#I’m so tired I must have just woken up in the worst part of a rem cycle because everything is still so vivid and intense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stormkobra-5 · 3 years ago

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Star Wars: The Heir of Djarin

Episode 5: Chaos on Coruscant

Summary: After making a deal with Edda the Hutt, Poe and Laylah-- along with Grogu and BB-8-- must locate the crime lord Keru Lar in the lowest depths of Coruscant, where law fades away and the criminal underworld takes over. And that’s the easy part.

A/N: None

Notes: None

Warnings: This chapter is rated MATURE, for canon-typical action, violence, language, and themes of canon drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and a club where adult entertainment is implied. Nothing explicit. The main character OC is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the plot, so there is mention of self-doubt, social anxiety, distrust, and emotional damage.

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We’re woken up by Poe’s watch beeping obscenely loudly. Which is really kriffing rude, because I was dreaming about the cheesecake covered in bluish blackberry-type stuff that the mess hall got that one time. “What the kriff, Poe?” My voice is groggy and muffled my his jacket, so I wonder if he even hears me. Grogu turns with an angry little look on his face and I think he’s gonna use the Force to tear Poe’s watch off, but with a groan, the pilot reaches over and shuts it off before he can. Both of us are stiff. The platform isn’t the best place to sleep, after all. Poe-- who had all of us on him-- seems to have the worst of it. He’s rolling his shoulders and shaking his arms, trying to get feeling back into them as Beebs and I slowly get off of him; my joints pop and crack. I’m sure my beskar wasn’t too comfortable poking into his side, either. He winces when he stretches his back with a horrible crunch that makes me flinch. Grogu, still on his lap, pokes at his chest curiously and asks something in a babbling little slur of half-formed Basic words. “I’m good, buddy.” I shift to my knees after I’m done with stretching my own sore muscles. “What was your watch beeping for?” He rubs his face, clearly still tired. “I set it for half a standard hour before we’re supposed to drop out of lightspeed.” “We’ve got time, then. Let me see it.” He furrows his brow as he looks up at me, flushing. “See what?” My eyes roll seemingly of their own accord. “Your back, dumbass.” “Oh.” He carefully sets Grogu onto the platform. I guide him to Poe’s bag, instructing him to eat actual food for once-- which takes several minutes of convincing. “Grogu...” I wave the nutrition bar under his nose even as he turns away from it with a squint of distaste. “Bah.” “C’mon, Gizmo. Please? What would Dad say?” At this, his ears twitch, because if he doesn’t listen to me, he mostly listens to Din. Alright. Gotta do what I gotta do. “Gizmo. Buddy. Pal. Friend. I swear if you eat actual food on this journey instead of nothing but cookies, then I, personally, will go out and get you twenty frogs.” His big eyes light up eagerly. I raise my eyebrows and nod to show that I’m serious, though how the hell I’m supposed to get him twenty frogs at once is beyond me. “Twenty. That’s a mighty fine deal right there, my friend. And all you gotta do is eat.” “Du.” He reluctantly takes the bar, squinting at me, and takes a slow, purposeful bite. Once I promise him again that I’ll get the frogs, he continues to eat the bar, albeit very hesitantly. When I turn back, Poe’s shirt and jacket are laying beside him and he’s watching Grogu fondly. Kriffing kriff... I’ve never actually seen him shirtless until now (despite the fact that he has a whole open-collar thing that makes pretty much everybody on base go crazy for him behind his back), and by the Maker I’m not disappointed. A combination of working out and pulling Gs has him extremely fit, and the chain around his neck that holds his mother’s wedding ring just sets off the whole look. The stubbled jawline and messy black curls does nothing to help. For a brief second, I freeze up, flushing up to my ears and hairline. Poe pretends not to notice, but I see him smirking. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything. Yet. I clear my throat and come forward with the pack, leaving Grogu to be encouraged by BB-8. Professional. I’m a professional. “Nice... Um... You’re in good shape.” My voice is an octave higher than usual and hoarse, giving me away; Poe smiles, biting his lip to try and keep from saying anything. He only nods as I crouch behind him. “Thanks, Bez.” My fluster leaves completely when I see the state his back is in. I know he doesn’t have any cracked bones, but he’d landed pretty hard on that duracrete, and his back is a black-and-blue mess because of it. “Kriffing hell, Poe-- hold still, dummy.” As I rummage through my bag, now he starts talking. “It’s funny, really. You’re this badass Mandalorian, but all I have to do is take my shirt off to stun you. Paralyze you.” I flush. Sometimes he does catch me staring at him, and sometimes he does tease me; I don’t blame him. I act like a kriffing idiot. “But as soon as you see a wound, the effect wears o-- Maker, what the hell?!” I effectively stem his mocking into a high-pitched yelp as I place the ice-cold bacta pack on the worst part of his back, a little smugly. Seconds after his exclamation, he relaxes with an “Ahhhh,” leaning into the pack instead of arching away from it. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but damn, it feels good.” I take on an all-important tone. “An ice-cold bacta pack, my flyboy friend. I am now going to bandage it to your back. Hold still.” It takes me only a few minutes to wrap the bandages around his torso, under his arm and over his shoulder. I pat his shoulders when I’m done, and he moves to put his shirt back on as I stand. “We should eat. I dunno about you, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And on D’Qar, it would be...?” “Late evening,” He replies immediately; I discovered a long time ago that he’s a math genius, so the fact that he answers so quickly doesn’t surprise me. I mean really, he once tried to explain to me how lightspeed-skipping works, and I just. I seriously cannot understand what the hell he’s talking about. We each take a nutrition bar, agreeing to get more food on Coruscant before hunting down Keru Lar-- can’t exactly get the shards of Palpatine’s lightsaber if we starve, right? Not soon after we finish do we drop out of lightspeed. I’m piloting, since Coruscant has a fairly temperate climate even if their skies are full of traffic. When Poe told me that, I looked at him like he was crazy. Now I realize it was absolutely stupid of me to doubt him. At first, I think it’s just dark on this side of the planet, and that there are a lot of cities. But not even a whole planet can be covered in cities, right? The whole planet is a city. The entire thing. It’s like a giant city has been rolled up into a ball, and various sizes of ships come and go in the general space. Compared to the Dyson sphere, though, this is nothing. Although I immediately hate it. Where the kriff is the nature? I feel like Katniss Everdeen when she first arrived in the Capitol. Do these people not go for walks? Do they even know what trees and grass look like? The metropolis makes me feel edgy and trapped before we’ve even entered the atmosphere. That doesn’t stop me from giggling to myself, because it bears striking resemblance to a certain place in a certain movie franchise directed by Michael Bay. “Heh. Looks like Cybertron.” Poe seems genuinely curious, scanning the view outside the window; probably looking for threats. “I wonder if there’s an Earth reference for every planet.” We both look around, I even perform a scan, but there aren’t any First Order ships in the area that we can tell. The comlink crackles to life. “Firespray 31-class, please identify yourself.” The voice on the other end sounds like a droid, but in either case, I slowly turn in my seat so that I’m facing Poe. “I am so kriffing tired of hearing that.” Poe sniggers to himself as he leans over to press the button. “Better get used to it, Bez.” Into the comlink, he says, “Just travelers stopping for a break.” After a momentary pause, the droid responds, “May I suggest a list of hotels?” Poe’s response surprises me. “Yes please.” “What? Hotels? What’re you planning, Poe?” He shoots me a look. “Think it’s not gonna look suspicious if travelers don’t request a list of hotels?” Ah. “Excellent point. Do we have enough credits?” I always keep about 100 on me, as a general rule of thumb. You never know when you might need it. For a second, Poe scans the contents of the list that pops up on one of the screens, then turns his attention back to the window. “The hotels they’ve listed are cheap enough. I’m sure we can get something small. We’re only gonna use it to eat, anyway.” I start to follow the coordinates given, edgy at the thought of flying in such close proximity to freighters and transports. “Coruscant hotel food any good?” He makes a face. “It’s okay. Not the best stuff in the galaxy, but not as bad as rations.” We both shudder involuntarily. Rations are just little airtight packages of synthesized nutrition. You drop it in water for a few minutes to make something like a loaf of stale bread filled of protein, vitamins, and nutrients. It can fill somebody up for awhile, but it tastes kriffing awful. Since the First Order started cutting off our supplies, there’s been a lot less food like corn or beans or gruel, since we’re trying to stretch what we have, so rations are served most of the week now. That kriffing cheesecake I was dreaming about earlier I’ve only tasted once. The cookies? The stash of candy? Those are there for a reason. I specifically hoarded cookies away for the sole reason that Grogu kriffing loves them, and so do I; I have like, one cookie every two weeks and I randomly appear with a pack for Grogu every so often. I have the hard space-butterscotch that he can’t have, after all-- although it seems I might have to share with Poe. Poe raps his knuckles on my beskar pauldron rapidly to get my attention. “You’ll have to take off your beskar, Bez.” I balk. “I am a Mandalorian--” “Yeah, and try explaining that to the group of stormtroopers that’s gonna greet us when we land,” He counters swiftly, “Mandalorian armor is automatically associated with bounty hunters. Even if they let us go-- with all our weapons stripped, mind you-- they’re gonna keep a close eye on us. Getting down to Keru Lar is gonna be pretty damn hard when we’ve got ’troopers breathin’ down our necks.” A heavy, drawn-out sigh escapes me. I made a promise to Din that I’d wear my armor off-world no matter what. I’ve already stunned him and kidnapped his kid. Do I really have to break my promise to him, too? Poe tries to act nonchalant, but his sympathetic glances let me know that he understands the fact that I detest this idea. “Your clothes will look fine without it. Normal. We’ve gotta blend in.” Oi. Damn him and his good thinking. I reluctantly put the ship on autopilot and unbuckle, mumbling to myself in Mando’a, which I don’t speak often. “You’d better pilot, then.” I huffily wave my arm at the seat as I head to the platform behind him, but he’s already slipping into the straps and half-buckling them. I strip off my beskar in record time, leaving me in only my leathers, belts, and undersuit. I’m done before the Slave even pitches into a landing, so I can hold onto Grogu as the ship goes horizontal for a landing. As the ship is powering down, Poe meets me nearer to the exit ramp as I’m undoing my braid, letting my hair down completely. I hear him stop abruptly, but don’t think much of it until I turn to find him just staring. Like the reverse, sometimes I catch him staring, which is unusual for him. For something to have his attention so fully and completely, it usually either has to be a mission, BB-8, or his X-wing, so I’m immediately flustered and frozen most of the time. I take a second, then decide to be a little bold. I’ve never teased him. “What, my hair the equivalent of you taking your shirt off?” That snaps him out of it. He flushes and blinks rapidly, which is a first, and clears his throat, jerking his chin toward me. His voice is low and deep when he asks, “What are you doing?” I point at the long mane of fluffy, static-enlarged hair rolling from my head and down to my knees. “They see this, they know I’m not gonna want a fight. Would you wanna start a fight without this properly braided? Though I’ve got a perfect idea to keep the beskar close: I’ll just say it’s my aunt’s, that we’re going to drop it off at my mom’s and I wanna keep it near me.” Poe is nodding, but he’s not listening. He’s still staring, and I can’t think of anymore mocking comebacks. “Sentiment... A good ploy, but it doesn’t always work. They might confiscate it.” At this, I can’t help but laugh. “They might kill us. They might take the ship. We might die. There’s a lot of mights here, Poe. But I’m going with the fact that I’m gonna try my hardest not to go into those lowest depths filled of mobsters without my beskar.” He’s still not really listening to me. He’s in some kind of trance as he watches me with a distant smile on his face. Suddenly he reaches over, running his fingers through my hair. “I’ve never seen you with it down before.” He sounds awed. Swallowing hard, I try to keep the flush down and my voice steady. Neither happens. “’C-cause it gets in my way. I told you about my Cherokee heritage, right? My people keep it long because it keeps us more in touch with our surroundings.” His next words make my heart ready to burst out of my chest. It doesn’t help that he’s still kriffing stroking it. “It’s beautiful.” Friggin-- yeek-- kriff-- guh-- I avert my gaze, trying to hide the effect his words have on me. I’m blushing and beaming in a not-at-all