a small smile.

He showers. He feels a bit better.

And he starts looking.

Everyone in his squad and in the military itself thinks he’s crazy for still looking. The chances of Tony being alive are less than fifty percent. He is most likely dead, but Rhodey can’t stop looking. He just can’t.

He gets Tony in his arms months later, skinny and frail and yet still so alive. Rhodey tells him he’ll never let go.

“Not even to let me take a wizz?” Tony asks, smile weak. Rhodey laughs and lets a little bit of tears slip out.

He does something that was not supposed to happen.

He leaves the military.

Realizes that that isn’t what he wants, night after night, to count down days until he’s back in Tony’s arms. He wants to work alongside his someone, to smile at him, and cook breakfast.

It’s at this time when Tony keeps coming into his room.

“Like old times?” he asks. Begs, almost. Rhodey nods.

“Always, Tones. You know that.”

Tony introduces him to Iron Man, and Rhodey oohs and ah’s, questioning what works and why it had to be that garish, bold red.

“Aw sweetheart, who else would pick such a color scheme?”

Rhodey grins and asks when he’s getting his own suit.

“I do not believe in a god, but I think I might start praying,” Jarvis says dryly, and they both snicker.

It is Rhodey who helps keep Tony from working himself to the bone, forcing him to come with him.

“Come on, it’s pizza night and you have to help me make breadsticks otherwise I’m not putting on enough garlic butter.”

“Rhodey I know that you love garlic butter so this is essentially an empty threat but I will and can kill you.”

Rhodey snorts as Tony chases him around the kitchen.

Then the Avengers.

Natalie Rushman comes into Tony’s life, and Rhodey just knows she isn’t who she says she is.

Doesn’t help that Tony’s reckless and trying to hide a pretty impressive crossword along his chest.

What’s an eleven-letter-word meaning “a destroying agency?”

(Destruction.)

He doesn’t let her even near Tony.

“I’m supposed to be here,” Natalie says plainly. She has a coy smile on her face.

She does not know that for a wild variety of reasons, this will not work on Rhodey.

“So am I,” Rhodey says evenly. “So I guess we’ve come to a stalemate. I’ll give him the paperwork. You can ask Pepper about the gala’s appetizers and security measures, as I’m sure you have questions.”

He knows she doesn’t. He also knows that Tony won’t look into her because he’s--

He’s busy.

Just that.

(Not dying, his brain whispers insidiously. Not planning a trip six feet or below.)

Rhodey does not blow off Tony when they have a fight in the house, when Tony wants everyone to leave and get out and tries to get Rhodey to leave by saying he’s a sidekick.

“You idiot,” Rhodey scowls. “If I’m a sidekick, what does that make you? The very minor character?”

“What? No, I’m Iron Man--”

“Yeah, but still. I think Pepper or someone else would be the main character. Quit being an idiot and help me clean up the glass you shot at, idiot.”

Tony doesn’t like knowing that Rhodey knows. He also doesn’t like Pepper screams about an omelet and how “It wasn’t even that good Tony! How did you mess up eggs! You didn’t even get any seasoning!”

Rhodey laughs. Helps Tony discover that a.) SHIELD is a bunch of assholes collectively getting a salary, and b.) Howard still had tricks up his sleeve.

But tricks are tricks.

You get a solution? Well, that’s even better.

Tony smells like metal and coconuts, and Rhodey whoops with joy.

Tony kisses him on the lips, and it’s amazing and he definitely wants more of that, and--

“Okay we gotta go take down an evil genius,” Tony says, grinning. “Come on sugar-plum.”

War Machine and Iron Man work like a dream together, and they’re panting and tired but smiling at the end of all of this.

“Sour patch, we need a vacation,” Tony says. “We need to just. Lay somewhere.”

“Agreed, honey.”

So after all of these years, they become an item. A couple. People who love each other and don’t get too mad when someone else eats all of the butternut squash soup (Rhodey).

And Tony will tell anyone who listens how in love he fell, so hard, and Rhodey will smile and agree.

But he’s pretty sure that he’s the one who fell first.

#rhodeytony #ironhusbands #anyways rhodey is in LOVE and he LOVES it #lovelyirony writes #tony stark #iron man #war machine #rhodey #james rhodes #rhodes family #anyways yes i love them

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miracle-sham · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Your Wake Softly, for the Dead Sleep Lightly.

| {MaribatMarch2020, Week 3, Day 17: Grave} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] |

| Triggers/Warnings: Major Character Death, Temporary Character Death, Graveyards/Cemeteries, Mentions of Death, Explicit Language/Swearing, Blood and Minor Injuries. |

| It's been six months since she died, so Jason goes to visit her grave. Only sometimes things aren't quite as they seem, and dreams are merely reflections of reality. |

| Word Count: 1794 |

-<◊>-

| A/N: So this is probably going to be my last Maribat March ficlet. I've been super busy and I got ill again (which is why I've not responded to comments yet, sorry!), so I've barely been able to get any writing done, and most of the fics are turning out not great. This fic is the only one that turned out well and I'm happy with it. I've not really got else much to say, so uhh enjoy! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics, or a specific Au, then comment or send me a DM/ask! |

| Also side note, Don't Like? Don't Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

-<◊>-

Jason knows he's dreaming. But what strikes him as odd, is that he's dreaming. He's not dreamt since his dip in the Lazarus Pit. Weathered nightmares and night terrors, sure. But not the stuff of rainbows, sugar plums, and happiness, no. Although, this dream he's dreaming isn't exactly that either, so perhaps it shouldn't be that much of a surprise.

He can't quite tell where he is. The surroundings are completely unfamiliar. He's on a roof, that much is clear. But it's not a roof in Gotham, no. Jason knows the roofs of Gotham like he knows the back of his hand. If he had to guess, the roof looked European in style, maybe Gothic French/Parisian if he had to guess specifically. There are poles and fairy lights strung up around the roof, and a picnic blanket is laid out with a basket overflowing with sandwiches, pastries, and fresh fruit.

And as lovely as the scene is, the disconcerting part, is the phantasm sitting beside him. A phantasm in the guise of his lost love. Just sitting there, alive and breathing—with her eyes, so bright, twinkling in the low light—and her dazzling smile, the lovesick one he'd always catch her doing when she thought he wasn't looking.

