#I haven��t been able to muster up the energy to draw lately

[hobiiiiiworld]

Hate Game | PJM + MYG - Chapter 9

⇢ No ill intentioned

Synopsis: 

Onus

/ˈəʊnəs/

noun something that is one's duty or responsibility.

__________

Jimin loses his brother. His father loses his first born son, the heir of his company, leaving it up to Jimin to keep his father´s company in the Park family. Jimin would never have pictured himself marrying out of duty. However, Mr. Min, who only married Jimin so he could take over the company, isn´t exactly how Jimin pictured. Now, all he wants is to make Yoongi regret his decision to marry for money.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Min Yoongi | Kim Seokjin x Kim Namjoon

Genres: Marriage out of duty | Angst | Emotional Hurt

Word Count: 2,7K

Read on Ao3

Jimin wakes in the middle of night. Or, he isn´t sure if it's in the middle of night. He was sleeping, but now he isn´t, the vibrations from his phone slowly draws him from his sleep. He looks, the number not saved. He pushes the volume button, silencing the call, and goes back to sleep. Before he can fall back asleep, it rings again. It's the same number, and a surge of panic enters him as he sits up in bed, answering the call. Not again, he chants in his head. Please no, no, no, no. 

"Park Jimin speaking," he says, voice clear despite him just haven woken up. 

It's a woman speaking, and he isn´t sure what she said her name was or which hospital she said she's calling from, because his head is spinning. No. Please don't be dad. Don't be dad. Not yet. He repeats the words in his mind like mantra. Like he needs to think it to survive. He can't lose his dad too. Not yet. Not ever, but certainly not so quickly after Ji. He certainly wouldn't be able to survive that. The woman goes on. "I'm calling about a Park Yoongi? He said you're his husband?" 

Relief floods his body instantly. They aren't calling about his dad. His dad is fine, it's only Yoongi. His husband. Jimin wants to deny that Yoongi is his husband, but knows he shouldn't. Emotionally, Yoongi is nothing more than… Well, nothing to Jimin. Legally, however, Yoongi is his husband. "Yes," Jimin says, mustering up the energy to pretend to care now that the urgency of the situation is over. Now that he feels the relief crushing over him. 

He's been here before, but that time it was Ji. Jimin can feel the effects of this callback on his body and, even though the relief, he is shaking and his thoughts won't clear up. He reminds himself that this isn´t Ji, but Yoongi, which doesn't matters as much in comparison. At all, actually. A though occurs to Jimin: Yoongi´s real boyfriend should be the one they contacted, not the guy he married for money. Why didn't Yoongi give them his number? "Did something happen?" He asks, trying his best to sound interested. 

"Ah, your husband is fine. He fainted and hit his head, which is why we want to keep him for observation over night. If you want to come see him, we will allow you to come now." 

Jimin doesn't feel the need to go, knowing Yoongi would probably prefer for his tattoo-boyfriend to come instead. And chances are, he already called him. Chances are, tattoo-boyfriend, who he now has learned is named Jungkook, is already on his way to Yoongi. The last thing Jimin wants is to be embarrassed when he enters the hospital room with a nurse, finding his husband cuddled up with someone else. 

"It's not a great time right now. I don't know if I can, eh, find the time. But, huh," Jimin clears his throat, "tell him to text me if he needs something from our apartment and I'll bring it with me tomorrow." 

"Of course." She pauses, giving Jimin time to ask any questions he might have. "Have a good rest of your night, Jimin." 

"You too. And," Jimin says, forcing himself to say the next words. To pretend to be the husband he could be if... "Take care of my husband." 

"Of course we will!" 

They hang up. 

For the rest of the night, Jimin can't seem to fall back to sleep, thinking back to that awful Saturday morning when his dad called him. When he walked into the hospital too late. The feelings he felt that morning have returned, and Jimin wonders what happened to him that morning, because he can't seem to shake the feeling of being tired and angry and sad all the time. Although these feelings aren´t the exact same as they were three months ago, they are still present, always just there. Only now, they can't seem to surface. Jimin thinks it was better when he could have an outburst and get some of it out, but lately, he doesn't have the energy to cry or to argue or to do anything, these feelings are always just… there, simmering in the background. Building and poisoning everything.

He can't remember the last time he slept properly, because every time he falls asleep, Ji is there, haunting him. Some nights they are good dreams, some nights they are nightmares, but he always wakes up mourning after the dream. He wonders if he should go to therapy, but then again, he isn´t actually feeling all that much anymore, which means there aren't actually any feelings to deal with. Whatever, he doesn't know, and he doesn't care. Nothing matters, and nothing has mattered since that Saturday. Laying in bed, he can't sleep, but it doesn't matter because Ji isn´t here. Hoseok isn´t here. And he wonders if the old Jimin is gone for good, too. 

Jimin has figured it out. He has these moments where everything seems so good to him, where things are bright and light and normal, which occurs most often when he's with Taehyung or at work. And then, he has these moments where he's on autopilot, like when he married Yoongi. That whole month was him managing and trying to get though it. And then, he has moments where he feels and thinks, like last night. These are the times when things are heavy and he feels hopeless about the world and himself and his life. The realization that these waves happens has given him a little perspective. Things matters, he knows that, but not all the time. Not when he feels every bit of pain after Ji´s passing pulsating thought him. Things doesn't need to matter at that moment. 

Right now, he thinks he's on autopilot because he's entering the same door he did that Saturday, but he can´t be sure he's on autopilot, because he feels anxious and angry and sad. Anxious because he's walking though hallways that look the exact same as they did that morning. And he's sad because he's asking for the same last name he did that day. And he's mad, because this time, it isn´t Ji, it's Yoongi. And Yoongi is fine. Yoongi isn´t dead like Jimin´s brother, but he's just fine. And it's unfair. 