Mandalorian fashion. He’s my best friend, so I don’t want him to think I have feelings for him-- I mean, maybe I do, but what does that matter? He’s probably not really interested, right? He’s this nice to all his friends, isn’t he? Right? I just don’t want to risk losing him. I can’t imagine my life without him now. Poe shrugs his jacket off and puts it on my shoulders, surprising me even further. “Wear this.” Thankfully, though, I can at least look at him now. “Why?” “It’s chilly here. And...” He nods in approval once I’ve slipped my arms into the sleeves. I’m swimming in his jacket. I mean, I could curl up and fit completely inside with room to spare. Although... I’m not complaining. It’s warm and comforting and it smells like him. A part of me wants to ask to keep it. “Just like I thought. Makes you look smaller, less dangerous.” His hands slip behind my neck and pull my hair out of the jacket; his hands on the back of my neck make me blush, which I try to hide by biting my lip. He even zips it up most of the way, pausing when he’s finished to inspect how it looks, but... His smile doesn’t reach his eyes at all; he’s worried. I grab his arm, making him look at me. “What is it?” He hesitates; but I’m not going to let him just walk away without telling me what it is that’s bothering him, and he knows this. Finally, Poe sighs and gives in. “The ’troopers might recognize me. It might be dark, but the city lights give more than enough light to see by.” Oh. Yeah, that is bad. He doesn’t exactly have the luck of being a lesser-known Resistance member, he’s practically their poster-boy. I mean the words Resistance’s Best Pilot might as well be written in bright neon yellow on his forehead. Stormtroopers recognizing him is a very real and stressful possibility, but I have to make him feel better about this. If he goes out there looking nervous, they might take a closer look at him. Pointedly, I gesture to his stubble. “Can’t you just grow a beard real quick?” He snorts with amusement, demeanor lightening. He rolls his eyes. “Me. With a beard. Yeah, that’ll happen.” Poe helps me stuff my beskar into one of the spare equipment bags before strapping on Grogu’s satchel. Grogu babbles something that may or may not be offensive and then hurls the wrapper of his nutrition bar at me. He retains his stance of dignified anger as he glares at me from his place on the seat, even as the wrapper flutters harmlessly to the ground in front of him. Poe stifles a laugh as he picks him up to put him in the bag. “Don’t throw things at your big sister, Grogu. It’s not nice.” “Don’t litter in the Slave, Grogu,” I mock Poe’s tone as I pick up the wrapper, turning to stuff it in the designated trash pocket of our food bag. “It’s not nice.” BB-8 whirls questioningly at Poe as we make our way to the ramp. “Yeah, Beebs, you can come on this one. We’ll be way too far from the ship to make a quick getaway, and we’ll probably need you.” He pushes the button and the ramp lowers. Just like he’d predicted, four ’troopers are waiting for us, though they seem bored and relaxed. Like they couldn’t possibly be bothered to chase us down even if we ran by them screaming “Resistance forever!” The poor guys look ready to go to bed, honestly. If we could see their faces, I’m sure they’d be yawning. We’re searched thoroughly, patted down from head-to-toe, and even scanned to make sure we haven’t swallowed any bombs for concealment. They check our weapons and have to approve them, which they do, after a moment; even travelers need a form of self-defense, and what good are a couple of blasters going to do against fully-armored stormtroopers? A lot, I think to myself, but these ’troopers are too tired to care. “Wanna tell us why your ship isn’t registered?” One asks, and it sounds like she stifles a yawn. “Our ship’s engine fried over Jakku,” Poe answers smoothly, “We had to settle for an old piece of junk replacement.” I have to keep from spouting off, piece of junk my ass you kriffing love that ship how dare you but I just nod along with him. “We’re gonna get this registered as soon as we get home.” “Make sure that you do,” The stormtrooper says; they’re too tired to even bother with the paperwork of issuing us a ticket. Of course, they notice Grogu, who has poked his head out of the bag to observe our surroundings; I realize the last time he was on Coruscant, he witnessed Anakin Skywalker turn to a Sith. The poor guy’s probably having flashbacks. Nobody grabs him, but a stormtrooper gestures to him vaguely before returning his hands to rest on his blaster. “What’s this?” “Family pet,” Poe replies immediately. Damn, I am so tired of having to refer to my baby brother as a pet. “And this?” Asks the stormtrooper that opens the bag filled of my beskar. He rummages through it a bit, checking for extra weapons. I play on the tears the wind is making in my eyes and sniffle a little. Act like you’re upset. “That belonged to my aunt. We’re bringing it to my mother on Tatooine-- her final wishes.” “That’s very unfortunate,” Says the ’trooper blandly. Good, they don’t care at all. He passes his bag back to me. I’m zipping it up and hoisting it up onto my shoulder when Poe’s asked, “Your names?” by the ’trooper who had asked him about our registration. He hesitates for a split second, just a split second, so I say in a cheery, smiley manner, “Isaac and Kara Hérnandez.” Kriff. Now we’re posing as a married couple. Why did I do that? Poe glances at me briefly, then regards the ’trooper as she marks our aliases in her datapad; he looks completely relaxed, casual-- there’s something slightly off, but that could be the fact that he’s supposedly a husband escorting his mourning wife to her mother. Son-in-laws aren’t supposed to like mother-in-laws, right? Yeah, that’s it. The stormtrooper takes a minute, then says, “Alright, you’re free to go.” Thank the Maker. Grogu babbles and tucks himself back into the bag. BB-8 rolls along with us, as Poe takes my bag for me and offers me his elbow with a cocky grin on his face. We make our way off the platform and into the lobby, where we gather into an elevator. Luckily, there’s nobody in here, but you can never be too careful of cameras. He leans down to whisper in my ear. “So we’re married now, huh?” I smack at his chest, making him laugh and pull away. He turns his eyes to the lights at the top, counting the floors rushing by. “Hush.” He leans down again, undeterred. “This means I can kiss you, right?” Blushing furiously, I push him away again. “Hush up... Isaac.” He comes to whisper in my ear a third time, and I expect him to keep teasing, but then he’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t look now, but there’s a camera in the upper left corner of the ceiling.” I bite my lip to stifle a smile, but it doesn’t work. I see where he’s going with this. “We look like a couple of newlyweds, you know that, right?” Oh. Huh. We do, huh? Whispering and snickering? Yeah, that sounds like newlyweds. The thought that the guy behind the camera believes that we’re innocently flirting instead of Resistance members trying to find the shards of Palpatine’s lightsaber for medicine-- it’s so ridiculous I start sniggering along with him. “Let’s give ’em a show, huh?” At first I’m terrified of what he might mean-- Grogu is to, from the way he mutters and buries himself back into the bag, and BB-8 does the WALL-E wow-- but he only puts an arm around my waist and pulls me close, kissing my cheek, then my temple; he’s showering the side of my face in kisses and all I can do is stand there and gush with heart eyes. This is nice. I like this. The elevator ride his over too soon. He pulls away with a smile, and I frown. Oof. Just ask me out? Maybe? You can fly headlong toward a Star Destroyer’s cannons but you can’t ask me out? Like??? The kriff kind of sense does that make??? But he keeps his arm around my waist all the way to the hotel. He only lets go when we check into a hotel under our aliases, but then once he hefts my bag back up onto his shoulder, he hands me the keycard and actually holds my free hand. Fingers entwined and everything. And gives me another kiss on the cheek. Kriffing... GUH... By the time we make it up to our little room it’s a miracle I haven’t fainted yet. Once we close the door, Poe drops the bag at the foot of the bed, only then letting go of me. I snort with amusement. “You seem to be enjoying this, Poe.” He takes that to mean he can give me another kiss on the cheek, which, I’m not complaining. He shoots me a cocky grin as he takes Grogu’s bag off and starts helping him out of it. “It was fun, though, wasn’t it?” I can’t help it or hide it: I’m beaming, because yes, that was fun. “Yeah. It was.” Poe flushes a little, his grin turning to a warm smile; after a second of waiting for him to say something, BB-8 rolls up and zaps him in the calf with a series of beeps that sounds like make your move, idiot. Though the zap makes Poe jump and slam his shins into the base of the bed. He turns to glare at the little droid. “OW! Beebs! What the hell?!” A scoff escapes my throat. “Sounds like he’s trying to be your wingman, flyboy.” Poe huffs, leaning down to rub his shins. “Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly the most romantic place to ask you out.” Well, that’s not a no... I start to braid my hair back. “So? What’s the plan?” “We eat,” Poe lifts Grogu out of the bag and sets him on the bed. The little guy squeals and starts bouncing when he realizes how soft and fluffy it is, so Poe stands by, ready to catch. “We’ve got some credits on us, and we can’t exactly do this on an empty stomach. Especially Grogu. He needs to eat like what, twelve times a day?” “Not that many,” I chuckle and sit on the other side of the bed as I wrap my hair around my head in the crown braid. Grogu mutters a stream of half-formed words as he tries to show us how squishy the bed is; Poe leans with both hands on the bed beside him and helps him bounce, making the little guy laugh. “Just... a lot. Dad feeds him like six times a day, with snacks between...” I’ve never seen Poe look so panicked. “Hell, Bez, he’s probably starving!” He tickles Grogu’s stomach. Grogu keels over in a fit of giggles. “Yeah? You hungry, buddy? Your idiot babysitters didn’t pack enough food for you, did we? We’ll get you some food, don’t worry.” I pick up the holozine on the bedside table and flick it on. The Aurebesh I can read completely, though I’m still not used to seeing it instead of the English alphabet-- sometimes I even still revert to it. The format, though, is all messy and confusing. It’s like when you accidentally click on a link to a Japanese website and you’re left staring at it wondering what the kriff you’re looking at. “How much do you think we should get?” “Just enough,” Poe answers, climbing over the bed to look at the holozine over my shoulder; he absentmindedly keeps a leg stretched out across the bed to ensure that Grogu doesn’t fall off. “After leaving Coruscant, we should swing through a cantina on our way to... wherever it is we’re going. Fill a pack with food and water. I stand by my earlier statement: his dumbass babysitters should’ve packed more.” I think it’s funny that he’s worrying so much about whether or not Grogu’s eating enough. It’s one thing for me, his big sister, but for Poe? It’s just sweet. “Thank the Maker for space-McDonald’s.” Poe raises an eyebrow, confused. “For space what?” “It’s a fast-food place on Earth. You can swing through the drive-thru on a roadtrip or whatever to get something to eat.” He reaches over when he sees I’m struggling with trying to figure out format, pushing a few buttons hidden in the bright neon reddish-pink sidebar. I raise an eyebrow at him as he navigates the site, having an idea for later. “I should seriously make you a cheeseburger. Although I’d have to use bantha meat instead of cow... But I’ve tasted cheese that’s like cheddar, and there’s stuff like lettuce and tomatoes and onions... Ketchup and mustard, too... Pickles... But would it be the same...?” “You just gonna sit there and fantasize about food?” He somehow keeps a straight face, though he slowly starts smirking. I pretend to think about that for a second. “...Yeah, actually.” “Just checking.” His face lights up when he finds the menu. “Ah-hah. Grogu, c’mere. Pick something.” He turns and picks up Grogu, bringing him up onto his lap. I turn so they can both see the holozine. I see something BB-8 can use and immediately perk up, glad he’s not going to be left out, “Oh look, Beebs-- a portable charging dock!” He gives a little whir of excitement, bumping against my leg since he’s unable to climb up onto the bed. I reach down and pat his head as Grogu excitedly taps on what might be broth. We don’t have to wait long. Soon enough somebody knocks on the door, and Poe and I launch ourselves across the room to hide Grogu and Beebs on the other side of the bed with my bag of beskar. I stand guard, pretending to scan the holozine, while Poe answers the door, retrieves the tray, and brings it in. “Maybe you should’ve answered the door,” He makes a face as he sets the tray down on the bed. “That guy was doing double-takes. Somebody’s gonna recognize me.” Both of us freeze as, without any warning at all, Grogu floats from the floor up onto the bed. Then Beebs-- entirely surprised himself and emitting a series of beeps and whistles-- is lifted up right behind him. Grogu takes his broth, waddles over to the pillows, and settles down to eat, totally ignoring our reactions. Beebs whistles in the droid equivalent of a shrug, sticking his robot arm out to grab his charging pod before rolling over to sit by Grogu, nestling himself beside him. Poe-- still mid-passing out the forks-- glances to me with only his wide eyes. “He do that a lot?” “I’ve seen him do some crazy things; like lifting logs with his mind. But that was expected.” I grab my fork from him without taking my eyes off Grogu for a second, then lean over to grab my own bowl. “Guess he was hungry.”