Jason can almost imagine the warmth of her. But this is a dream, and she's nothing more than a phantasm. So there's no real warmth. It's just his imagination. Not that that knowledge does anything to ease the aching of his wretched and bleeding heart.

He's almost tempted to stay here. To indulge in this love-stricken reverie of a dream. But he can't. Not tonight. Not when tomorrow he'll wake with the dawn and trudge over to the cemetery and lay a bouquet of marigolds upon her grave.

It almost sickens him, to need to leave this place. He'd love nothing more than to hold her in his arms one last time. But she's not real.

Jason feels a need to wake up, for the sliver of peace in the hopes that he'll forget this torturous dream upon waking. It hurts. It hurts so much to be close to her only for her to be a phantasm.

No sooner does he think this, he feels the darkness of the dream ending pull at him. Tugging him away from the rooftop with her and tossing him into the swirling shadows of dreamless sleep.

-<◊>-

Except, he doesn't wake up in his bed from a dreamless sleep like he expected to. No, he finds himself in a bleak observatory with a giant window that has a butterfly design in it. The edges of the room are shadowed, as only the window and a circle in the centre of the room are illuminated with faded blue light.

There's a shimmer in the centre of the illuminated circle, and a young child kneeling on the floor flickers into view. No matter how much he tries to focus, Jason finds himself unable to tell what the child looks like. It's almost as though there's a magical glamour surrounding them that makes it impossible to see their true appearance.

Jason walks to the edge of the circle and stares at the child. They're holding two pieces of jewellery, one in each hand. In their left hand, is a pair of red and black spotted earrings and in their right hand, is a black and green ring.

Two strange small creatures float above the child's hands. The one floating over the ring, is a weird-looking purplish-black cat with green eyes. The one floating over the earrings, is an even weirder looking red and black spotted bug thing.

Jason squints then furrows his brow, the child and the creatures appear to not have noticed him yet. Yet.

“I want to make a wish.” The child says solemnly.

The bug creature looks pained at that statement. “There'll be consequences.”

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” The cat creature pipes up.

The child bites their lip. “I know and I don't care. I want to bring the previous Ladybug holder back to life.”

The bug creature starts to tear up. “Mar—” it pauses. “The previous holder has been dead for six months.”

A chill runs down Jason's back and his mouth becomes inexplicably dry. Fuck, he thinks weakly. They're talking about her. He drags a hand down his face and bitterly blinks back tears, feeling so fucking conflicted.

The child tilts their head to the side and closes their eyes for a minute. “I know. I still want to bring them back. Again, I don't care about the price. The previous holder shouldn't have died.”

The cat creature narrows its eyes at the child. “If you bring the previous holder back with the wish, it won't be an immediate revival. Whoever pays the price for the wish will spend the next six months slowly wasting away as the previous holder returns to life.”

Jason feels sick because as much as he misses her like a lost limb, he doesn't want to subject her to the trauma of coming back to life and digging herself out of her own grave, like he did.

The child hums. “Like a portable charger? Drain the power in one object to recharge the other object?”

Huffing, the cat creature rolls in its eyes. “That's one way of putting it.”

The child nods. “Do I get to choose who pays the price?”

“No, the person who pays the price must be of equal value to the previous holder. For example, you couldn't pay the price because you're too young and don't use a power to achieve a goal.” The bug creature explains, shaking its head.

The child frowns and puts the earrings and ring on. “Okay. Tikki Spots on. Tikki, Plagg, Unify.”

The following flash of bright light temporarily blinds Jason.

“Using the power of the Ladybug Miraculous of Creation and the Cat Miraculous of Destruction, I wish that...—”

The world fades to darkness and silence before Jason can hear the rest of the wish.

-<◊>-

It's the dawning of the wake, with its claggy skies above and claggier mud underfoot; rain splatters against the pavement in a constant solemn cadence. Rusted wrought iron railings are all that stands between him and his love.

Jason treads slowly, shoulders hunched, gaze averted. He's walked this path before. Too many times, the others would claim. He bites his lip and blinks back tears. He follows the path to the marble gravestone, her gravestone.

Falling to his knees upon the grave's soil, he lightly traces the stone's engravings with one finger, silently muttering along.

When he runs out of words to trace, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the stone. Digging his hands into the grass and soil, he can't help but let out a hollow sob.

The minutes ebb by as he slowly recomposes himself. The cold wet mud of the grave clings to him, both that and the rain chills him to the bone.

He sighs, then swallows thickly. “Hey, Mari. I know missed visiting you last week, I'm sorry. I got caught in a bit of a scuffle in our—uh night job.” He quickly glances around incase anyone's nearby, but on such a dreary day like this, there's not another soul in sight. “I attempted to bake your signature macaroons last night. They turned out fairly well but they're shit in comparison to how you get them to turn out.” He chuckles hollowly.

“Last night whilst out on the night job, I found a tiny blue kitten with the most piercing blue eyes ever. Kinda reminded me of you, so I kinda ended up adopting it. I think you both would get along like a house on fire if you met. I was going to bring her today, but well you can see what the weather's like. Don't really want to get the thing sick when it's like this.” Jason rambles idly, not really putting too much thought into what he's saying.

He huffs and pauses for a second, “Actually speaking about last night, I had the fucking weirdest of dreams. And it wasn't just a weird pit nightmare like it usually is—”

He's cut off as a swarm of black ladybirds converge around the cemetery. On autopilot, Jason stumbles to his feet and backs away from her grave, eyeing the swarm with calculative apprehension.

As he does that, the swarm sweep over her grave before dissipating into the sky.

Jason holds his breath, waiting to see what the ladybirds did.

A minute passes in silence, and just as he's about to step closer, a muffled and sickening scream emanates from beneath the grave. Fragments of last night's dream rise to the forefront of Jason's mind. “Fuck!”

He throws himself forwards and starts desperately digging into the mud with his hands. “Come on, come on, come on…” Each second passes as slow as molasses but eventually, the mud starts to gradually give way underneath him.

A grasping hand breaches the surface and starts frantically clawing at the ground. A wave of nausea hits Jason like a brick wall. He hesitates for a split second before fixating on digging up the mud around the hand. With each scoop of mud dug away, the hole around the hand starts to widen and widen until a second hand breaches the surface. With increased desperation, Jason continues to dig and dig and dig.