Walking up to the door, he hears familiar voices. He doesn't know why he stops, but he finds himself listening in instead of walking though the door.

"- for you, you know? It's coming up two years," tattoo-boyfriend says. Jimin knows it's him because he can't count how many times he's heard his voice though the door. 

"Yeah," Yoongi says, sounding tired. 

"How-" Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Yoongi. 

"Don´t," he bites back.

"Yoon -" 

Once again, Yoongi interrupts him, which is the first time Jimin has heard him being harsh toward Jungkook. "I'm fine, so we don't have to do this." 

"Yoongi, you're laying in a hospital bed," tattoo-boyfriend argues back. 

"Well, my life doesn't stop because he isn´t here anymore or because I miss him." Jimin remembers when Yoongi said those words to him. He had taken offense then, thinking Yoongi meant it as a clap-back or as an insult. Turns out, Yoongi goes by those words himself. He actually believes them. "It has to go on."

"You have to take care of yourself, though, and not only other people. I know you want to -" 

Jungkook can't seem to finish a sentence without Yoongi interrupting him. "Listen, I remember how things were in those early months. He's trying to survive. I'm trying to do the same, but I've started to heal. I can't let Jim -" 

This time, Jungkook is the one interrupting, sounding mad. "Oh fuck off! You can't take care of anyone if you can't take care of yourself." His voice softens. "If you're not alive. Remember what he said before he passed. He didn't want you to do this to yourself. And I know you only want to help that poor guy, but he clearly doesn't want your help, the way he's treating you. I think…" he hesitates then. 

"What? I should rip the contract in two and kick him out?" 

"Yeah. Basically." 

"You can't be for real?" 

"Think about it. You're working your ass off, working to the brink of exhaustion, then you come home, only to be met with hostility. It's not good for your mental health, and clearly not for your physical health, either." 

"He isn´t that bad. I was worse," Yoongi says, clearly joking now. 

"Yeah, but not to strangers. To me. To your dad. To him. But never to people who didn't deserve it, you know?" 

"I deserve it, plenty." 

"This wasn't my point," Jungkook says, clearly exasperated. "My point is, you should still give yourself some space and time to heal. To grief. Actually, you should get yourself out of this situation. They can find a new asslicker like yourself to run the company, and you can find yourself a new ass to lick." 

Yoongi erupts in laughter, clearly enjoying Jungkoook´s humor.

Jimin doesn't know when he understood they are talking about him, but once the realization hits, he turns around and is about to walk away when he walks straight into a nurse. 

"Sorry," the nurse says loudly, drawing attention as he straightens up Jimin before he walks away. And Jimin doesn't have a choice but to turn around, because Jungkook is standing in the doorway, smiling politely at Jimin with his eyes wide and curious. Without a word, Jimin hands him the food Yoongi asked him to bring and walks out of the hospital as quickly as he can. 

Jimin spends the rest of his Saturday not thinking about the conversation he overheard. He cleans the apartment, he eats lunch with Taehyung - Jimin has to kick him out when he doesn't stop asking Jimin what is wrong - and he visits Ji´s grave, laying down flowers and the new angel he bought at the fair. Once dark settles, he makes himself dinner, lights some candles and puts on a movie. Halfway through the movie, Yoongi messages him. 

Warning. On my way home. 

Jimin sighs, ignores the message and hyper focuses on the movie, because that's much more enjoyable that thinking about that conversation and what it might mean. To Jimin, it doesn't mean anything, because Yoongi has still been a total ass to him. Still been rude and not cared about his feelings. He said it himself, he deserves everything he's gotten from Jimin. Even if he defended him and even if some of his ill words to Jimin might have been intended as kind advice, he definitely deserves all the anger. 

Yeah, Jimin is not thinking about it and he definitely still hates Yoongi. 

He hears the door opening. He hears Yoongi walking in. He hears the front door closing and Yoongi kicking off his shoes. Yoongi walking into his bedroom without hesitation, closing his door after him. And Jimin wants to call after him that he shouldn't close the door by slamming it shut, but puts his focus back on the move. Five minutes later Yoongi reappears in sweats, and much to Jimin´s surprise, he picks up the blanket, settles himself next to Jimin and cuddles up. 

They watch the movie with a weird tension in the air. Jimin wonders what the conversation was about. He wonders if Yoongi knows he heard. He wonders if Yoongi knows that he knows that he heard. And in the middle of all this wondering, he's still so unreliably angry at Yoongi for settling himself beside Jimin, ruining his peace. For coming into his life the way he did. The movies ends, yet none of them move, an indescribable bubble of something unsaid surrounding them. Jimin wants to ask, but he's too mad. He wants Yoongi to ask, but Jimin knows he wouldn't answer, he's too mad. The next movie in the series starts to play, and Yoongi settles even further down on the couch, clearly calm and relaxed. 

Jimin doesn't dare look at Yoongi, only watches the movie unfold on the screen. Tries to get the same peace Yoongi is currently feeling, but there is no chance. He huffs, and he puffs, but this time, Yoongi keeps quiet. Let's him get it all out. Or, he's too focused on the movie to even notice. Who knows. Probably the latter, knowing Yoongi. 

It's somewhere in the middle of the movie when Yoongi clears his throat. 

"Thanks for coming to visit me, and thanks for bringing food." Jimin wants to bark back that he didn't need Jimin to bring him food, wants to point out that he could have asked Jungkook, but bites his tongue. "And… I tried to stop them from calling you in the middle of the night. They…" he doesn't finish. 