- - -

The streets of Coruscant are busy, bustling with people even this late at night-- they’re all partying on this level, the level where you can see the sky, apparently making money off of businesses down below in lower levels with workers paid low wages that work deep into the night. I hate it here-- rich people living off of others reminds me of Earth. Traffic is thick in the sky, echoing with honks and engines, and music blares from every street corner. Each level down feels less carefree and like its own little world, and each level down is farther from the sky. I start to feel claustrophobic. The farther down we go, the grimier it gets. We pause three levels down, where we find an abandoned alleyway for me to put my beskar on. Poe and BB-8 stand guard, and Grogu keeps his head covered in the bag at Poe’s waist. When I’m done, I come up beside Poe and pass his jacket to him. “Thanks.” He hands me Grogu, then addresses all three of us with his commander voice. “Alright, listen up: we’re about to enter a really dangerous place-- not as bad as Tiersa, but still dangerous. Keep an eye out for threats and stay close. Got it?” “Got it.” “Badu.” BB-8 beeps in acknowledgement. Poe leads us onward to the next level down. BB-8 sticks close to his heels on his left, so I flank his right, keeping Grogu on my left hip and a hand on him at all times. My helmet’s systems are activated, and we go alert. Any noise or movement catches our eye, and I make a point to keep watch for people overhead. Down two more levels, and the trash-filled streets are full of groups of ruffians that eye us, looking to see if they can get away with mugging us. I’ve taken up the same mindset I had on Tiersa, but now I also have to keep an eye on BB-8, who would make a nice pile of well-kept parts for somebody to sell at a scrap market. The thought makes me shudder. Grogu, sensing we’re in a bad area, curls up and goes quiet. “You know where the old podracing arenas are, right?” I keep my voice extremely low. We’re passing by a group of guys wielding crowbars and pieces of old metal strapped to handles to make crude knives, trying to decide whether or not they should take on a group with a Mandalorian in their midst. “I was here once before, but it was a different gang leader,” Poe explains, eyes flicking to the same thugs I’m watching, “And for a wholly different kind of mission. One that was authorized. I had a guide then.” Lucky for us, Poe has a memory like an elephant when it involves maps and cities, even apparently the criminal underworld of Coruscant. He seems to take us right to them, determinedly striding forward without pause. The entrance to the old podracing rings is just an arch of old duracrete, unimpressive. There are two burly alien guards blocking the grimy archway from which distant music beats and thuds out into the polluted night air, muffled. Poe approaches them confidently, apparently unconcerned that they’re seven feet tall, covered in rippling muscle, and each bears a huge knife that could slice even a wookie right in half. “We’re here to do business with Keru Lar on behalf of Edda Hutt.” The guards sneer at each other before one of them leans down to snarl at Poe; my systems register him tensing, ready to draw his blaster. I’m prepared to spring forward at a second’s notice and trigger my flamethrower. The alien looming over Poe says, “I think Lar would’ve told us to expect somebody. Nice try.” Poe is completely unfazed. After a good five-second count, he nods in understanding. “Okay. You really wanna be the one to tell your boss you botched up a deal with Edda? Alright-- your funeral.” Poe turns and dips his head to me quickly, indicating that I should turn around and head the other way. You better have a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna attack us, flyboy. I do what he tells me to, reluctantly. Putting my back to these guys makes me uneasy. Din’s voice clearly echoes in my mind saying “Never turn your back on an enemy.” “Wait--” Says the other guard, and we turn just in time to see him hit the other guy so hard upside the head that he knocks him out cold. The guard steps aside, gesturing for us to go in with a sweeping of his arms. “Wouldn’t want to mess up a deal for the boss.” “I’ll put in a good word for you,” Poe says drily, but the guard inclines his head in appreciation. Dumbass really thinks we’re gonna do that for him, huh? He doesn’t even check us. Once we’re in the vacant tunnel and the party music is louder, I say to Poe, “Does anyone on Coruscant have even half a brain?” He keeps his eyes on the bright, neon lights of the party at the end of the corridor; a very different kind of the light at the end of the tunnel. “Depends. Today, we got lucky. So far. Keep an eye on Grogu. Stay close, Beebs.” He grabs my arm as the droid beeps in response. “Whatever I do or say, play along. Just like on Tiersa. Do not attack anyone unless you have to, Bez.” I nod, refusing to have a repeat of reckless, dangerous events. Only if necessary. Another guard stops us just before the party-- an extravagant explosion of yellows, reds, pinks, and oranges, the whole place is illuminated with neon lights lining the ceiling and floors. And now I really feel like Katniss-- the people down here have the craziest outfits I’ve ever seen, in the brightest colors imaginable. Hot pink, cherry reds, cobalt blues, and bright greens are accented by clashing hairdos of equally bright colors, styled slicked-back, afros, or any other kind of style one can think of. Their dresses are angular, their tuxes sharp-shouldered like Cruella DeVil, and their shoes look more like weapons than a clothing item. The aliens seem to at least have some taste, but the humans have painted their faces white, adding makeup in golds, reds, or pinks to their eyes and lips. They’d make Effie Trinket look normal. Not to mention, the air smells distinctly of alcohol and spice. Their music, while on-tempo, is overly-loud. Their singer is more screaming than singing, and she’s also slurring her words. Some sections are more dim than others, and on tables people gather to watch holoprojections of suggestive dancers. Yikes. “Isaac?” I say, since the guard is standing right there, “Are all men-- and some women, I see-- pigs? Like, throughout all space and time?” “Pretty much,” He replies with a half-shrug. To the guard, who’s mumbling something in such a deep voice I can’t understand what he’s saying, Poe says, “We’re here to do business with Keru Lar.” The guard hesitates, then turns to mumble into an comlink in his ear. After a second, the guard nods and beckons another guy to take his place. We’re led through the party, which calms a bit to stare and gawk at the two very out-of-place characters that have just entered their little celebration. “Hey,” I whisper to Poe, who turns his head to let me know that he can hear me, “If I dressed up like a clown and you dressed in drag, we’d fit right in.” He scoffs. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to go that deep into disguise.” That takes a second to hit me, and I can’t tell if he’s being a smartass or if he’s serious. Suddenly I forget where we are and feel like I have to demand to know the rest of that story. “Wait what--” “I’ll tell you later,” He promises. “That’s two stories you owe me, Dameron.” The guard pulls aside a curtain of beads. Up here, in this little room, the music is quieter. Inside reeks of cigarette smoke and spice, and clouds of it make Poe sputter for a second before he’s able to stifle it. Windows, kept very clean but steamy, overlook the party, filtering an eerie twilight glow into the room. Cushy sofas and loveseats made of velvet are positioned around a rug. A little weirdly-shaped table of glass sits in the center of it, piled with fruits and half-empty wine glasses. Behind the main couch are three wookie bodyguards that look ready to rip our arms off if we so much as breathe wrong. Scattered about the room are women of all races, some quite near human, in immodest outfits of shimmery curtain and lace, all glitter-and-glamour. The center of attention is Keru Lar himself, who appears human at first glance. Extravagantly dressed in a silver tuxedo, his dark hair is braided in rows on his head and then rejoined together at the base of his skull to be draped over his right shoulder. His dark skin is decorated with gold geometric tattoos, and he seriously reminds me of Snoop Dogg for a second. Until I realize his arms and legs are far too long, that he’s easily ten feet tall, and his tattoos are pulsing with his blood. His hair moves with a life of its own. He pulls his glareshades down with a four-fingered hand to reveal gray reptilian eyes that blink sideways. His fanged teeth are golden when he smiles. “You’re Keru Lar?” Poe asks. “I am,” He smokes from a long green-shafted cigarette, pushing his glareshades back up. His voice is gravelly and far too deep, like it doesn’t belong to him at all and is being masked. Honestly, it kind of freaks me out. “Welcome, welcome! Make yourself at home!” Keru Lar snaps his fingers, and a couple girls stand up, immediately making their way to Poe. Oh hell no. I don’t know why I feel so protective: I want to jump in front of him like I did on Tiersa, but I take a deep breath and act calm. I casually step in front of Poe, stopping the girls. They share a terrified, uncertain glance, so I say with a dip of my head, “Sorry, ladies. Business only for now. Gotta keep the boss focused on behalf of the higher-up.” Their faces soften and their stances ease. “Maybe next time,” I add, and they both nod in understanding and return to their original places. I step backward into my own place behind Poe. I catch his eye and see a spark of approval as he inclines his head. “No entertainment?” Keru Lar asks in disbelief, and briefly I wonder if I made a mistake and should’ve just let them do what they wanted, which is a thought that infuriates me; but then I see that Lar is grinning, amused, and I ease a bit. “This must be a very big deal indeed! Tell me, who are you, and what can I do for you?” “I’m P--” He corrects himself so quickly I hardly catch it. It just sounds like he coughs on some of the smoke. “I’m Isaac Hérnandez. I’m here to make a deal with you on behalf of Edda Hutt.” “Edda!” Lar leans forward with interest; he’s so large that the movements he’s making look unnatural and unfriendly. “How is he? It’s been so long.” “He’s looking for a trade,” Poe replies. “Oh? Is he? What can I offer the old slug?” He gestures to me vaguely with his cigarette, smiling greedily. “Does your bounty hunter there have what Edda wants to trade in that bag?” I tighten my grip on the strap; Grogu shifts worriedly. Poe takes a subtle step in my direction, warning me not to do anything rash. “No, that’s her pet. For good luck.” Lar makes a show of pouting. “Ah. A real shame.” Poe continues. “Edda wants a particular map in your possession. In return he’s--” “You mean the map to Palpatine’s lightsaber,” Lar drawls out knowingly, “Did he tell you that none but a Jedi can read it?” Oh kriff. “It’s not my business to ask questions.” Judging by the tone of Poe’s voice, he’s thinking the same thing I am: there are no Jedi left save for Luke, if that. Leia never used the Force, and we can’t have her read it anyway without giving up on the mission entirely. Sure, there are rumors, but we don’t have time to hunt for an elusive space-wizard. That leaves us only Grogu, who’s a baby. The map is useless. It’s all been for nothing. “Edda wants the map,” Poe continues unwaveringly, and I wonder why we’re still here, “But what do you want in return?” “Look around you, Hérnandez,” Lar spreads his arms. “What can Edda possibly give me that I don’t already have?” He takes a whiff of his cigarette and bares his teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, but there is something. See, I’ve been a bit bored recently. I started up podracing again down here! But, unfortunately, my last driver had a bit of an... accident. He ended up only a black mark on the pavement.” Oh kriffing... I can see where he’s going with this. And from the way Poe stiffens, so does he. Lar leans forward. “If I win, none would dare to question my power here. If you win for me... then I’ll give you the map.” Despite the fact that we’re supposed to be in character, Poe turns to give me an entirely unimpressed glare. I’m half tempted to lift up my hand in silent demand of him paying up on his ten-credit bet against Lar making us race him, but I’m too worried. Lar’s little area is open to the podracing ring on our right, and even with my helmet enhancing the dim track below, it’s extremely ill-lit. It’s old. And podracers are built by their pilots, so if Lar’s last driver got killed, then Lar’s probably bought an old, beaten-up racer from before the Battle of Yavin. “I’m going,” I say before Poe can, but he shakes his head and lifts a hand for emphasis as he leans close. “You ever fly a racer, Bez?” “I’ve gotten the Slave to recover from a crash. I think I’m good.” Poe puts his hands on his hips. “A racer’s a lot different from the Slave, even an X-wing. Nothing like a speederbike. You do this, you crash--” “I’ll survive. I’ve got my beskar.” “...Sure, whatever. And then how are we gonna get the map? You’ll survive a crash, but I’m the one that’ll win the race.” Poe ignores my protests and even those of BB-8 as he turns back to Lar. “I’ll do it. You got a racer?” Lar’s grin makes me want to let my flamethrower loose on his face. “That I do.”