After another couple of minutes digging, the hole's big enough that Jason can see the coffin shards and ripped scraps of clothing among the mud. He grabs at the arms and pulls with everything he has but the resistance is nearly equal.

Gritting his teeth, he continues to pull until the resistance against him suddenly weakens and he stumbles back, dragging the cor—body of Marinette out of the grave.

Jason let's go of her after a second and drinks in the sight of her, alive and breathing. Under his breath, he whispers, “Mari…”

Frankly, she looks awful. Skin pallid, eyes bloodshot and glassy, freckles faded, hair dull, hands bloody. Her clothes are ripped, muddied, and bloodied. Earthworms, as well as other underground creepy crawlies, fall off her.

Her eyes manage to focus on him for a second but almost immediately after, her eyes roll back and she collapses, unconscious.

Jason rushes forwards and grabs her, to stop her from hitting the ground. Dazed, he fumbles for his phone and calls Bruce. “Marinette's alive.” He immediately blurts out, “She fucking dug herself out the fucking grave and she's unconscious and injured.” It takes all his willpower not to choke on his words.

“We'll ready the medbay. Tim will pick you, he'll be there in five.”

-<◊>-

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| @maribat-march2020 | | @vixen-uchiha |

#Miraculous Ladybug #Maribat #ML x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #JasMari #MariJay #MaribatMarch2020 #MaribatMarch Week 3 #MaribatMarch Day 17 #MaribatMarch Grave #Hold Your Wake Softly for the Dead Sleep Lightly #HYWSftDSL #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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mosylufanfic · 5 years ago

Note

“I still remember the way you taste.” + Killervibe!

Me: I shall do a prompt party and write very short little drabbles only!

Also me: AHAHAHAHAHHAHA

Anyway, for this blame Hedgi, and also KillerFrost from the Discord chat and her art.

Canines

Clouds drifted across the half moon, dappling the park with patches of gloom. Caitlin didn't mind. She had good night vision, and she had other senses, too.

She could remember long ago, when she'd been human. She'd walked through this park in the sunlight, holding hands with the man she loved.

But that had been before the first vampires arrived two years ago, and the werewolves followed, bringing their war to Central City. Her home belonged to the monsters now, and she was one of them.

She set off around the perimeter of the park in a lope. It didn't belong to either side. They'd settled into an uneasy truce a few months before, with the park a kind of no-monsters' land. Supposedly, vampires and werewolves alike had safe passage. She snorted to herself.

She hadn't trusted a vampire since the day her husband had tried to kill her.

If she let herself, she could still remember the feeling of returning to find him in their living room, safe and sound after a week of being missing. She'd cried out, "Cisco!" and run to wrap him in her arms.

Only for him to open his mouth - that mouth she'd kissed and smiled at and loved - to reveal razor-sharp fangs as he lunged for her throat.

She didn't let herself remember very often.

She paid attention to the scents that washed over her as she ran, seeking out anything that might be a clue. Members of the pack had been disappearing in this area. Young werewolves, barely turned, still learning their own power. It made her skin itch, made her want to howl at the moon overhead. The pack was all she had anymore.

More practically, their truce with the vampires was still so tenuous that if they kept losing young, strong wolves, the balance of power could tip away from them in a moment.

She paused in a stand of trees, lifting her muzzle into the wind. A whiff of a familiar and hated scent froze her where she stood. Old, dead blood.

Her lips lifted over her teeth as an instinctive growl rumbled in her throat.

Vampire.

She pressed herself low to the ground, clamping her jaws shut. Suckers had excellent hearing. She picked her delicate way through the bushes, which had grown out from their manicured shapes into tangling hedges now that there was nobody who cared to maintain them.

She found a spot still open enough to poke her muzzle through, and sniffed deeply, trying to work out if she'd encountered this sucker before.

No . . . at least, she thought not.

But there was something familiar about the scent. She couldn't put a name to it. Maybe one she'd tangled with briefly. As if they'd swiped and snarled at each other, retreating without drawing blood.

She squirmed further under the hedge until she could see his shape. Some of the older wolves said dependency on sight was a human weakness. Your nose should tell you all.

But she'd only been a wolf for a year. Since . . .

She cut that thought off. He was gone. As good as dead.

A cloud drifted away from the moon, bathing the clearing in silvery light, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. Leaves rustled.

The sucker lifted his head, and she went still. Her pale pelt was a liability, standing out in the darkness, but as long as she stayed low and hidden and still -

After a moment, he crouched over his project again. She bit back another growl. What was he doing? Setting a trap? One of the pack had lost a leg to a trap laid on the main street the other day. Werewolves healed fast, but that was a permanent loss.

If he was setting a trap in truce space, maybe the vampires were making ready to restart the war.

And his smell . . .

Moving carefully, she crept closer, low and slow, trying to understand why his scent drew her so powerfully.

She was getting too close, she thought, but she couldn't stop. What was it about him?

Anyway, his head was down, his shoulders relaxed. He wasn't paying attention. She inched closer - closer -

Ten feet away from him, a dry leaf gave the faintest of crackles under her front paw. Faster than a blink, he whipped around and sprayed something directly in her face.

With a yelp, she twisted away. Whatever-it-was burned in her throat and her lungs, spreading through her body -

Then a heavy weight slammed her back against the grass. She snarled and tried to bite, tried to swipe with her claws, but her attacker evaded easily.

Moonlgiht glinted off fangs, and she thoguht, I refuse to die like this, brought down by a fucking sucker -

Then the weight was gone.

She lifted her head, blinking at the night, which was suddenly both dimmer and sharper than it had been. She rolled to her belly and pushed herself up on her front legs -

Except they weren't her front legs, they were her arms. She was in her human form. Horror spilled through her.

She was the only one who controlled her form. Her. Hard-won control, but hers and hers alone. The moon couldn't turn her or keep her from turning back, not anymore.

What had that sucker done?

She whipped her head around, teeth bared, and found the sucker crouched a few feet away, shrouded in darkness. She tried to shift to her wolf form, and failed again. Even with the light of the moon pouring down on her, she stayed in her human form.

"Are you okay?"

The voice.

That voice.

"Cisco," she said, and hated the way her own voice shook.

The urge to bolt almost overwhelmed her, but she dug her paws - no, fingers, she had fingers - into the grass to stop herself. If she ran, he would be after her. That was what suckers did. And on two legs, in human form, she wasn't near fast enough to escape, and she didn't have the teeth or claws to fight. Her only weapon was her werewolf blood, poisonous to vampires.