Jimin turns to Yoongi then, sitting up on his knees. Yoongi is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened, and Jimin curses him in his mind. Why did you survive, huh? Why you and not him? 

"Yeah, you tried? Was it hard telling them that you married a man you don't know or care about for money. Was it hard telling them that said husband doesn't care if you're in the hospital? Was it hard telling them that I'm not the one they should be calling, but Jungkook, your boyfriend. Was it hard, huh?" 

"I -" Yoongi cuts himself off, looking stunned. "You-" 

"I- You-" Jimin mocks. "Huh," he snickers. 

"Firstly, Jungkook is not my boyfriend. Secondly, yes, I tried. It all happened so fast, one second they're asking who I'm married to, because it's very obvious that I'm married," he holds up his hand with his wedding band on. "And then I tried to tell them that I should call you myself, but they insisted that I rest." There is a second where Jimin sits back down and Yoongi sits up straight. "I hope you didn't react too badly when they called." 

"As I said, I don't care that you were at the hospital," Jimin bites back, rolling his eyes. 

"No, not me… The…" Yoongi closes his eyes in frustration, and when he opens them again, he is calm again. He looks at Jimin with kind eyes, eyes that Jimin has never seen before. "When they called… It was in the middle of the night and the hospital called. I tried telling them I should be the one calling you, Jimin, I did. They wouldn't listen." 

"You… You did?" Jimin asks incredibly. Because he did react badly, all those feelings and thoughts from that morning came right back to him. He was in panic when he picked up. Yet, he finds it hard to grasp what Yoongi is really saying. 

"What? You can't honestly think I'm so horrible that I want to trigger your trauma." Jimin doesn't answer, because yes, he does. Or he did? He doesn't know. "You do, don't you?" 

"You are horrible, so why wouldn't you do that? You have no regards for my emotions, and you just do whatever the fuck you want." 

"Are you serious right now?" Yoongi asks, voice cold. 

"Kick me out like you boyfriend suggested th-" 

Yoongi interrupts Jimin, voice loud. "He's not my fucking boyfriend!" Like Yoongi always does, he calms and speaks again. It's starting to get on Jimin´s nerves, because he can't seem to calm down, and he can´t think straight like this. "And yeah, maybe I should kick you out but I won't.  I'm going to be here so you have at least on way you can get your anger out."  Jimin doesn't answer, only fumes. Falters a little, because now he's confused. Really confused, but so, so, so angry. "What you're going thought has nothing to do with me, and -" 

"It has everything to do with you!" 

"Right," Yoongi says slowly, trying to prepare himself for Jimin´s next move. 

"You fucking survived, and he fucking died. It has everything to with you." Jimin stands up and walks away. 

"Take it out on me all you want, Jimin," Yoongi calls after him, calmer that Jimin has ever been. "It will get better, and then I'll still be here!" Jimin slams his door shut, the tears of frustration already falling. 

Yes, he definitely… or he thinks… no, maybe he doesn't hate Yoongi as much anymore. Something in Jimin rises, because he knows admitting he was wrong is even worse than continuing to hate Yoongi, so yes, he still hates Yoongi. 

[impishnature]

The Light Keeper (Part 8)

AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Rating: T

Summary: A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Lighthouse Keeper AU.

Series of One-shots.

AN: Commission and story collab with @garrulousgibberish​ based on their Lighthouse Keeper AU (link above) OK I lied cause I get caught up every time... I think this has been my favourite so far - I mean I got tired out writing it. (Warnings for drowning and... general peril?)

.

Part 8: The Lights That Guide Us Home

.

The light came on without warning that night.

Stan had been pacing when it happened. Back and forth. Back and forth. Just like he had done every night for the last week.

The kids would notice soon, whether it was the bags beneath his eyes or the snappish remarks he didn’t mean to give. They were smart, he was sure one of them would say something soon enough if he wasn’t careful, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care.

Sure, he felt ashamed for how he’d yelled at them when they’d come home late, but he hadn’t been able to think how to apologise, not through the descending fog that he was running out of time. How did he tell them that they had scared him? Had absolutely terrified him? That somehow he felt like he’d already lost one person that day and that the fear of losing them too had sent him over the edge, his worries magnified to a degree he didn’t even know he was capable of feeling?

He couldn’t lose them, the sea had already taken one person from him and the thought of them stranded on the beach, stuck where he couldn’t reach them with the tide getting higher and higher…

It had just been another hit to the already crumbling walls around his heart.

He wasn’t sure he could hold out to any more hits.

And so he grew distant, pulled himself away. He fretted about them throughout the day, made sure they were safe, made sure to keep a close watch on them until they were sound asleep. Then, and only then, would he go straight to the lighthouse to fret over the other worry that had splintered and cracked the wall in the first place that day.

Ford had said goodbye to him.

He’d never said goodbye to him before.

And he hadn’t heard anything since.

So every night he found himself tirelessly working, not that he didn’t always but with the kids he’d grown lax, needed any energy he had spare to spend with them and so his hours at the lighthouse had grown shorter. His eyes had drifted shut more often, needing what rest he could gather for the small bright whirlwinds that had invaded his home.

Or that’s what he called them under his breath, the gruffness hiding soft warm endearment.

That was until Ford had said goodbye. Now all he felt was bitter regret and cold cloying panic that he had done it all wrong.

You had one job, one and now look at you, look at what you’ve done.

He’d focused on something else just once and he had lost Ford completely.