- - -

“This is a piece of junk,” I kick the engine of the racer, and a whole panel comes off. Eesh... Beebs rolls out of the way just in time to avoid getting scraped up, beeping up at me in alarm. Poe comes around from the other side, picks up the panel, and starts reattaching it. He’s had me hold his jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up; he’s covered in oil and grease, even on his face. His hair’s a mess. It’s a good look, but the situation has me wanting to knock him out cold and drag him to safety. “Hey. Have faith in my--” the panel falls back off, and he hurriedly picks it up and starts repairing it again. “...You were saying?” Poe hardly glances at me. “Have faith in my repair skills.” I cross my arms. His jacket, tied around my waist, makes me feel awkward and off-balance. “I have complete faith in your repair skills. But this pile of scrap metal is beyond even your help.” BB-8 gives a series of whistles and beeps that indicates he’s agreeing with me. “See?” Poe switches a mock-glare between me and BB-8, but says nothing. Maybe because he knows we’re right. The racer has to be been one of the first ones ever built. Rusted all to hell, it’s a dingy green-and-blue color, paint worn well away. The power couplings connecting the repulsor engines to the cockpit had been matted thick with dust before Poe had went about dusting it all off with an old rag to reveal cracking rubbers and eroded plugs. It won’t start without a shudder, smoke, and a horrible rattling sound in the left engine. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. Let me drive. Can’t be much different than a car.” Of course, on Earth, I hadn’t gotten my license yet, but if I can fly the Slave, then I can drive a car. Poe shakes his head, finally just grabbing a blowtorch and welding the loose panel into place. “No.” With a sigh, he turns the blowtorch off and turns to face me, lowering his voice. “You ever drive a podracer?” “No, but--” “You ever drive a speederbike?” I’m shaking my head. His reasoning, of course, is flawless, except for the whole risking-his-life bit. “Poe--” “Then no.” He interrupts sternly, “If you drive, you’ll only crash and kill yourself. For nothing. If I drive, I might not crash, and then we’ll have the map.” “Going on this mission was my--” “Our.” “--idea, and you’re doing all the work! I’m literally just standing by as your bodyguard!” It’s infuriating. The only thing I’ve done to contributing to this mission is occasionally fly the Slave and occasionally almost get everybody killed. I need to do something, or else this mission is basically just Poe sticking his neck out without any help. “Alright, alright...” He puts his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes meaningfully. “On the next step, wherever, whatever it is, you can pull the next death-defying stunt, okay?” With the deep, over-loud thrum of repulsor engines, the other five racers are pulling up adjacent to Poe’s considerably-smaller, definitely lesser podracer. If he dies here... Without thinking, I wrestle my bear-claw amulet out from under my leathers, my undersuit, and the breastplate. It’s a long cord, but it’s still difficult to pull up-and-over my helmet. Thankfully, Poe holds still, only looking on in confusion-- he knows that I’ve never taken it off since the day my grandfather gave it to me. He knows how important it is to me. I swing the cord over his head and let the claw fall to his chest. “For good luck,” I say, but the meaning goes deeper than that and he knows it. He regards me carefully, like he wants to say something. “Bez--” “To your places, pilots! The race will begin in five minutes!” “Badu,” Grogu sticks his hand out of the bag, holding the little old orb of metal. Poe hesitates for a second, then takes it with a fond smile, reaching in to ruffle Grogu’s ears. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll bring it back to you.” He crouches to give BB-8 belly scratches. “Take care of ’em, bud.” When he stands and meets my eyes again, his dark eyes hold an emotion I can’t place. “Watch my back, Bez.” “Always,” I reply immediately. He doesn’t dare give me a hug-- not in this place, where weaknesses and vulnerabilities could be preyed upon. Me giving him the pendant was risky enough. He nods instead, delivering an assuring squeeze to my shoulder. Neither of us say anything more. Poe clambers up into the rickety cockpit, and I pass him the ill-fitting, old helmet with a cracked visor. It’s like Lar is trying to get him killed, which is probably the sole purpose of the race. If he dies, I’m gonna set the whole place on fire. All the pit crews-- myself and BB-8 included-- climb back onto the viewing platforms, where a fence is raised. I take in the crowd, trying to see anything amiss; so far I see nothing out of the ordinary, but that could change at any given moment. The podracers start their engines; four out of six of them have trouble. The other two sputter, but at least start. I keep a hand on Grogu and an eye on Beebs, who whistles in concern at my feet, wobbling uncertainly. I can’t bring myself to tell him not to worry, that it’ll be okay, because I’m absolutely terrified of Poe crashing into a wall or another podracer. My hands are shaking, so I grip the rail tightly with one of them and the buckle of Grogu’s bag with the other. I position myself against the wall, where I can see the podracers to my right but also see the whole of the hideout to my left. The announcer begins spouting off names, models of the racers, whatever. I’m not paying attention. My attention is on potential dangers and Poe, who is checking his systems and bracing himself for one hell of a ride. “Three... Two... One... RACE!” The podracers shoot off down the track. Poe’s is slower than most of them, which is good, because the bulkiest one rams one of the others into a wall, causing an explosion that incinerates both that racer and another. Already the race is down to four racers, and they’re not even out of sight yet. There are four laps. On the first, Poe is still behind. On the second, an explosion in the distant end of the loop has me anxious with worry until the three remaining pods shoot by with Poe gaining ground. On the third, Grogu-- who had poked his head out to watch, against my protests because if something does happen, he doesn’t need to see it-- suddenly squeaks in alarm and ducks his head back into the bag. Shortly thereafter, I feel what he does: an awful, dark foreboding that something is about to go horribly wrong. Out of the corner of my left eye, I see them just before the crowd goes silent. Stormtroopers. There are at least twelve of them. In the lead is a gigantic ’trooper wearing armor such a bright sheen of silver I wonder if it’s beskar. A black cape of rank hangs from her shoulders, nearly reaching the ground. I know who she is from stories of the other Resistance members, from Poe himself. Captain Phasma. The fact that she’s here worries me. She’s usually seen around General Hux or Kylo Ren, which means there’s a Star Destroyer nearby, potentially with either of them on it. Someone must have recognized Poe, or maybe Kylo Ren found a way to hunt me using the Force. Either one is very, very bad. “This is an illegal gathering,” Captain Phasma announces in a cold, commanding voice. “If anyone attempts to leave without permission, they will be shot.” Three of the stormtroopers haul a huge piece of machinery toward the fence. They kick a piece of the railing down and start building their weapon. Is that a gun? I’m panicking. What can I do against twelve stormtroopers and Captain Phasma? I’d have no help if I attacked. My whistling birds can take care of the troopers, but what about Phasma, who I’m certain has far more ’troopers waiting outside? Maybe some in any back entrances? Blocking the exits? I’m outnumbered and have no way to warn Poe, who is stuck on a racer speeding around a dim track. Lar comes to greet her with a smile. “Why, my lady! Welcome! I’m sure you’ll find plenty of--!” There’s the sound of blasterfire and his chest is smoking, charred and blackened and bleeding. People scream as he collapses, dead, and the ’troopers aim their weapons at the crowd and order them to shut up and keep hands where they can be seen. Captain Phasma continues unwaveringly despite the fact that her blaster is still smoking. “The First Order has reason to believe that an important member of the Resistance is currently among you.” Poe. My eyes flick to the ’troopers building the gun, set up right on the racer track. They’ve finished, and the hum of the approaching podracers is growing ever closer. What are they doing? “You are to comply with questioning. You are all currently under arrest for involvement in illegal actions.” Poe. My only concern is how to warn him of the gun. How to stop his racer. If I shot my whistling birds down the tunnel and targeted his power couplings, would that disable his podracer? Or only blow it up? I don’t have any more time to worry, though, because the gun is fired, and I realize it’s not a gun at all. It’s a cable. It buries itself into the duracrete on the other side, and I realize its purpose seconds too late. The podracers collide full-force with the cable, turning them to nothing but metal wreckage and fire as they’re thrown into the ceiling of the tunnel before skidding for several hundred yards. I’m moving before the explosion is even over, shrapnel imbedding itself in my leather and bouncing off my beskar. Grogu, I keep safe by keeping a hand on the bag. BB-8 races alongside me, emitting a scream of worry. Everything is silent, like in those movies where somebody loses someone they care for and it all just stops. I see flashes of red as the stormtroopers open fire on the crowd, and I feel two blasts bounce of my beskar. I’m running for the wreckage. I think I’m screaming Poe’s name, but I can’t hear. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. I see remains of cockpits and engines, hardly recognizable. I see the charred body of the alien pilot from one of the other podracers. I’m lifting things I shouldn’t be able to, huge panels of metal and wiring and I’m walking through fire, ignoring the heat. It should’ve been me. I find the dying pilot of the only other podracer, but he dies before I can even do much more than acknowledge his pleas for help. And then I see him. Thrown from the wreckage and on his side, back facing us. His clothes are charred in places and smoldering in others, and he lays just shy of a barrier of fire. BB-8 screeches a string of high-pitched machinery noises, rolling faster than I’ve ever seen him. I’m right behind him, calling Poe’s name, but he’s not moving. When I reach him, skidding to my knees, I hesitate in rolling him over, scared he’ll be like the other pilot. But he’s not. The side of his face is covered in blood and there’s a nasty lump on his head, concealed mostly by his hair. I try to assess his condition, but I’m stopped short by the shrapnel in his thigh and the fact that he doesn’t have a pulse. Grogu immediately tries to reach forward and Force-heal him. “NO, Grogu!” I know that if he does that, he’ll forfeit his own life. I swing Grogu behind me and lay Poe flat, immediately starting chest compressions. That’s carelessness. Din’s words come back to haunt me. Nothing’s happening, and I’m starting to panic-- I can’t call it, I won’t. I’m so sorry, Poe... BB-8 whirs and reaches over, stabbing Poe with a different robot arm right near my hands after nudging me back. It works like defibrillator. He zaps Poe with a jolt of electricity that makes his whole body arch, then he comes back to life with a yelp and a gasp. “Poe!” He coughs, wheezes, eyes wide as he blinks trying to clear them. His ears are bleeding, chest heaving, and he’s clearly in pain. He holds his wrist at a weird angle, and the shard of metal in his leg must go down to bone. But he’s alive. “W-what--” His voice cracks painfully, and he winces. I think I’m crying, but I don’t care. He’s okay. He’s okay. “D-don’t try to talk. Can you hear me?” “I-I can’t hear you...” Poe vaguely gestures to his head and tries to move his other shoulder, but it takes effort. He’s severely injured. “We need to get you back home...” I can’t carry him. I’m not strong enough. I try, but it only causes him more pain and I can hardly move. I order BB-8 and Grogu to stay with him as I scour for a piece of metal large enough to drag him on, trying to ignore the chaos of what’s happening close by. None of the stormtroopers have noticed yet that I’m missing, if they even saw me in the first place. There’s still blasterfire and people screaming, trying to escape. A couple people jump into the ring, only to be shot dead. The stormtroopers are merciless. I find a relatively intact piece of metal sheeting and start to pull it toward Poe when I hear him call me in a panic. “Bez!” I whip around just in time to see him grasping at Grogu, who’s falling over into the bag with a squeak. Poe’s arm is no longer bent weird, the shrapnel is out of his thigh, and he’s sitting up, alert. Oh no... When I reach them, Grogu’s fine, but exhausted. He’s in a deep sleep, curled up in the bottom of the bag. Poe looks up at me in terror. “I-I didn’t do--” “He Force-healed you,” It’s both an explanation and a comment. I check Grogu over and ensure that’s all he did, then loop the strap back over my head. “Gizmo, buddy...” I check Poe. His shoulder is still dislocated, so I have to help him pop it back into place, and we have to tear off a piece of his shirt to bandage his thigh-- the wound isn’t as deep, but it’s still bleeding. His once-broken wrist is perfectly functional, and from what I can tell he seems perfectly fine otherwise; his hearing has returned fully, leading me to believe Grogu focused on internal injuries that could prove deadly before we reach D’Qar. “What happened?” Poe manages, taking in the scene around him. “Captain Phasma,” I answer curtly, and then I do risk hugging him, tightly, careful of my helmet hurting his face. “...You almost died.” Poe may not be as badly injured now, but he’s still hurt. He holds me back as tightly as he can manage. “But I didn’t. I’m fine, Bez.” He pulls pack, rapping his knuckles on the forehead of my helmet with an exhausted smile. “Now tell me what happened.” As quickly as possible, I explain everything while Poe silently assures BB-8 that he’s fine; he keeps an arm around the droid and keeps him very close, while BB-8 keeps inputting beeps to ask him if he’s okay. When I’m done, Poe glances toward the calming firefight of the nearby hub. “So... We’ve still gotta get the map.” I sit back on my heels, amazed. “The kriff-- Poe, this mission’s a bust!” Poe is pissed. I’ve never seen him look so angry and determined all at once. “Not until I say it is. We’ve come this far.” He reaches for me. “Help me stand up.” I help Poe to his feet and we half-sneak, half-limp back to the platform, staying just out of sight. Even from here we can see dead bodies hanging half over the edge or in the ring, moaning injured, and smell burnt flesh. “Does anyone else wish to object?” I hear Captain Phasma challenge. Poe and I freeze, listening closely. He focuses on the ground, trying to come up with a plan; I already have, and it’s probably stupid, but what else can we do? I pull Poe down to my level so that I can whisper, “Stay here and play along.” I climb back up onto the platform before he can stop me and then quite suddenly I have every blaster in the complex trained on me. I keep my hands up where they can see them, and play the same confident, cocky role that Poe keeps assuming. “Easy, boys.” I point to Phasma without lowering my hands. “You. Shiny. Yeah. You went and shot up my bounty. Now, see, that’s a problem.” Phasma lifts her chin a little. “Are you speaking of the crime lord?” “Yeah. Blew a hole right in his kriffing chest. Lucky for you, my boss wants him dead or alive, but he wants proof. SO. If you’d just ever-so-kindly let me take his over-dressed corpse off your hands, I’ll be outta your hair. If you have any. Kind of hard to tell under that whole fake-beskar shebang.” With one hand, I vaguely indicate her head. “Search her, and search the tunnels.” Captain Phasma orders. I stick my arms out casually, though inside I’m freaking out over how Poe and Beebs are gonna hide. Two ’troopers come pat me down and scan me, and I cooperate. The other goes to check the tunnels. “What’s this?” One of the stormtroopers reaches for Grogu’s pack, but I shift him out of range. “Easy, easy-- it’s my good-luck charm. A pet, y’see.” One of the ’troopers turns to his silver-clad leader. “Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am. Just the standard arsenal of weapons. Should we confiscate them?” “Who are you?” Captain Phasma demands, ignoring her ’trooper, who stands beside me nervously awaiting orders. I feel bad for the poor guy. “The name’s Bond. Jay Bond.” It’s the single worst line I’ve ever uttered in my life, but it’s all I can think of on short notice. “Burgeoning bounty hunter from the Mid Rim. And you are?” “My name does not concern you,” Captain Phasma counters. “All that concerns you is that if your story does not satisfy me, you are under arrest.” I take a couple of arrogant strides forward, stopping when the stormtroopers lift their blasters. “Ah. Gotcha. Whaddya wanna know?” “She’s lying!” Shouts a Rodian, and I try to act very, very calm. “She was with him! The one you’re looking for! He said she was his bodyguard!” “Cuff her,” Phasma orders, but the stormtroopers falter when I start laughing. Poe? Nah, go all Deadpool on her ass. “Wow, ain’t even gonna hear my side, huh? Yeah I was with him-- this Dameron, the cocky bastard-- but not of my own accord, I assure you.” “Go on,” Phasma urges slowly, though I can tell she’s itching to put me in stuncuffs. You’ve seen Burn Notice. Just chill and naturally step into this false persona like that guy. Just like acting. “See, I was here to find Keru Lar, yeah? You already know that much. Been casin’ the joint for weeks. Then comes along that pilot from the Resistance. Struck up a deal with him-- I don’t care who I get credits from so long as I get ’em, and doubling is never a problem. He wanted something from Lar, some kind of chip, didn’t really care. So long as I helped him get it, I got to take Lar in. Alive, was the deal, ’cause he’s worth more that way. Thanks for that. Now I’m comin’ outta this with a quarter of what I woulda made.” Captain Phasma takes a couple of menacing steps forward. I’m short anyway, only 5’ 4", so this stormtrooper commander has to be at least 6’ 4". I hardly come up to her elbow. “Then why were you coming from the tunnel Dameron crashed in?” Kriff. Say something, anything! “Wouldn’t you dive into hellfire to get the key to a stuncuff? Rather, stuncollar. Hidden right under my leathers, tight around my throat. I said I wasn’t in this of my own free will, yeah? Bastard put a stuncollar on me to keep me in check. Keep me from bringing him in-- the bounty on him woulda set me up for life! Had to get the key. Didn’t wanna deal with a stuncollar for an undisclosed period of time. That thing was kriffing uncomfortable.” Phasma’s head tilts. “You took the key off of his dead body?” She sounds hopeful. Of course. If they can confirm the death of Commander Poe Dameron, that’d be one hell of a de-moralizer for the Resistance. I choke out what I hope sounds like a cruel laugh. “What was left of it. I’m surprised the key even still worked.” Captain Phasma looms over me menacingly. “And where is your stuncollar, Bond?” Okay. That was... kinda cool. I talk like she’s four. “Uh... I trashed it. You gonna keep your restraints? Don’t think so. Can I take the body now?” Phasma jerks her head to the stormtroopers beside me. They grab Lar’s body and drag it over to me, as if it’s incredibly light. I lower my hands, mock-saluting at her. “Thanks, Shiny.” “We want no business with the bounty hunter guilds. Take your quarry and be done with it.” I start dragging Lar’s body toward the tunnels, piquing her interest. “Where are you going, Bond?” “A bounty hunter never reveals their secrets.” I roll Lar’s body off the edge carelessly-- he actually is surprisingly light. “Bye.” I chirp, then hop off myself, finding no sign of Poe or Beebs. I can’t exactly call for them, so I drag Lar’s body in the direction of the place they’d last been standing. I pull the body far past the wreckage and am starting to get concerned when I hear “Psst.” I glance over my shoulder first, scanning for life signs, but the heat from the fires are messing with my sensors. I’m pretty sure I’m not being followed, so I turn to find a grate as the source of the voice. “Poe?” “Yeah. Hurry!” The grate lifts and I see Poe, but no sign of BB-8. He answers my question before I can ask it. “I sent Beebs back to the Slave. We’re gonna need a quick getaway.” I pull Lar into the vent. The vent is spacious, but also filled with years of grime and old skeletons that imply we’re not the only ones that have done this. It also explains why Poe looks like he’s gonna be sick. I reach forward to steady him. “You okay?” “I’m good.” He coughs and puts his back to the bones, managing a smile. “Didn’t expect that little performance. You’re a natural, Bez.” I beam, not only from the praise, but also because I was certain my idea was stupid. “On Earth I was considering being an actor as a hobby. Guess I would’ve been a good one.” We start searching Lar’s body, each taking a side. “How do you come up with names so fast?” “Well, Bond? From my world he’s the star of a famous series of spy movies going back to like the ’60s-- er, decades before my mom was born. It’s cliché, but it worked, and, honestly? It felt really cool.” Poe glances up at me with a smirk. “I bet. Y’know we gotta start looking to see if any of the movies you’re talking about’ve been turned into holovids.” He seems to find something, tearing off Lar’s expensive silver shoes and dumping them to find both a handful of credits and what’s distinctly a keycard. “Jackpot!” I point to the keycard triumphantly, giving a little clap. “Key to his apartment?!” “Key to his apartment,” Poe confirms with a grin. I stuff the credits