Small consolation, given that her throat would already be torn out by the time it took effect.

"Are you okay?" he said again.

There was a stick nearby, one that had been broken off a tree. She could smell the raw green wood, and groped for it. If she didn't have her teeth, any weapon would do. "What did you do? What was that?"

"Wolfsbane," he said.

"What?"

Panic rattled her bones for a split second before her cool, practical doctor's mind cut in. If he'd hit her with pure extract of wolfsbane, she'd already be dead. He could be lying, but her throat still burned and her skin still prickled. And there was the way she couldn't turn.

"Super mild," he said. "A couple of parts per million, with a few other things thrown in. Practically homeopathy." He eyed her. "Apparently it still works." He shifted forward, reaching out to touch her face.

She smacked his hand aside with the stick. "Don't try that glamour thing on me."

"I'm not dumb enough to try and glamour a werewolf. I'm checking to see if you're okay."

She bared her teeth and jabbed the stick at him. He lurched backward.

"Okay," he said tightly. "You're fine. I get it. You mind putting down the stick? The last time you had a sharp piece of wood in your hand, you almost took my eye out."

Instinctively, she glanced at his temple. No scar, of course. Suckers healed fast. She'd seen the skin knitting itself together before he'd escaped out the open front door. "Self defense," she said coolly, lifting the stick higher. "You would have killed me and drunk from my cooling corpse on our living room floor."

He shut his eyes. "Fuck."

"Ring a bell?"

"I wasn't trying to kill you," he said wearily. "I was trying to turn you."

The stick dropped involuntarily, and she gripped it tighter. "Into a vampire?"

"No, into a unicorn. Yes! Into a vampire. So we could be together."

She sat still, letting the revelation wash over her and sink into her skin. "You just - you lunged for me. You'd been gone for days. I thought we'd find you in a morgue, if we found you at all. Then you were there, and you snarled and your teeth -"

He met her eyes, his full of regret. "I'm sorry. Believe me. I'm so sorry for scaring you. I wish I could have explained, but baby vamps aren't exactly in their right minds. Getting a hold on our powers takes some wrangling. At that point, I barely knew words."

Like werewolf cubs, she thought. She had been a little out of her mind, too, after she'd turned. Between her grief, the pull of the moon, and her overwhelming new senses, she'd been a mess.

But -

"I didn't want to be a vampire," she said. "I wanted to be safe."

"I wanted you to be safe too."

Like that? she wanted to ask. Really? Like that?

"Anyway," he went on. "It didn't matter. By the time I got my fangs on straight and went back for you for real, the mutts had already gotten to you."

"Don't call me that," she snapped. "And they didn't get to me. I went looking for them."

He gaped at her. "You went - why? You just said you didn't want to be a vampire, why is being a mu- werewolf any better?"

"Because as far as I could tell, the werewolves were the only ones with any defenses against vampires." She eyed him coldly. "And at the time, that sounded like exactly what I needed."

He shut his eyes. "Well, aren't we just the monster Romeo and Juliet."

"Aren't we just," she echoed, watching the moonlight fall on his profile.

If she hadn't known to look for the glint of his fangs at the corners of his mouth, and the new pallor of his skin, she could have mistaken him for human. How many times had she rolled over in bed and traced her finger over the curve of his ear, the bump of his elbow, the fullness of his lower lip as he lay sleeping next to her?

From the way he met her eyes, she wondered if he was thinking similar thoughts.

His eyes moved down over her body, then up. He frowned. "You know you're naked, right?"

"Yes," she said tartly.

"Okay," he said. "Just checking. Because you're weirdly okay with it."

She'd never been the one to stroll around their apartment naked, without so much as a bathrobe. That had been him, teasing her about her primness. "I've gotten used to it," she said. "It happens every time."

"So, wait. You're naked when you transform?"

"Yes."

"You don't, like, have a t-shirt or something?"

"Where exactly do you think I'd keep a t-shirt when I'm in wolf form?"

"I don't know, magic."

She raised her brows at him.

"Okay, fine. Point is, do you want my coat?" he asked, already lifting his hands to tug it off. "It's freezing out here tonight."

"Oh that's a wonderful idea. I'll wear something home that has the stench of vampire all over it."

He dropped his hands. "You could've just said no."

She looked away, ashamed at her own snarkiness. "I don't think it would be smart."

"Yeah, maybe not."

She shot a glare at him, suddenly remembering that before all the rehashing of their history, she'd found him doing something very sneaky. "And the minute I tell them you used wolfsbane on me, we're both going to have bigger problems."

"I told you, it was extremely mild!"

"Mild or not," she snapped, "by using it in this park, against me, you've broken the truce."

"You wolves broke it first."

"I have every right to be here!"

"Yeah, and so do I. But this doesn't." He swept out a hand to indicate the patch of ground he'd been crouching over. "Garlic."

She stared at the patch of tall, thin green leaves. "Weeds," she said, but their scent tickled her nose. If he hadn't been right there, distracting her, she would have smelled it earlier.

He rolled his eyes. "Give me a break." He yanked his scarf over his mouth and nose, pulled on a pair of heavy gardening gloves, and reached out to yank up one of the plants, exposing the bulbous roots. "What's that?"

She hesitated.

"Come on. I know you know. You spent an entire summer trying to grow them on our kitchen windowsill."

"Okay, fine, it's garlic. Now put it down before you poison yourself."

He tossed it away from himself, and it landed a foot or two behind Caitlin. "Yeah. Garlic. In this park, which we've established is a truce space."

"Okay," she said. "So maybe one of us planted a few cloves of garlic in an out-of-the-way area."

He snorted.

"But can you blame us? You've taken six new werewolves in the past three weeks. Snatched them off the street, hid them so well even our best can't sniff them out. What have you done with them? Tortured them? Tested your wolfsbane concoction on them?" Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked them back.

"Bullshit we have," he said. "That's you, disappearing eight baby vamps before they get their teeth sharp enough." He snarled down at the uprooted garlic bed. "You growing this so you can stuff it down their throat?"

"Wait a minute," she said. "You're losing people too?"

"Yeah," he said. "That's what I just said." The hard set of his face softened as he stared at her. "You don't know anything about that, do you?"