The argument he had had with the whispering familiar voice had hurt, he had denied it entirely, assuming that it couldn’t have been Ford. It had to be some trickster pretending to be him, especially when his brother had been placating and calm the next visit. He had spoken about their childhoods, reminded Stan of what he was trying to get back. His twin, their adventures, the one person that had meant the world to him before he’d brought that world crumbling down around him.

But none of that mattered now, the argument, the encouragement.

Nothing felt as painful as the silent void that had been left behind.

“…Goodbye, Stan.”

“Stop it. Stop it, stop it- Stop it!”

Whenever he closed his eyes, the voice would ring through his head and up he’d get to pace again.

He was out on the balcony when it happened. The light bathed him, bright and white just like it did in his dreams, just like it had that night so many years ago.

It took him a minute to realise it was actually happening. That the light after all this time had finally come on in all its bountiful glory just as he felt the tug of hopelessness sinking him to his knees.

It burned away the forlorn feeling, heated him up from the inside out as it beamed across the bay and woke him from the fog of pain he’d been restlessly sitting in since his world had crumbled around him once more.

The binoculars he’d been grasping white-knuckled in his hand fell to the balcony floor with a loud clunk, helping to draw him back physically into reality as the light brought his mind back to sharp focus.

And, just as quickly, a new determination and realisation flooded through him, as if the light was helping him with his reasoning as well as his navigation.

It was telling him what he needed to do, telling him where he needed to go.

I need to get out on the water. I’m coming, Sixer! Don’t you give up on me now!

If Stan didn’t know any better he’d have almost assumed he was back in one of his nightmares.

Rain peppered across his face and arms, burning shards of ice that made his eyes squint as he forced himself to continue locking on to the beacon the lantern was sending him. The wind howled and tore at him from every angle, as if it couldn't decide which direction it wanted to attack him from. It left him breathless, left him to hold on tight as it yanked and tugged at him, left him fighting with the sail in an effort to combat the vicious swipes it continuously sent at him.

But even so, he couldn’t turn away from the heart of the storm. Even as he fought the wind and waves for control, as the roar of the wind and thunder left a deafening ring in its wake that he wasn’t entirely sure would ever truly leave him, he couldn’t stop now.

It was like he was channelling the tempest, channelling an energy and strength that could not be swayed. Drawn into its epicentre, right into the eye of the storm even as the full force of Mother Nature tried to bar him entry.

A vicious grim twist of a grin slid across his face, more gritting teeth and a snarling grimace than anything that could truly be said to contain any real mirth, but it was the only thing he could muster in that moment.

A boom of a laugh clattered out of him, as he crested a wave and his sails caught, a sudden burst of momentum speeding him into the circle of light that had drawn him all this way. Victorious and heady, his own voice entered the fray, his own mocking thunder, as the storm tried to drown him out, his eyes sparking with determination and defiance.

The storm would not break him, he would get to his destination.

And in that frame of mind he knew this couldn’t be another nightmare, nor even a wishful dream. That it couldn’t all be in his mind, not as the storm took over his senses, as salt water filled his mouth and covered his skin, tugging insistently as it dried, or as the cresting waves foamed up on to the deck at every opportunity. No, it couldn’t be, as his hands stung from the burn of ropes as he kept everything in check, as he winced as the wheel caught him off guard and lurched away from him, smacking with force into his arm before he caught hold of it once more.

Through it all, he knew that no matter how vivid his resting mind could be, it could never drum up this.

This fight with the world, this push and pull to get his brother back that all rested on how far he could go.

No, his nightmares were never so kind as to leave him with this amount of willpower. The crushing sense of failure that had followed him night after night now but a speck of dust that had blown away in the tempest to leave him with a solid wall of resolve, his purpose a raging fire in his chest that even the storm could not dampen.

No, this was not a dream.

And Ford needed him.

That was all that mattered.

The light blossomed along the deck as he breached the circle, bringing with it a new wave of hope as he found himself another step closer to his goal. He kept his eyes locked to the centremost point, something guiding him still further even as the storm continued to bubble and fizz above him. The rain turned warm in the wake of the light, still torrential and still hindering his movement forward but at least less painful, less freezing as he pushed ever forward.

Or perhaps his skin was just growing numb to the onslaught.

Just as an odd sigh of relief echoed out of him at the feel of warmth as it soaked into his coat, it grew too hot to handle, his head jolting instinctively away from the hot flecks of water that were burrowing into his skin. He raised a hand to shield himself, eyes turning out of the storm entirely and just for a second, the winds died down entirely, a hush of absolute silence, just for a beat as his gaze hit the water.

There.

There was nothing to be seen, just the green waves in the lanterns light but somehow he knew he was there, he had found him after all these years.

The silent bubble burst, a loud crack of thunder heralding the assault as water pummelled back onto his frame, the thud of it against the wood bringing him back to his senses as he struggled towards the side of the boat. For a second it felt like he’d been at the top of the lighthouse, completely disconnected from the world as he watched it from above until suddenly the storm broke through the glass, cracked every single pane and dug its way in, tooth and claw, to tear apart his small safe haven.

His mouth tugged upwards at the thought, a snide snarl of a smirk resting deep within his core.

He never had been one to stay put and stay safe.

The coarse wood grounded him as he skidded across the deck and managed to catch onto the side of the boat, even as another wave crashed across the deck and threatened to knock him down with it.

He searched the waters below him, the light impossibly burning a hole through the water as if it was opening a portal to the bottom of the sea. If he narrowed his eyes, he was sure he could see the seafloor, see the sand and rocks, the creatures that darted confused and disorientated by the blinding light that had engulfed their abyss of a home. But he wasn’t trying to focus on that, he was trying to focus on the even more impossible.