into one of the pockets of Grogu’s bag, then we make our way through the vent, which leads into the grimy streets. Careful of stormtroopers, we take back alleys only as we make our way up a few levels, to a nicer, richer, but more corrupted portion of the city-planet. No one pays us any mind as we ascend the floors of a massive apartment complex via the stairs instead of the more public elevator, or when two people who are clearly out of place hurriedly enter Lar’s apartment. Lar’s former home is richly furnished, overly-decorated, and filled with all the latest tech. There’s a pool table, a bar, gambling tables-- hell, it looks like he lives in a mini-casino. One wall is entirely glass, looking out over the city. The congested scene of city lights and traffic makes me shudder. “Nice view,” I say sarcastically as we start searching. Poe locks the door and starts up a casual conversation as we begin to sweep his apartment. “You don’t like the city, Bez?” I start opening cabinets, running my hands along the edges to check for hidden swtiches and panels. “I prefer the woods.” “You should see Yavin. You’d love it there.” Poe-- without much effort-- turns a couch over. I tear the cushions off, shaking them out and opening them with my knife. What he’s implying, though, makes me jittery. “You inviting me to your homeworld, Dameron?” He starts running his hands along the walls while I focus on the furniture. “Maybe...” He briefly turns to see my face-- or rather, stance, since I still have my helmet on-- then flushes and clears his throat, changing the subject abruptly. “You know what we��re looking for, right?” When I shake my head, he continues with, “Most maps are stored on little silver drives. It could be an old format, though, so just... point out anything unusual.” Unusual... Hm... I wonder... I press a button on the outside of my helmet. My surroundings go blue and yellow. Footprints-- up to five days old-- are in red. “Poe. Chill for a second. Stop moving.” He freezes, throwing his hands up as if I’m gonna say that somebody has blasters pointed at us. “Uh... Why?” “Watch and learn, my non-Mandalorian friend.” I gesture around at the floor in my general area. “Okay, so, this cluster-kriff is our mess. So... These enormous footprints over here are Lars’. Looks like he’s had some guests over.” “Wait-- are you... Are you tracking?” Poe looks around in astonishment. He knows how to track just as well as I do, but that’s without a Mandalorian helmet. “...Inside?” I tap my helmet in answer. “This thing works wonders.” Poe comes up behind me, trying to lessen the effect we have on the place by following me around. “Huh... Maybe I will take the Creed... Then I’d repaint Fett’s armor to match Black One.” “Not a chance,” I kneel to closer inspect the footprints far larger than a humans’, humming with thought as I watch them circle around the room as he entertained his guests. I follow them around his house for fifteen minutes before I find something out of the ordinary. Poe jumps when I laugh. “Looks like you were onto somethin’, Poe. These footprints go right into the wall.” Positioned right next to the glass window-wall, it looks like it couldn’t possibly contain anything behind it. Poe and I start inspecting the edges, tapping and listening for hollow spots-- then Poe reaches over and pulls a knife out of my belt. With all the strength he can muster, he stabs into the wall and cuts out a piece of drywall hiding a control panel. I’m nodding with appreciation as I take the dagger back. “Nice. Now what?” He messes with the panel for a second. “It needs a code.” “But we don’t have a--” He steps back, draws his blaster, and shoots it open. We high-five as the wall pops open with a hiss, though it’s heavy-- it takes both of us to swing it open. Inside is what looks like a giant fridge, glowing with blue lights and glass shelves, each of which contains half a dozen items or more. Neither of us have any idea what half of them are; it’s a collection of weird and strange artifacts from across the galaxy, some ancient, some new... Of course, since Lar’s apartment is built for a giant, the higher shelves require us to climb, carefully using the glass shelves as a ladder. We each take a side and start searching. Not long after we start, halfway toward the top, I chirp, “Ooh. What have we here?” “Find it?” Poe doesn’t stop his own careful search to turn and look at me as I reach for the device. “I thi--” I don’t get to finish my sentence, because as soon as I touch it, I’m given a surge of energy much like the one I’d felt when I’d first touched Grogu-- a burst of Force. An image flashes before my eyes of a young tree on a grassy hill, and I hear a woman’s voice say my name very clearly, as if she’s standing right beside me. “Follow your instincts...” She adds, and then I’m back in reality. With a shout of alarm, I yank my hand away from the map and fall backward, landing hard on my back. “Laylah!” That was much more intense than what had happened with Grogu. This was... powerful. Terrifying. Rising up in me is this want to use this power, the Force, and I push it away. I will not be a Sith. I’m out of breath, but I scramble to my feet anyway and hold my arm to my chest, taking several steps backward, away from that damned chip. Poe’s in front of me, grabbing my shoulders, the map forgotten. “What is it? What happened?” I point to where the map is on its shelf, but I don’t look at it. I refuse to. “That one’s it. Has to be. But I’m not touching it again.” “Wha--” “I’m not touching it, Poe!” My bag moves, and with a yawn, Grogu pops his head out, babbling softly. Poe slowly nods when he realizes that I’m shaking. “It’s okay. I’ll get it.” He’s back down with it in a second, holding it like it’s made of glass and staring in awe. He’s Force-sensitive, just like us, so he can probably feel its importance; if he sees anything, he shows only astonishment. Grogu fixes his gaze on it with a strange intelligence and familiarity. I take several steps back, away from it. Poe’s eyes flick to my face. “...What’d you see, Bez?” I shake my head, trying to get rid of the memories. “A... A tree. I heard a woman’s voice.” “What’d she say?” “...To follow my instincts,” I admit, albeit reluctantly. Poe hands the map to Grogu, who very carefully takes it before disappearing into the bag with it. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” “...I felt the Force,” I whisper, “Like when I first touched Grogu. That woman that spoke to me... she was one of them... A Jedi.” I knew she couldn’t have been a Sith. The presence I felt was good, not evil, even comforting and welcoming. The fact that I’d felt her at all is what scares me. If she can contact me, why not a Sith? I close my eyes, letting my head fall forward a bit. “Every day it gets harder and harder. To block the Force. To keep it away from me.” Poe is sympathetic as he regards me. His voice is barely audible. “Then why don’t you stop fighting it?” Because if I let the Force in, that might let my control over my anger out. If that happens... “Because if I do, it’s over. I don’t want to end up like Kylo Ren.” He sighs, shaking his head in disapproval. “Why are you so convinced that you’ll become a Sith?” Of course, he already knows all my reasons. Somehow, he still thinks that if I stop ignoring the Force and start using it, I’d be just like Grogu. If I were ever trained, he’s absolutely certain that I would be a Jedi. But even a Jedi is the last thing I want. I don’t get to say anything in response though, because suddenly he’s throwing me to the floor. The kriff-- Blasterfire obliterates the secret storage, and we’re covered in a shower of glass shards. With a horrible crash, the window is fractured before it turns to dust, bursting out into open air. Wind and city noise overwhelms us, and even the blasterfire ceases momentarily as everybody tries to reorient themselves. Poe pulls me to the makeshift shelter of a bar counter, the now-open window to our backs. We’re twenty-one stories up, so if we fall or are pushed, we’re done for. I twist around and pop over the counter, higher than Poe can, managing to get three ’troopers in the chest and see a glimpse of Captain Phasma entering the doorway before blasterfire becomes too intense. Poe and I duck back down behind the bar. “Three already!” Poe is appalled that I’m counting. “This isn’t a competition, Bez!” “You’re just saying that ’cause you only got two.” “Poe Dameron,” Says Captain Phasma, all high-and-mighty. Poe goes snark mode. “Phasma! It’s been awhile. How’s the arm?” He quips, then to me mouths, “I shot her,” and I give a gesture of appreciation as if we’re just casually talking bad about someone behind their back. She ignores him. “We understand that you have found something of the utmost importance to Lord Kylo Ren.” Poe mimes a gag. “Despite your innumerable crimes to the First Order, we are prepared to let you go if you would just give us the map. “As for you, Bond--” I giggle at the use of the name, finding it ridiculously hilarious now, “--you are now wanted for deceiving a First Order officer.” “You’re just mad ’cause you were outsmarted,” I call over the wind, “Not that it’s hard.” I can feel her clenching her fists around her gun. Still perfectly calm, she adds, “If you both would turn over the map, we will let you go.” We’re shaking our heads at each other, unimpressed. We both know they’ve got us surrounded and will shoot us to hell as soon as we offer it to them. We both know that if they don’t shoot us, they’ve got a Star Destroyer in orbit to take us to. “Just a sec, lemme think,” Poe says to her. “Y’know those holovids where the guy grabs the girl and swings her to safety with a rope or something?” I whisper excitedly as I indicate the open air just a couple of feet away. Poe looks at me like I’m crazy. “I don’t have a grappling hook! I left it on the Slave!” Pointedly, I hold up a vambrace. “I do. We’re goin’ reverse here. Gonna jump right out the window.” “It’s a crazy, deadly idea,” A wild grin spreads across his face and sparks dance in his eyes. “I like it. Let’s go.” Hurriedly, I explain as I holster my blasters. “I’m gonna stand up and use my flamethrower. It’ll blind ’em, mostly. We’ll back up, and you hang onto me while we repel down.” Poe nods eagerly. “On three?” We count down as Phasma begins issuing orders to surround us and take the map by force. Just as the stormtroopers begin to move, I stand up, immediately triggering my flamethrower and waving it back and forth in front of me. Oh, they’re shooting, but their aim sucks anyway. Grogu is swung behind me to keep him safe from stray blasterfire, just as Poe stays behind me as shoots at stray ’troopers. We back up to the edge of the window as Phasma is shouting to her ’troopers to get down to the ground level; but they’re too late, they’ll never make it in time. Poe wraps his arms around my torso, and we jump-- I don’t trigger my grappling hook immediately. Instead, we plummet. “Bez!” Poe warns, while Grogu is laughing and cheering loudly; once I have a clear shot for a window ledge where the ’troopers won’t be able