"No," she said. "And this is the first you've heard of the missing cubs, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Although maybe you don't know everything your alphas are doing." At her look, he dropped his gaze and in a low voice admitted, "Maybe I don't."

They both looked at the garlic.

"How much you wanna bet you'd find a patch of wolfsbane somewhere in this park?" he said.

"Not a lot," she said grimly. "Where did you get that spray?”

“This old book.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“I don’t know, it just turned up, and I thought I’d try out some of the defenses it listed.” He frowned at her. “You think somebody wanted me to?”

“Anybody who’s known you for ten minutes would know you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

He grimaced. “Accurate.” He looked at the spray bottle still lying on the grass.

“The garlic, and the spray,” she continued, thinking out loud. “That could be a couple of random people, just trying to defend themselves. But kidnapping werewolves and vampires, and doing it so well that we can't find so much as a whiff of them, that would require a lot more coordination.”

"Especially ones still getting used to their powers. I don't know how it is for cubs, but for baby vamps, it's a dangerous time for them and everyone around them."

"Cubs are the same," she said.

"Fuck," he mumbled.

They sat in silence under the moon for a moment or two.

"I thought the fighting was over," he said. "It was so damn nice not to be at war for, like, a hot minute."

"It was always only a truce," she said. "Nobody ever said it was over."

"Yeah, but this city's gotten a lot better since then."

"It really has. Why would they want to start it up again?"

"Ancestral blood feud," he said. "You think they need more of a reason?"

She shook her head. "Something about it feels off. It's too neat. You're losing baby suckers - "

"Hey."

"Sorry. Baby vampires. At the same time, we're losing cubs. And there's garlic planted in a truce space, and someone made sure you found a recipe for wolfsbane spray.”

"Yeah," he said. "That is a little too neat. You think maybe - "

"Somebody wants us fighting," she said.

"Yeah. Focused on each other instead of . . . somewhere else."

"Who would want that? And why?"

"I don't know. It's an interesting question, don't you think?"

She looked up at the moon. It was lower to the horizon. "I should go." She tried one more time to turn, and failed, which she'd half-expected. "How long does that wolfsbane concoction last?"

"The book said until the next moonrise."

"Who else has it?"

"As far as I know, just me. This was the first time I've taken it out. I knew I was coming here and I knew somebody might not want me digging up that garlic."

"Don't touch it anymore," she said. "I'll dispose of it. And don't tell anyone. I won't either."

He put his hand on her arm. It was cooler than it had been once, but the weight of it and the calluses on his palm felt oh-so-familiar. "What are you going to do?"

"Find out what I can," she said. "About the garlic. About the baby vamps."

"Be careful."

"You too."

They both got to their feet. Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself. It was a little chilly. It didn't matter. She knew where there was a stash of clothes in the park, usually stocked for cubs who were having trouble with their transformation. She could make it that far.

Cisco seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Uh, you want me to walk you home or something? Just in case. You know."

"I'll be fine," she said, reaching for the garlic lying on the ground. "I'll have this. And a sharp stick."

"Right," he said. "Right." He cast another look at the disordered patch of garlic, then turned to walk away.

She crouched to dig up the rest of the bulbs, then thought of something. "Cisco?" she called out.

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Why did you stop? Earlier. You would have bitten me."

"Technically," he said, "I was planning to break your neck. That whole poisonous-blood thing." He raised his brows. "What, you thought we didn't know?"

She swallowed. "The question stands. Why didn't you?"

He came a step closer. "I know how you feel under me."

She stood still, the blood rising in her cheeks and thrumming low in her belly.

He smiled a little, sadly. "I still remember the way you taste. The way you smell. The way you sing really, really badly in the shower, and like weak-ass coffee."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Just because I happen to like keeping the enamel on my teeth."

His smile quirked wider. It was an old argument. "If we meet back here in a week, the moon will be closer to full, right?"

"Waxing three-quarter moon, yes," she said.

"Will you be able to turn into a human?"

"I have it under control. I'll be fine. And I'm a werewolf," she corrected. "Whether I look like a wolf or a woman, I'm still a werewolf either way."

He sighed. "And I'm a vampire." He turned. "See you then."

She put a hand to her lips, wishing she could have kissed him one more time. "See you," she whispered into the night.

FINIS

#Caitlin Snow #Cisco Ramon #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #2020 prompt party #vampire AU #werewolf AU #the flash #Anonymous

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years ago

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Remind Me: Part 10

Alright everyone. This it. This is the final call. The finale. The Last of the Mohicans. ...wait wrong franchise NEVER MIND. Anyway, the point is, this is the end of an era. Remind Me is finally coming to a close. I would like to say the biggest thank you to @dreamwritesimagines, for letting me write this based off her wonderful story Once a Year, inspiring me and always being so, so kind. I honestly would have never, EVER had the nerve to start writing fanfic if she hadn’t told me I could do it. I’m constantly astounded by how kind she is to everyone, and I can only hope to be that amazing when we’re both famous writers with tons of awards. I’d also like to give a huge shoutout to @rhabakoli for being freaking awesome and also being the first person to actually request that I add her to my taglist (Dream just go stuck on there whether she wanted to be or not. Fortuitously, she wanted to be.) Finally, I want to thank everyone who has ever read any part of this series. I am so grateful to all of you for being invested, and I love seeing you guys in the notes. It’s always crazy to me to see that you guys like what I’m making. Thank you so much for going on this journey with me! Well, I suppose the only thing left to say is...Any resemblance to characters real or fictional is absolutely not coincidental.

(Trigger warning: This chapter is SUPER, SUPER violent and dark, so if you’re not into that you might want to just skip down to the epilogue.)

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @binbons-is-theloml

Wordcount: it better be 5k baby if I don’t make it to 5k I’m not even bothering to come back and change this I will be a DISAPPOINTMENT 4245 at least we’re kind of sort of in the general neighborhood? I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME I TRIED OKAY

Chapter 10: “There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.” ― Patrick Ness, A Monster Calls

You had hardly seen Billy for months. He was no longer living with you. Now that you had your memories back, it was far too dangerous. Sometimes you were able to steal moments together in one of Billy’s safehouses, but those were few and far between. And what was Billy doing in all this time you had been apart?

Well, he had been making business deals. Or, as he put it, “I’m taking all this energy from my pent up sexual frustration and turning it into aggression.” No one said no to Billy. Especially not when he really wanted something. You had to admit, it was kind of hot.