Trying to focus on his brother that should be there. Should still somehow, after 30 years submerged in the gloom, come back to him unhurt, breathing and whole.

“Ford.”

A gasp tumbled out of him, the air knocked out of his lungs as if something solid had punched him in the gut when he found him, a bundle of struggling muscles trying to push his way through the depths.

His hands gripped tighter as he leant over the railing, the sting in his hands as salt water found the rope burns insignificant against the pounding of his heart against his ribcage. There was a tightness to his chest that heralded a panic that even fighting through the tempestuous weather hadn’t been able to drum out of him.

“Come on, Sixer, I’m right here. All you gotta do is keep fighting.” Stan couldn’t help the words that slipped out, his own resolve, his own determination trying to bleed out of him and into his brother, willing him upwards. He was getting closer but he could see how taxing it was becoming, could see how his coat twisted around him and made his movements harder. He could feel the rain drumming on his back, making it hard for him to stand, and wondered whether it was even a sliver of what his brother was feeling as all that water, all that distance between them pressed onto his body, making his upwards fight a vicious and hard fought battle that he wasn’t sure he could tackle alone.

He doesn’t have to. I’m here.

Stan’s eyes widened as he pulled himself upwards and glanced around the boat quickly, looking for anything that could help him. Everything he had done had led up to this moment, he had fought so hard to get his brother back and there was nothing that was going to stand in between him and making sure Ford got out of this safe and sound.

Ford didn’t have to tackle this alone, Stan was going to make sure this was a hard fought victory no matter what it meant for him.

But even as he tried to recall what the best course of action would be, the panic was starting to fizzle through the determination. Time wasn’t on his side and every second he dallied was another second Ford was stuck beneath the water. The sounds of his brother’s gurgling breaths stuttered through the wind, chased by a lingering laughter that seemed to crest and wane with the waves against the ship.

No time, no time, gotta help him, gotta save him- just got to figure out how-

He knew what he should do, knew that he had already broken the rules of the sea by coming out alone in the middle of a storm to save someone. Knew that the silly foolhardy decision had lost many a sailor his life to the waves by trying to be a hero but that hadn’t stopped him. And now he knew that there was a way to do things, to tie himself down before he did anything reckless, keep a firm grasp to the only thing that would save them both so that he all his efforts weren’t in vain.

But that would take time.

And that was the one thing he didn’t have in that moment.

His eyes went from the rope waiting for him, the supplies that were always on his boat in case of an emergency and back over the side, to his brother whose strength was waning, his arms and legs moving sluggishly through the water. He was trying his best, he could see that, but no amount of willpower on his part was going to help him get to the surface.

There was only so long he could hold his breath for and Stan knew that he had been under for a very long time.

There’s no time for this.

He took a deep breath, pushing every thought to one side as they threatened to engulf him, threatened to leave him lost to the storm until it was too late.

And just as before, the tempest now inside his head broke, leaving him with only one option and a complete lack of concern for his own safety as he disregarded the items he knew were there purely for this purpose.

He cleared his mind, ignored the warning bells and insidious fears of failure. Let the resolve bury back into him, warm and heated and all consuming.

You’ve got a job to do. It’d both of you or neither of you.

And then with that last thought and his gaze firmly glued to Ford-

He plunged into the deep.

Everything was suddenly moving far too quickly.

After so much time floating in the nothingness of the abyss, reality was suddenly overwhelming. All his senses were on fire. His mind was clicking itself back into place as if it had been dislocated all these years and with the motion his memories sparked back into vision behind his eyelids, all his sense of self rushing in with the tide in one agonising jolt that left him reeling. But he didn’t have time to focus on any of that as the smell, the taste of the water filled him to the brim, the all-encompassing fear that he was actually drowning ringing through his head to dampen the abrupt return to consciousness.

There was no laughter in his ear this time as he propelled himself with dwindling strength towards the light and the surface. His arms and legs were heavy and cumbersome, his coat dragging him down agonising inches with every upwards movement he made, tying him in knots and making his ascent more difficult than he needed it to be.

He was so weak, each second another precious atom of time that he could feel slipping away as black spots appeared around the light. The salt burned his eyes and his nose as he pushed up and up. He could feel the pressure of the water on his chest, a solid weight that his mind tried to reason with but couldn’t. He was so far down in the depths that he wasn’t sure how the light was actually reaching him, logic dictating that he was so deep below the waves that the pressure should have already crushed the life from him.

It was getting harder and harder not to breathe, his body reacting to the lack of air in his system. Pain thrummed through his chest, tight and hot, fluctuating with his pulse.

His heart beat grew steadily faster with the dismal realisation that he would never reach the surface in this state.

He wasn’t going to make it.

He could taste freedom, could see the lighthouse rippling above him as his arms refused to follow his instructions. It was like he was caught again at the bottom of the sea but he knew this time that it was his body giving out, a haze fizzling in his peripheral vision as the world closed in. He tried to will himself to continue, to drag himself up just that bit further but it was like swimming through tar, sapping his energy even as his mind remained clear.

It was freezing, the cold biting into him like it never had before. It was still deathly quiet but there was an ironically twisted humour to it all as he found himself succumbing to his fate.

He had finally been allowed to feel, to live again but only for a moment.

Allowed to feel but only pain, how was that fair?

His hand stretched out towards the light, cupping it one last time as his eyes drifted closed.

I hope Stan will be OK…

Before he could give up entirely, something grabbed the back of his collar.

Shock bubbled out of him, his mouth opening as he gasped and the water flooded in. A burst of energy filtered in with the adrenaline, fighting and pushing at whatever held him, clawing at the back of his neck until he froze. His hand found fingers, another human hand curling around his coat and pulling him towards the surface.