to reach it, I fire-- there’s a few-second delay, but then we’re yanked to a stop. Poe lets out a breath of relief and rests his forehead against my shoulder as I start repelling us to the ground, which is dangerously close. “This was fun. We should do this again.” “We are never doing that again.” Poe tells me breathlessly, then Grogu babbles excitedly. “I said never.” Once we’re on the ground, I disconnect the wire-- I can get a new one later. The stormtroopers are trying to fire at us from the window, so Poe and I take off as fast as we can for the nearest ride to the next level-- we have a head start, but the stormtroopers seem to always be right behind us. Crammed full of people leaving for the day, Poe and I slide in amongst the crowd and blend in, completely ignored by the platoon of stormtroopers guarding it. Idiots. We get all the way back to the landing platform without Phasma’s ’troopers catching up, even with Poe’s injured leg. We’re just about to exit onto the landing platform when we’re cut off by BB-8, beeping wildly in a panic. We skid to a halt, which is difficult on such a smooth floor. “What?” Poe demands, then turns to me in a mix of exasperation and helplessness. “’Troopers are guarding the Slave-- they’re guarding all the ships that have landed recently. A dozen of them-- Bez!” I’m running past him, shoving Grogu in his arms. No better place to use the whistling birds. I race out onto the platform headlong and am greeted with every blaster facing in my direction. “Hey! Stop!” I obey immediately, but only because my whistling birds need to lock on. A five-second count is all they need, and I bring my arm down to push the pressure switch on the vambrace. Blasterfire gets me in the shoulder, but my beskar keeps me from the worst of it; I’ll probably have a pretty nasty bruise. The whistling birds stream from my vambrace. The stormtroopers cry out as the tiny missiles find their necks, the soft parts of their armor, or blast them clear off the platform. “Poe!” I cry over my shoulder, but him and BB-8 are already hurrying up. On the other platforms, the ’troopers seem to have realized what’s happening and start firing at us. I draw my blasters and jog a few steps back to open the ramp, providing cover for Poe, Beebs, and Grogu as they bolt into the ship. I’m right behind them, flying for the cockpit. “Strap yourselves in-- it’s gonna be one hell of a ride.” I can hear the stormtroopers opening fire on the ship as I’m getting into the cockpit, powering up the systems. I’m not even done buckling when I push the Slave into takeoff. The radar starts sounding off an alarm-- six TIEs are screaming after us from a patrol grid they’d been working nearby. “Kriffing unfair.” Unsure what else to do, I send the Slave straight up and at full speed. The TIEs lock on and open fire-- the whole ship lurches when they land a hit. “Bez, what’s happening up there?” Poe calls from behind me, but I can hardly hear him over the alarms of one of the TIEs locking on for a missile-- or the fact that I see a Star Destroyer in orbit. “Kriffing hell--” I stall out on purpose, flipping the Slave until I’m falling toward the TIEs. The turrets thunder out a round of bright red, catching two of them-- the rest break free. Something on the back of the seat makes me jump-- it’s just Poe. He’s clipped a harness to himself and latched himself to the arm of my seat by a caribeener. “What’re you doing?” “What am I doing? What are you doing? You need to be strapped in! How the hell--” “On your right!” I dive just in time to avoid the TIEs stream of green blasts. “You ever been in a dogfight with TIEs?” “No!” I pitch the Slave up again-- like I’d hoped, the TIEs give chase. Without hesitation I drop a seismic charge; they don’t dodge, they don’t have time. The charge detonates, sending a shockwave of blue energy outward. The TIEs are incinerated on impact. “They’re launching more TIEs,” Poe warns as we exit the atmosphere, I hit the lightspeed, and in a couple minutes we’re over whatever planet I randomly inputted; I have no idea where we are-- five TIEs managed to follow us. I swing the Slave up and around, straight for them. The unexpected assault makes two of them scatter, but the other three open fire as I do-- two of them combust and spiral into the third. “Behind you,” Poe says calmly. “Stop backseat driving! I know! I can see all the systems, Poe!” I spot canyons and dive in. The TIEs give pursuit. “I was never good at games like this!” The red-orange stone threatens to clip us and I feel like I take each turn too slowly. One wrong move and we’re dead. One of the TIEs shoots into the rock, causing an avalanche that nearly squashes us all. The edge clips us, rocks and debris clanking of the transparisteel and the hull. “Real smart, nerf-herder.” Finally, I find an advantage: a natural bridge. I swoop under and over, firing on the TIEs upside-down. I snag one, but the other evades me, follows me. We’re right-side-up again and still being pursued. “Got a plan, Bez?” Poe questions casually. “Maybe.” I push the Slave into full-speed and do my best to fly through the canyon without crashing until I find what I’m looking for: a sharp turn. “Bingo.” “...That sounds stupid.” “It’s an Earth word.” “Yeah, I got that. But that sounds like a name. A stupid name.” “You’re just mad ’cause I called you a backseat driver.” We sweep around the corner, but we don’t keep going. Instead, I tuck the Slave into a cleft, and we wait for the TIE to speed by. Please work, please work; don’t slam into us. But it does work. The TIE flies by without even realizing what’s happened. The Slave blasts off after it. My turrets lock on just as the TIE starts to swerve in an attempt to fly up and away. I open fire, and the TIE is obliterated in a burst of smoke and fire. Poe forgets that he’s supposed to be pouting and cheers, clapping me on the shoulder. “You sure you wanna be a doctor, Bez? Maybe you could be a pilot part-time? I’d let you join Black Squadron!” “The offer’s tempting, Poe,” I answer as we leave the canyon behind. He hasn’t noticed the way my hands are shaking, and I’m glad I have the helmet on or he’d see how clammy and queasy I feel. “But... no. I didn’t like it.” “You didn’t like kicking ass?” “I didn’t like shooting them down,” I specify, “Or killing the stormtroopers. I didn’t like it, and I don’t ever want to do it again.” Poe reaches down to squeeze my shoulder reassuringly. “Well I don’t like it either, Bez. None of us do.” “I know.” We exit the atmosphere, and for a second we’re just floating in empty space. I expect the Star Destroyer to appear, but when it doesn’t, I realize the TIEs must not have transmitted our location. “...You’re stronger than I am. You, and all the other pilots. I can’t do what you do. I wish I could.” Poe’s silent for a second. He reaches around me to input coordinates into the navicomputer, and we’re jumping to Tatooine. “It never gets any easier. But with every ’trooper or TIE you take down, you save a life. Think of it that way. I’m sure there’s good people in there somewhere, but the problem is finding them-- or giving them the courage to come out.” My voice is small and meek when I say, “...Dad worries about me being a First Order traitor.” Poe turns to look at me; I see disbelief, astonishment, but not understanding. “Wait, what?” I flip on autopilot and talk as I’m going around to the platform behind the cockpit. Poe follows close behind. “I told you about my life on Earth, right? Well Dad worries that I’m not really actually from Earth. He worries that I betrayed the First Order somehow and they released me with memory implants in the hopes that I’d go crazy.” “Joke’s on them,” Poe scoffs, putting his hands on his hips; then he seems to realize something and he reaches over to grab my arm. “Wait, is that why you’re so worried about becoming a Sith?” I shrug; the thought had crossed my mind many times. “Sometimes I wonder if Dad’s right, and I was being trained to be a Sith. So I worry that if it is true, then if Kylo Ren finds me, he’ll finish whatever was started.” “It’s impossible,” Poe sounds completely confident as he comes closer, tapping me on the helmet. “Hey. Look at me, buckethead.” “That’s owl-buckethead, to you.” “That’s impossible,” He says again once I’m looking at him, “You know why? Leia-- no, not just Leia, every extremely-Force-sensitive person in the galaxy-- wouldn’t have seen you if that was true. And even if it were, then what’s that say? You were being trained to be a Sith and did something they didn’t like, and they pretty much accept all forms of evil, so you probably did something good. Now look at you. You don’t have it in you to be a Sith, Bez. You don’t even like killing stormtroopers.” The warmth in his eyes is calming, reassuring. For some reason Poe’s reasoning puts me at ease a bit, though I’m also just crushing all the fears into a little manageable ball that I refuse to think about. I manage to smile. “...Thanks, Poe.” A tap on my leg makes me look down to see Grogu-- but I skitter back from him when I see that he’s trying to hand me the map. “Uh-uh, Gizmo. You read it.” “Badu,” He says insistently, and starts chasing me around the platform. He’s not very fast and he’s easy to avoid, but the platform is small and he’s a persistent little guy. “I don’t think he wants to read it.” Poe points out, having watched for about five minutes in full seriousness. “Well, I’m not reading it!” “You’re the only one who can,” Poe gestures to himself and BB-8 as he continues, “I can’t read it, Beebs can’t read it, and Grogu won’t read it. That leaves you, unless you wanna turn around and have Leia read it.” We stare each other down for a few seconds, and for a moment I seriously contemplate what it would take to convince Leia to read a map leading to the shards of Palpatine’s lightsaber. Probably nothing-- and then this whole thing really will have been for nothing. I flex my hands, nervous, thinking, but I can’t see any other alternative. Reluctantly, I kneel down and reach for the map tentatively. Nothing happens-- no vision of a tree and no voices. I’m still in the Slave. “Bah,” Grogu says, and toddles over to Poe’s bag to rummage for something to eat. I stand as I address Poe, sighing with relief. “Why are we going to Tatooine?” Poe stands beside me with his hands on his hips, watching as BB-8 helps Grogu unwrap a nutrition bar. “We’re going to that space-McDonald’s you mentioned. Oh, and we need a safe-ish place to read that map.” He claps me on the back and moves to help Beebs when Grogu tries to fight him with his food. “Guys-- no, Grogu, do not stick that in BB-8’s compartment-- Beebs, stop it, be nice-- guys--” My eyes trail down to the map drive, resting in my palm, heavy with importance. I wonder who the woman I heard is-- is she still alive, or is she a ghost? Are there ghosts in space? I’m sure there’s no reason for them not to exist in the vast cosmos. I turn it over and over, but can find no buttons or switches or anything to indicate where I can activate it. So, what am I supposed to do? Meditate? Guess I’ll figure it out, somehow.