Wow, all this time apart really had been getting to you.

But all of that was about to end tonight.

You were wearing a dress. The same dress you had been wearing that night. Bill had said that was a little morbid, made more so by the fact that you had even kept the dress, but that was how you wanted it. You wanted to be dark and haunting. You wanted to give him a thousand nightmares in the moments before he died. You wanted the vision of you to follow him screaming down into hell.

You breathed deep. You should have felt panicked, but instead, there was a calm settled down over you like a blanket. You had seen the same calm settle over Billy before sometimes. Right before he killed someone.

There was a knife strapped to each thigh under your dress, but no one would have known to look at you. Your hair was in the same intricate style you had worn, your makeup the same. You had been a different girl then. You were a different girl now too, and no matter how you dressed up, you couldn’t hide that.

You knew it was in everything you did. The way you walked, the click of your heels, the flick of your wrist. There was something deadly and wicked about you. You were lovely and terrifying all at once.

You left your room, heading downstairs to the lobby of your apartment. You looked normal enough. No reason for anyone to glance twice, except the man waiting near the doors.

Billy smiled at you, but it wasn’t his usual smile. You had thought he would have that calm over him, but instead he looked worried. He looked the way you should. His hands were buried deep down into his pockets, but he pulled them out to embrace you, pulling you close so he could whisper in your ear.

“Let’s go. He’s waiting.”

Innocent enough, but even now it felt as though they couldn’t take chances. You followed him out of the car, letting him drive for once. You owed him at least some peace during the car ride, after everything he had done for you.

The ride was long, and you spent it thinking of ways to get your revenge. You were no expert in this, but you couldn’t imagine it was really that hard to cause someone pain. Torturers liked to brag that what they did was an art in the movies, but those were just the movies. You were sure it would work out in the end.

When you got there, Billy stopped the car but didn’t get out. He didn’t unlock the doors either, keeping you trapped in there with him.

“Skittles.”

His voice sounds a little distant. You have already started shaking, but you are not sure if it is in dread or anticipation. Was there even a difference? Did it matter?

“Yes?” You look at him, and he reaches across the center console to stroke his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I could take care of him right now, you know. You would never have to see his face again.”

You shook your head.

“I can’t do that Billy. You know I can’t. I have to...I have to do this. It has to be me. I need the closure. I need...I need to feel like I’m in control again. I need this Billy.”

He sighs.

“I know, but that’s what scares me. That you need this. I’m not judging,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “But take it from me. This is something you can’t take back. It’s not a game, Skittles.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You interrupt.

“Let me finish. You can’t undo this. Once you do this, it stays with you forever. You think it will make the nightmares go away. Maybe it will. But there will be new ones to replace the old. So I need to know. Are you sure?”

You don’t waver for a second. “I’m sure.”

He nods, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Then the second thing I need to make sure you understand is this.” He reaches out, taking your hand in his own and placing it over his heart, holding it there. “For every new nightmare that comes, I will be there. I won’t let anything hurt you. Anyone who wants to get to you will have to do it over my cold dead body.”

Your voice cracks a little when you speak. “Billy Russo, I love you, and if you don’t shut up I’m going to make my first kill crying like a little baby. So are we doing this or not?”

He chuckles, shaking his head at you before getting out of the car and coming around to open your door.

“Ladies first,” he says, ushering you into the warehouse.

He is there. He is there, and you cannot help but stop dead for a moment. This is it. This is the moment you’ve been counting down the seconds to.

Aldrich looks mostly unconscious, but you can tell he’s half-awake. His head droops against his chest, and it looks like Billy had his fun before you got here. There is blood. Lots of it, everywhere. You are surprised the blood loss didn’t kill him. Where there is no blood, there are bruises. Billy was brutal, and you should be afraid, but you never could be. You had always run towards things that were dangerous.

Even as a child, they had warned you against Billy. Everyone could see it in him. That darkness lurking behind the boy’s eyes. They tried to keep you away from it. No one could ever understand why you were so drawn to him. Sometimes, foolishly, they tried to say that opposites attract, but you knew the truth. The truth was, like calls to like, and that monster that lay curled up, dormant inside of Billy? It was roaring inside of you.

But Billy had always been better at managing his demons. He always knew people didn’t expect much from him. He wasn’t bound by a golden boy reputation. You remembered one of the first times you had seen him show that darkness.

“Billy,” You called, heading out into the yard.

Mrs. Wilkins had sent you out to bring him back in. She pretended she was just busy, but even this young you knew that it was just because you were the only one Billy would listen to the first time. For all their discouragement of your friendship, they sure liked to use it to their advantage when it was convenient.

Billy looked up from where he was kneeling in the dirt. His jeans were stained, and you knew he was going to get in trouble for that. You weren’t all that concerned with the jeans when you peeked at what he was doing though.

“What is that?” You crinkled your nose.

“A slug,” Billy said, as though it were obvious.

“Well it doesn’t look like one.”

You were sure you were turning a little green around the gills staring at the melted puddle in the grass. He stabbed the stick he was holding into it again.

“Its been salted. The salt makes them melt, see. But they don’t full melt. That would take more salt than I was able to bring out here without stealing the salt shaker. So I’m poking holes in him and watching the guts ooze out,” he explained casually.

You nodded, dropping down to your knees beside him to get a closer look. You had to admit there was a certain dark fascination to the death throes of the slug. You were just reaching for your own stick when Mrs. Wilkins came out.

“Billy! What are you doing?” She frowned disapprovingly, immediately pulling you up and away from him. “We’ve talked about this. You need to be a better influence and stop scaring the younger children.”

“Skittles wasn’t scared,” he protested. “Were you, Skits?”

You shook your head when prompted. “No, I-”

“You don’t have to lie for him, sweetheart. No dessert tonight, Billy. Heavens above, look at those jeans!”

You snuck Billy dessert off your plate later. In return, he showed you how to kill a slug.

Aldrich broke your revery.

“I suppose,” he rasped, “you should have thanked me. It seems you’re attracted to violent men.”

You grit your teeth, unsheathing one of the knives at your thigh.

“I would say you should shut up, but I’ll be honest. Nothing you could say or do would make this better for you. But I suppose you know that now, hmm?”

“Your boyfriend made that abundantly clear.”