But- How-

Before he could fathom any of it, his head popped through the surface of the water and much needed air burned down his throat as painfully as the water had before it.

He coughed and heaved, manhandled until he was clinging on to the back of whoever was rescuing him for dear life. He was sure the person was talking to him but he couldn’t really focus, the sudden noise around him deafening him and the ice cold wind and rain peppering him in sharp hot pinpricks. He buried his head into the crook of the person’s neck, wracked with violent shakes as he continued to heave up the water that had entered his system.

He didn’t have much time to think as the waves continued to assault them, washing over them in unpredictable hits that left him spluttering more and whimpering as his would be rescuer dipped below the waves himself and seemed to slow with each hit.

But they finally made it to something solid, Ford’s eyes glazing slightly and his thoughts too lethargic to really grasp the situation as he kept a tight hold until he was prompted to do otherwise.

He let himself be shoved and pulled upwards, not really able to help much other than grip tightly once he was out of the waves entirely and let himself be propelled over the side of, what he now realised was, a boat.

He hit the deck with a dull thud, pain rippling through his side as he laid there but he couldn’t bring himself to mind as the threat of a watery grave finally left his system. He continued to cough weakly, breathing in deep heaving gasps as his fingers trailed fascinatingly over the wooden texture under him, the solid flooring beneath him a welcome respite after 30 years of drifting and floating with nothing concrete to cling onto.

I’m alive. I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive-

There was a groan as the other man pulled himself up and fell beside him for a few panting moments. He gave what he hoped was a small sympathetic sound but considering the way the man shot up again, he couldn’t be sure the noise had had the desired effect.

“Ford? Ford, are you OK?”

Stan?

Large warm arms encased him, tugging him upwards, even more grounding that the boat. A soft but slightly damp fabric was wrapped around him, surrounding him in warmth and safety in a stark contrast to the cocoon that had been his prison below. He hummed tiredly, gratefully as fleece tickled his nose but the utter relief and warmth seemed to radiate more from the body that was holding him almost painfully tight, anchoring him to consciousness and giving him the strength he needed to keep himself awake.

“I’ve got you. I’ve finally got you, I can’t believe it-”

He could feel his brother trembling, found himself tugged impossibly closer and gave an appreciative choked off noise as he found he could bury himself into his brother’s chest, arms winding round him albeit weakly in response. He took in a deep breath and smelt something other than salt and brine, felt and heard Stan’s steady heartbeat and used it to try and centre his own.

Heard the soft whispers of encouragement meant only for him and the mumbled prayers to whatever deity had let him find him again.

Ford couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment, even as his mind still struggled to catch up entirely with it all. The world still seemed to be spinning just that bit too fast, as if hours were mere seconds, as if everything that had just transpired could have happened in the blink of an eye.

Stan? Is it really you?

The boat bobbed in the waters, his stomach lurching with the sensation. It derailed his thoughts and reminded him of what else there was waiting for them below the surface. He struggled in Stan’s grasp, his feet sliding and unable to find purchase at the angle he was being held at, though he wasn’t even sure they’d be able to support him if he did manage. He tried to will himself upwards, pushed away from Stan but he was unable to push himself up more than a few inches in his weakened state. He tried to talk, tried to voice his concerns but it was still so hard to breathe, the air wheezing in and out of him as if he was inhaling through a straw lodged where his windpipe should be.

“Easy, easy, Sixer. Just keep breathing for me, that’s- that’s it. In and out, along with me, OK?”

“S-Stan.” Ford managed to splutter out, his eyes closing as he listed forward in Stan’s grasp, arms unable to hold his own weight for too long.

He felt waterlogged, inside and out, the entirety of his body sluggish as his voice slurred out of him.

“Shh, it’s OK. I’ve got you- I can’t believe it but I’ve got you.”

There was something warm splashing on to his cheek in rivulets that his brain tried to fathom sluggishly. He debated on the rain growing warmer but the theory quickly vanished when he realised Stan was shielding him from the brunt of it. Instead of focusing on it though, he shook his head, still pawing at Stan, trying to gain his attention.

“Stan, p-please… listen…”

“OK, sorry, I am- I’m listening. What is it? What do you need me to do?”

“We need- need to go. It’s coming, Stan, whatever took me… it’s down-” Another coughing fit seized him, his entire body spasming as Stan clutched him tight and tried to ground him against the sudden hacking tremors.

He gave a sigh of relief as Stan gently put him down once he could breathe easier, before springing to action.

Ford’s eyes drifted shut as he finally found his strength wane entirely.

Stan couldn’t believe it.

He’d done it, he’d actually gone and done it.

There was his brother, tired and strained but alive, lying next to him on the deck as he got his breath back.

He wanted to laugh, wanted to cry and scream and yell to the heavens.

But all he could manage was a small wobbly hiss of a breath.

He’s back. I got him back, I can’t believe it- He’s back, he’s breathing, he’s here, he’s-

It only took a small sound of discomfort for Stan to snap back into reality, for him to find that this suddenly wasn’t enough and it was all becoming dreamlike again. He bundled his brother up into his arms, took comfort in the fact that he was there, solid and real in his arms, cold as ice and shivering maybe, but nowhere near deaths door like he could have been if Stan had been just a second longer-

Stan shook violently at the thought, the mere notion that his actions could have been just that little bit too late making anything that remained of the walls around his heart turn to dust and scatter into the storm.

He found himself muttering a mantra, soothing words for every small pained noise his brother made, for every shuddering breath he managed to take and though each one made his heart twist in sympathy they also gave him an odd feeling of relief.

Every sound was another reminder that he was real.