“He didn’t make things half as clear as I will.” You grinned, feral.

Aldrich looked up at you, one eye nearly swollen shut, and laughed. He actually laughed.

“You know, that was why I chose you? I could have picked any of them. But I knew...I knew you wouldn’t be able to take it. It would break something in you. Break it loose. All that bad girl dressed up in angel feathers...I wanted to undress you, so to speak.”

Billy hits him. Hits him so hard you hear something crack, echoing through the dank storeroom. It startles you, but you try not to show that.

“Don’t you say one more word to her,” he hisses.

Aldrich groans, and Billy looks like he wants to hit him again, but you stop him.

“Billy.” You raise a hand. “Let me.”

You stepped forward, tilting Aldrich’s face up with your knife, the tip cutting into his chin.

“Do you know something, Aldrich? You may be a bad man, but you’re not a stupid one. You were right. There was something very nasty in me. But you know something? I don’t have any more nasty left inside me. And you know why that is?”

You smile, tilting his head up just a little bit further so that he’s looking right into your eyes. Then you let it drop, let his chin slam into your chest at the same moment that your knife moves. It arches through the air, shining silver, then slams down into his thigh. Aldrich screams, but you just keep smiling. When he finishes, you wait a moment to speak.

“It’s because, Aldrich, I let it all out.”

“They’ll,” he hissed, “they’ll come for you.”

“Oh? Will they? And who are they, exactly? I have bad news for you, Aldrich. Powerful men are rarely well-loved men. Nobody is coming for you. Nobody will miss you. Nobody loves you.”

He tries to say something, but you don’t bother to listen before you pull your knife out of his thigh and plunge it into his left hand.

“You might want to put some ice on that leg. It looks like it hurts. Might even bruise.” You giggle.

Aldrich lets out a string of swears which you largely ignore.

“This is a little thing I like to call Karma. I don’t mean the cosmic force,” You clarify. “I don’t really believe in that. I just named the knife Karma because I thought that would be a great line. Don’t you agree?”

You don’t give him time to answer before the other knife makes an appearance, landing in his other thigh while the first one lands in his opposite hand. His voice is so hoarse on the scream that it’s almost not audible, but his pain is very, very loud.

“You know what I should say? I should say that this isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. I should go on a long monologue about how I thought this would give me closure, but really I just feel more lost now than ever. I should get all teary-eyed and say that I don’t know who I am anymore, that I’ve turned into someone unrecognizable, but honestly? That’s only partly true. I have turned into someone unrecognizable. But I have never felt more found in my life. Surprise!” You pulled the second knife out of him. “It’s the real me! And she’s actually a horrible person. Oh well.”

You shrugged, giving the knife a little twirl.

“Do you know what I named this one?” You cock your head at him, not really expecting an answer. “Revenge.”

You stab him right in the crotch, and he finds his voice again for that one. The screams probably aren’t supposed to make you feel so satisfied, but they do, right until they finally die off. He screams a long time for this one.

“Oh well. I suppose you’re starting to get bored of me, aren’t you? I do have a tendency to talk too much. Someone said that to me once. You know, now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure that was you!” You pretend that you are surprised as you step back to survey your work.

He will bleed out soon anyway. He is barely clinging on to consciousness. Billy had taught you just enough that you knew where to hit and how often in order to keep him awake, but you didn’t have much longer. You didn’t need any longer though.

“‘Well, it was fun while it lasted. Wouldn’t want to get caught though, now would we sweetheart.’ I guess I’ll do you a favor. Just to be clear though, I’m only doing this to make sure you understand. Even after all of this, I still somehow managed to be a better person than you. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

You pull Karma out of his hand. He doesn’t get the opportunity to scream this time though. You stick the knife right through his throat, and you watch as his eyes go dead. It’s over.

The sound of blood dripping echoes through the warehouse, and then Billy’s voice breaks the silence.

“Is it wrong that I thought that was a little hot? Gosh, I’m going to hell.”

You laugh.

Epilogue

You take a deep, shaky breath. Your hands smooth down over your skirt, sweat-slick against the white silk.

The dress is beautiful. Everything you could have possibly hoped for. It hugged you down past your hips, hitting mid-thigh before flaring out. It didn’t have much of a train, and you had decided to forego a veil. You are so nervous you probably would have just ended up puking on a veil if you had one.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Karen says.

The strawberry blonde smiles at you soothingly. Your mother, blissfully, is not here. Something about this only being your first marriage.

“What if I trip though, Karen? What if I forget my vows? Or, or what if I do that customer service thing where I trip over my script and mess up my vows and accidentally say something horrible? You know I did that once? I once told a customer ‘What can I do to you,’ instead of ‘What can I do for you?’ Oh gosh. Oh gosh.”

Karen puts her hands on her shoulders. “I will slap you if I have to. You need to pull it together.”

You nod, closing your eyes. She’s right. Of course, she’s right. And she probably should slap you. It might wake you up a little.

“He’s going to love you. You could walk down the aisle in your underwear with a crossbow strapped to your back and he would still love you. Would still marry you.”

You look up at her. “Do you really think so?”

“I really do. Besides, if he leaves you at the altar Frank will hunt him down and drag his carcass back to you.”

You laughed despite yourself, before hearing the first notes of music starting.

“It’s showtime.” Karen gives you a reassuring smile, but it does nothing to ease your nerves.

Frank is waiting for you at the doors. You father couldn’t be here today naturally, off on some business trip. Frank had been more than happy to volunteer, having become good friends with you. He said you were practically family anyway, so he might as well step in and be the man of the house.

“You’re going to be great,” he reassured you. “Everything will be fine. And just know that he is exactly as nervous as you are.”

“As nervous as you were when you married Karen?”

“I’m not sure it’s humanly possible for anyone else to reach those levels of nervousness, but yeah, sure. He’s that nervous.”

You giggled, but it ended abruptly when your song started.

“This is it,” you whispered.

“This is it.”

You take one last deep breath before going through those doors, Frank right by your side.

Every step down the aisle feels like a thousand. Your feet feel heavy, and for a moment you are paranoid that they must be dragging. Your eyes don’t know where to look, darting left and right and taking in the judgemental crowd that makes up your extended adopted family who are probably just here to garner favor with your parents, and his half of the room. Him, you realize, you should look at him.

So you do. You look up, and you feel anchored, This is it. This is the man you want to spend forever with. You smile as you finally reach the end of the aisle and he takes your hand. The love of your life. Carter Killian.

“Baby, wake up.” Billy’s voice pulls you out of sleep, and you jerk awake.

“Hmmm?”

“You were having another dream. A nightmare?” His fingers trail down the bare skin of your arm.

“Yeah. Not as bad as they usually are though.” You turn, fitting yourself further into his embrace.

Your head rests on his arm underneath you, his other wrapped around your waist. The sheets are crumpled up, probably from you thrashing around in your sleep. You were not a peaceful dreamer, but neither was Billy.

“Tell me about it.”

You snorted. “You don’t want to know.”

“Of course I do. I want to know everything about you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I was marrying Carter.”

Immediately Billy’s face shifts from shock to anger, teeth gritted together.

“I am going to find that good for nothing-”

“Bill, I think we’re a bit past that now. It’s been...how many years?”

“It’s never too late to kill a Killian.”

You shush him even as you laugh. “Careful! The kids will hear you.”

“The kids,” he says, kissing you, “are still sound asleep.”

You grin. “3...2...”

“Mom!” There it was.

“I have a very important little person to go look after,” You said. “However, before I go, two things. One, I called it a nightmare for a reason. I can’t imagine ever marrying Carter. Gross. Besides, I’m taken, and the absolutely gorgeous ring on my finger shows it. Two, you jinxed us, so you have to make breakfast.”

“Skittles!” Billy whines, half because you are crawling out of bed and half because he doesn’t want to make breakfast.

“Next time maybe don’t be so confident about the kids,” You said, tieing on your bathrobe.

“Mommy!”

“Coming, Kit-Kat!” You call.

You head down the hall to your 5-year-old daughter's room. She is standing in the doorway, clutching a stuffed lamb in her tiny little fists.

“What is it, angel?” You ask her.

“Bad dream.”

“Oh, it’s alright, sweetie. Mommy has bad dreams sometimes too. Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It was Halloween, but the monsters were all real!”

“Oh dear. That does sound awfully scary. You know what always makes me feel better after a bad dream?”

“What?”

“Pancakes! Daddy is making some down in the kitchen. Why don’t you go down and tell him all about your dream while I get Cooper.”

“I can get Cooper, Mommy! I want to carry him!”

At 5, Katherine was not quite old enough or big enough to be carrying the 2-year-old to the kitchen.

“But how will Lambie get there without you to carry him?” You ask her.

She thinks for a moment, frowning, and you step in.

“See? It would be a shame if Lamby had to miss pancakes. So why don’t you two head down and you can carry Cooper another day.”

She sighed, disappointed. “Okay, Mommy.”

You were hoping Cooper would be able to get some more sleep, but alas, that was not the case. He was already awake, staring up at you with wide brown eyes just like Billy’s.

“Okay, little man. Time for breakfast.”

Eventually, you two make it to the kitchen, where Billy is indeed making pancakes while Katherine chatters on, her baby voice not quite gone and making her r’s sound more like w’s. You would be so sad when the last dregs of that faded away. Your little girl was starting to grow up.

Billy smiles, pulling you in for a kiss after you set Cooper down in his chair.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good, because Kit-Kat and I are making enough pancakes to feed a small army.”

“No, Daddy! I want to make enough for a big army.” She holds her arms out wide to demonstrate the size of the army.

Billy laughs. “All the armies in the world for you, kiddo. But before that, breakfast.”

He serves breakfast, and you all eat and laugh. Billy tells Katherine silly stories while you help Cooper eat his breakfast with minimal mess. He doesn’t get syrup, but Katherine does, and somehow manages to get it a little..well, everywhere.

You end up having to take her back to her room so she can change her shirt, and at her request, you braid her hair. When you are done, you take Katherine down to the bus while Billy puts Cooper in his playpen. Katherine’s just started going to Kindergarten, but Billy wanted her to go to some fancy private one, and with the distance, it’s just more practical to have her bussed. You send her off with all the love in the world before heading back inside.

Billy wraps his arms around you, and you rest your head on his chest. “You know you’re being the stereotypical rich Dad, right?”

“I do know. Largely because you say that every time our daughter goes to school.”

“I just think you need the reminder that she is literally only learning colors and shapes.”

“But,” Billy says, “the early years are critical.”

“Mmmhhmmm, sure,” you say.

“Hey, Skits?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your nightmare really about? Because I refuse to believe it was about that little d-”

“Baby!”

“Really?”

“The early years are critical.”

“Did you really dream about him.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you kiss him?”

You snorted. “Yeah. It got real steamy right before you woke me up.”

You pull back to see that he is pouting. Fully pouting, like the big baby he is.

“Actually, I had cold feet the whole time. Probably because I was pretty sure that he definitely wasn’t hot enough to be my real husband. I’m more into the rugged type, you know?”

Billy grins. “Is that so?”

“It most certainly is. I like it when you look at a guy and you’re not sure how many men he may or may not have killed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Very sexy.”

“Much sexier than Carson. Right?”

“You know what I would rather do than fight about this?”

“Hmm?”

You pull back a little bit to look at him, the mischevious twinkle in your eyes letting him know exactly what you would rather do. Cooper has other plans though, as he bursts into tears. You swear you hear Billy mumble something that sounds suspiciously like it ends in “blocker” under his breath as you go to pick your little boy up.

“Oh, hush,” You tell Billy.

“I am sexier than him though, right?”

“Are we still on that?”

“Well since I’m not on you, the answer is going to have to be a solid ‘yes.’“

“Yes, Billy. You are infinitely sexier than Carter. In fact, you are so sexy, that if it were a choice between you or Ben Barnes-”

“Ben who?”

“British actor dude. He’s real cute.”

“Wait, you have a celebrity crush?”

“Of course I do. Every girl does, and if they say they don’t they’re lying.”

“I’ve never heard of him, but I’m sure he’s not as good looking as me.”

“Maybe.” You smirk.

“I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“You wouldn’t trade this for the world,” You point out, patting Cooper’s back.

Billy softens, his chocolate eyes melting.

“No, no I wouldn’t. Everyone but us.”

Us had expanded to 4 people, but the phrase still held true.

“Everyone but us. Forever.”

#dreamwritesimagines #once a year #once a year fic #remind me #remind me fic #punisher #jigsaw #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo series #kastle

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