Broken choked off thanks fell from his lips in amongst the reassurances. Words meant for whoever might be watching over them, because it couldn’t have just been him that had led to this moment. He’d been trying for years to get his brother back, he couldn’t believe that it was all his doing now, and frankly he didn’t care.

Ford was there, wrapped tight in his arms and he could feel the weak hug he was getting in return and nothing else mattered.

He’s here, he’s finally here. None of it was a waste. It was real, all of it was real.

Ford started to struggle against him, pulling out of the hug and Stan’s heart panged in his chest.

He wasn’t ready to return to reality yet. He knew he had to, but he wasn’t ready.

The bubble around them was starting to pop, the sounds of the waves roaring back into his ears past his brother’s wheezing breaths, the feel of the wind now more incessant when all he wanted to do was focus on Ford’s thready heartbeat against him.

His arms tightened for a second before yielding, unable to let the temptation get the better of him when he knew deep down they weren’t out of danger yet. He found more soft words slipping out of him as his brother fought his own body’s need for rest, unable to stay quiet and let him go through it all alone.

His heart ached, cracking as Ford slumped back against him, too weak to do more. He could feel tracks burning down his face, his arms curling instinctively, protectively around his brother as all the emotion he held in him- had held him for so long seemed to pour out of him in waves.

He didn’t know whether he was crying because Ford was back or because he hated to see him so unlike himself.

Either way he knew he had to stop.

“Stan, p-please… listen…”

Stan nodded, rubbing at his eyes as Ford gave his all. He could feel the resolve, the desperate plea behind the tiredness and he knew, as much as he wanted to tell Ford to conserve his strength, that whatever he had to say was important.

“OK, sorry, I am- I’m listening. What is it? What do you need me to do?”

The next words made him jump into action, the heady mix of emotions snapping behind logic.

“We need- need to go. It’s coming, Stan, whatever took me… it’s down-”

An ice cold shiver ran down his spine, the creature from his nightmares rearing its ugly head to the forefront of his mind.

Don’t think. Do.

Of course they needed to go, they were in the middle of a storm, stuck far out to sea.

Stan felt his body tighten mechanically around Ford as another tremor shuddered through him, hand rubbing his back to get whatever water still remained up before he finally got to work. He felt his brother grow limp, ran a hand through his wet hair one more time before he focused on his new objective.

His feet slid from under him as he tried to traverse the deck, the wood slippery and uncooperative beneath him. He landed with a heavy thud, the wind knocked out of him as he cursed and scrabbled back upright with difficulty, his body aching with the bruises he knew would be forming once they got back home.

He gave a groan, shaking his head. Something felt off, like a word on the tip of his tongue, like an incessant pull to his consciousness even as he struggled to the helm to guide them back to shore.

“Keeper…”

Despite where he had been heading, his feet instead pulled him to the side of the boat with little difficulty. The light from above them waxed and waned as if warning him but he couldn’t seem to resist the sway, tired from the exertion that he had put his body through. Ford’s words rang in his head, a trickling inkling of what awaited him that he needed to know, needed to see for himself.

He’d spent so long knowing these things existed but pretending that they didn’t that he’d almost fooled himself.

Was it really real? The thing that had haunted him for years? Had trapped his brother and used his voice to get to him, to fuel his nightmares further?

His mind vaguely drifted, the tug of the wind towards the side of the ship so achingly familiar, like a little light guiding him up the steps of the lighthouse that very first night, a long long time ago...

Another wracking cough echoed out from behind him, somehow making it past the fog that had descended upon him, and through the storm that now burst back to the forefront of his senses.

He blinked, snapping out of it just as he found himself leaning dangerously far over the edge.

A large sickening yellow eye gazed back at him, amused and gleeful from the depths. Thick tendrils, the bulbous body that had shifted and contorted in his nightmares, were thrown for once into stark contrast in the gleaming light from above. His breath ghosted out of him in a torrent as he found himself unable to turn away from the horrific sight.

“Have you finally come to join us, keeper? You won’t make it back.”

What on earth makes you think you can save him? You should just join us, rot in the sea where you belong.

The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, jarring others out of his memories. The eye widened in surprise as he reared back away from the edge. It was the edges of a nightmare brought to fizzling life and he’d be damned if he’d let reality end the same way those nights did.

His gaze hardened, his thoughts once again his own as he pushed the influence that was trying to gain control out of his skull.

He recognised it, felt what were his own thoughts and what weren’t and buried the intrusive thoughts that needed to be buried from sight.

The boat shuddered under him, the tempest above them far more of a priority than the thing below the waves.

He could do this! He just needed to focus.

The winds died down slightly as he thought this, as if Mother Nature was questioning the reckless old man that had stumbled into her midst and was staring her in the face with little more care than if she was a schoolyard bully he was determined to take down.

He was stuck between two creatures in his head, one rising up to greet them whilst the other continued its pummelling assault. Both bearing down on his little vulnerable boat and its two very breakable occupants and all Stan could feel was the roar of fire in his veins as he launched across the ship. Any fear was clamped down on and twisted into a rage filled determination that nothing- nothing would take his brother from him again.

No, not this time! I just got him back- I won’t let you!

The light that had guided him vanished into nothingness, a sudden unyielding darkness consuming him as he clattered to the floor, his jaw hitting the deck and making him see stars. He ignored the pain and the blindness however, moving steadily forward on his hands and knees to stop his wayward feet from abandoned him again.

His fingers hit the wheel just in time to stop his head colliding, his hand gripping a rung as he used it to pull himself upwards and gave himself just a moment to find his feet.

His breathing was heavy and loud in the darkness, nothing penetrating the gloom as he waited. It was like the world had vanished. The tempest had gone, the swirling winds had become empty. The silence was deafening, his hair standing on end at the all-encompassing sensations, tingling with anticipation and cold as the rain ceased to exist.

“S-Stan…”

Stan gave a whistling breath as a warbling rasp echoed through it all, grounding him.

Ford was still awake, that was good. Tired and weak maybe, but still coherent enough that Stan hoped he could still provide him some reassurance.

Because it really sounded like he needed it.

“I’m here, Sixer, you keep listening to me, OK? We’re going to get home, don’t you worry.”

But he knew for all his words, this was the calm before the chaos, knew the creature was still slowly making its way up towards them and soon it would wrap around them, crush the life from his boat and drop them into its gaping maw below the surface.

So close, I was so close, I just need to see- just need a way home.

The light didn’t answer him.

An echoing roar came out of the darkness, tearing through it like it was cloth and tattering him to shreds as he clung to the wheel like a lifeline.

He shook under the brunt of it, shoulders hunched around his ears as agony engulfed him, ice and fire burned through his eardrums and directly into his skull to rattle there even when the roar dissipated.

And then the heavens opened.

The rain fell like a wave, crashing against him and battering onto his already worn down body. He heard a whimper somehow through the tempest, ears somehow straining and able to catch his brother where he lay. He blinked in the gloom, seeing absolutely nothing but somehow also knowing for a fact that his brother was directly ahead of him, barely holding on to the mast of the ship in an attempt to stay on board.

Every fibre of his being was so focused on his brother being OK that even the storm was less pressing than his brother in the darkness.

“Sixer, you just hold on! Keep your head down and hold on, because there’s people back home that you’ve got to meet and I’m gonna make sure that happens.”

Stan glanced around him, eyes narrowed as he tried to adjust. The ship juddered below him, making him lose his grip on the wheel and it spun out of control, the entire boat listing to the side before he could remedy the movement. If he had been disorientated before, he was more so now, the only thing he was sure of was the sky above him and the depths below.

He had no idea which way was home.

“No. No, no, no, not now. Shi- come on, come on, I just need some light. Just another beacon, just for a second to guide me home-”

“Stan! Stop!”

The shout came out, plaintive and cracking, and derailed his mantra before he could really let the words form. “Sixer? Sixer, are you OK?”

The croak that came was more of a whisper, somehow whistling on the winds to him. “Stan, we can’t- the light. It needs the light, that’s what it wants you to do.”

Stan let out a bite of a laugh, no mirth behind it but a solid thick denial of their predicament bubbling up protectively against the fear that threatened to engulf Ford’s tone. “I thought I told you to just hold on, Sixer. There’s nothing out here, you-” Stan hissed as the boat spun again, locking his arms around the wheel in an attempt to stop it, his teeth gritting painfully tight. “You’re not thinking straight after your dip. It’s just a storm, nothing weird about that other than us being out here.”

“Stan- you know… that’s not true.”

“Maybe.” Stan growled, yanking the wheel back where he thought it had been before. “But just because I know it’s there doesn’t mean I have to acknowledge it!” He yelled, loud and clear through the wind and rain as he glared upwards. “It is just a storm. And it will continue to just be a storm until we get to shore, you hear me? Nothing is going to stop us.”

Stan let out a deep breath, eyes drifting back to head height to glimpse for any sign of the shore to guide them back, mouth a tight lipped line. “Now then, if you’re done doubting me, I’m going to make sure we get there.” His next words came out in a grumble meant for himself more than anything else. “And I still think just a little bit of light would be helpful right now, creature be damned.”

Silence met him for a second, and for just a moment blinding panic shot through his veins, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“Ford?”

“There’s a light… You asked for light and I saw it.”

Stan blinked, his brother’s voice filled with a strange mix of hope and trepidation, bewilderment and disbelief. It left him reeling, lost and confused. There was too much going on, too many conflicting points of interest and the sensory deprivation was starting to tire him, chip away at his resolve as the hopelessness of the situation started to slip into his skull no matter how hard he tried to push it away. “What? What are you talking about? It’s pitch black-”

“There are lights, lots of them! Can’t you see them?”

Stan narrowed his eyes, squinting painfully through the rain that was still thundering down on him as worry slipped cold and slimy into his chest. “Hey, Sixer, did you hit your head? I need to know now cause I don’t see any damn light-”

His words caught in his throat as a pinprick fluttered in the distance. He held his breath, watching it dart this way and that as more and more little lights joined it. Small insignificant dots that spanned the horizon and flickered across his vision.

Insignificant but so very, very important that it took his breath away, the fear and trepidation melting to pure warm hope and recognition.

“Oh.”

“Stan, do you see them? What are they-?”

Ford’s words cut off, still doubtful and confused, as if the ordeal was leaving its mark on him and made him suspicious of everything around them. Not that Stan could blame him, with everything he must have gone through, when the light that had guided him this far was also what the creature below needed. But Stan also knew that this was different.

Knew that this light was their ticket to freedom, and theirs alone.

A flame burning in the darkness just to light their way.

He found his eyes catching on two of the lights, close together and moving faster than any of the others. Found the multitude of soft bright colours that gleamed against the artificial white of the rest of the flickering orbs, found the bright beam of the other, the strongest light of them all.

And he knew.

He knew exactly what they were.

He turned the boat towards them, focusing on those two little lights above everything else, above the other dancing lights.

“That’s home, Sixer. That’s what that is. And that’s where we’re headed.”

“Now hold on tight.”

.

AM: 8D THIS WAS SO FUN EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO SLEEP NOW.