“Bez, you gonna give me a hand or not?”

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pastelwitchling · 3 years ago

Text

@manescosmic asked:

Michael sat in a booth at The Crashdown, anxiously tapping his fingers against his steaming mug. Alex’s cup sat across from him. Alex walked in, looking just as sleep deprived as Michael but so beautiful. It wasn’t easy sleeping alone anymore.

He’s here. I’m gonna lose the love of my life over a drunken mistake. God if you’re real don’t let me lose him and I’ll never drink again.

“Hi, baby.” Michael forced a smile. “I got you a coffee.”

Alex slid in to the other booth, he wouldn’t meet Guerin’s gaze. “Hi.”

The two sat there in silence for what felt like hours. Guerin began sweating, scared this was going to be the end.

“I love you,” Alex whispered and looked up, his eyes were starting to shine with tears.

Michael let loose a sob, “I love you too baby. I love you so fucking much.”

“Do you—d’you want her back?” Alex deflated and let the tears fall. Michael felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

***

Don’t let him hate me, Michael silently pleaded over and over in his mind as he sat in the Crashdown booth, his hands hugging his still-full coffee cup.

His leg had been bouncing since he’d sat down, and his fingers had been twitching since last night when he’d woken up in the middle of the night, realized Alex wasn’t there, then his drunken words at the Pony had come rushing back at him like a tidal wave.

He had stumbled out of bed, out of his trailer, and looked around frantically for any sign of Alex, but he and his car were both gone. The worst part was that Michael had still had alcohol in his system and knew he couldn’t drive. The best he could do was fumble for his phone, call Alex again and again (to many voicemails which had not helped his anxiety), and ended up texting him instead, begging to talk.

Alex had said they could talk at the Crashdown tomorrow morning. He wouldn’t say it, but Michael knew that had been as early as Alex would be willing to deal with him and what he’d said.

It had been after they’d spotted Maria at the bar. Sitting here now, all Michael could do was hear Alex’s question over and over in his mind. The small smile, the hesitance, like Alex had known not to ask but couldn’t help hoping the answer would be good anyway.

“What would you have done if she’d . . . never broken things off?”

Michael had known, had known, that Alex had only asked because he’d wanted Michael to say that he would’ve ended things instead.

But that hadn’t been his response. Michael had scoffed and rolled his eyes, not thinking much of it when he’d said –

“Well, we definitely wouldn’t be here together right now, for one thing.”

And Alex’s face had fallen, like he hadn’t really been expecting anything so bad, and Michael had realized too late what he’d said.

If she hadn’t ended things, I wouldn’t be with you.

“Alex –”

“I – um . . .” Alex had slid off the stool, brows pinched but his eyes and voice numb. “I’m a little tired, I think I wanna go home.”

Michael had been too drunk at the time to realize the gravity of what he’d said, only that it had been very, very bad. He followed Alex instinctively.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Yeah,” Alex murmured, glancing at Michael. “I think you’re done for the night.”

So he’d driven him back to the trailer, and Michael remembered reaching for Alex has he’d fallen into his bed and realizing too late that Alex hadn’t followed him in.

So now he sat at the booth, waiting for his boyfriend, and unable to think of anything but how Alex must be spiraling and what he must be thinking and how much he must’ve hated Michael now.

Please don’t let him hate me, he pleaded to whoever would listen. Don’t let him hate me, and I’ll never drink again.

Michael looked up the second he heard the bell above the door jingle. Alex had a thick scarf on to ward off the cold, his hands in his coat pockets.

“Hey,” Michael breathed, making room for Alex on his side of the booth when Alex slid in across from him. Michael’s fingers were still trembling.

“Hey,” Alex pressed his lips together in what Michael supposed was meant to be a smile, but instead seemed more like a wince. Maybe it was. Alex had been limping and even now his leg seemed to bother him. Up close, Michael could see that his eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale, and the dark circles that proved he’d spent the night caught up in bad dreams were more prominent than usual.

Michael had done that to him.

He tentatively pushed the extra cup he’d ordered, with lots of cream, chocolate, and sugar – Alex’s favorite – towards him.

“Got you a coffee, beautiful,” he tried with a nervous smile.

Alex touched his thumb to the cup without looking at Michael. He pursed his lips and said nothing.

Please don’t let him hate me. Don’t let him hate me, and I’ll do anything.

A waiter came by, and Michael glanced at Alex and ordered him a big breakfast. “W-With a lot of whip cream,” he said, knowing Alex had a sweet tooth.

As soon as the waiter left, Michael turned to Alex with a smile, but Alex scrunched his shoulders under his gaze, like he was uncomfortable by it.

Michael’s face fell and he wrung his hands together on his lap under the table.

Please don’t let him hate me. Please, please don’t let him hate me. Please –

“Don’t hate me,” he whispered.

Alex looked up, and Michael swallowed.

“I love you more than anything,” he said. “Please don’t hate me, Alex.”

Alex stared a while, his eyes glistening the longer he looked. “I love you, too,” he said quietly. “More than anything.”

Michael let out a relieved huff. He reached across the table. “O-Okay, then –”

“Do you want her back?”

Michael stopped smiling. Stopped reaching. Stopped breathing.

“What?”

Alex sighed shakily, pinching the bridge of his nose. As he shut his eyes, a tear escaped, but he quickly wiped it away and sniffled. “Guerin, I . . . I can’t watch someone else I love leave me, I can’t.”

Michael leaned forward. “Alex, I’d never –”

“You did,” Alex said, too matter-of-factly to be kind. “I know we don’t talk about it, but you did. And it broke me, Guerin, understand? It broke me. I can handle being beaten, but you’re the only one that could completely kill me, and you came pretty damn close the last time, so I’m gonna ask you again” – another trembling breath, another tear – “do you want her back?”

Michael stared. “I really hurt you,” he murmured, shocked. “I really . . . I did that.”

Alex clenched his jaw. Another tear. Michael could feel him near vibrating out of his skin. “Do you want her back?”

“No,” he breathed.

“Don’t lie to me!” he snapped, slamming a fist on the table. A few heads turned their way, but neither of them cared. “I’m not some weak idiot you have to coddle, just tell me so we can be done with this!”

“Done with what?” Now it was Michael’s voice that shook. “D-Done with me? Done with us – what, Alex?” He came around the booth. “That’s never gonna happen. I’ll die before I let that happen, do you understand that?”

Without looking at him, Alex said, “Don’t sit next to me.”

Michael did anyway. “I’m an idiot,” he told him.

“Stay away from me, Guerin!”

“I’m an idiot that makes dumb, mean, cruel jokes when I get uncomfortable or don’t want to talk about all the ways I was wrong. I’m an idiot, Alex, around only you, and you know that! You know that I want you –”

“If you want me, then why is it so easy for you to hurt me?” Alex demanded. His voice cracked on the last few words. “You’re so careful,” he whispered, shaking his head. “So careful around everybody . . . so careful around her . . . but not me. Never me. It’s always okay to mess up if it’s with me, because I’ll always understand, but I have feelings, too, so what do you want me to do about that?”

Michael’s hand, which had been inching towards Alex, slid off the back of the leather seat. “Alex . . . I know.”

Did he though? Did he know that he could hurt Alex this badly? Or did he always assume that Alex was just too strong for something like feelings? Did he assume that nothing hurt him?

I need to believe in a reason to stay.

How long had Alex been hurting right in front of him? Because of him? How long had Michael chosen to ignore it?

Alex shook his head, helplessness cracking through his mask. “Then why? How could you do it?” He huffed a sob, his next words barely above a whisper. “How could you say something like that to me? All I’ve ever wanted was you. D-Don’t you want me?”

Michael felt like he was shattering apart inside. Irreparably shattering.

“I . . . I did this,” he muttered, feeling like he was watching them in the booth from the other side of the crowded room. “I did it.”

Slowly he reached for Alex’s hand. Alex, to his relief, let him.

“I didn’t think about it,” Michael confessed, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think anything hurt you. I didn’t think anything could.”

Alex sniffled again, not looking at Michael, and wiped his cheek. “Guess you forgot how weak I am.”

“No,” Michael shook his head. “Guess I forgot how human you are.”

Alex slowly met his gaze, raising his chin like he was bracing himself to be hit again. Michael took his face in his hands, jaw clenched.

“You taught me the best of humanity,” Michael told him, “because you are the best of humanity, Private. And I think . . . I think I punished you for it. I abandoned you when you fell in love because I’d fallen in love with you and I didn’t know what to do with it. I laughed at you when you got scared because I was terrified and it was either laugh or give in to you, and I didn’t know how to do that either. And . . . I ignored you when you got hurt because I was hurt, too, and you were the only thing that felt safe.”

Michael dared lean in, dared to rest their foreheads together. Alex whimpered, and Michael held him tighter. “I’m always waiting for everyone to leave me that I kept the walls up so that it never hurt. And you were too important to ever put them down.”

He leaned back again, wiping away one of Alex’s tears with his thumb. “You know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t ended things?”

Alex shut his eyes. “Guerin, please, I’m sorry I ever –”

“I would’ve stayed with her until she did,” Michael said, “pretending that I was happy, pretending that I was in love, pretending that I wasn’t waiting for her to end it so that I didn’t end up quitting something else again. And I know that’s pathetic, and it’s not what you want to hear, but I would’ve stayed with her, for you. I would’ve stayed so that when I did have you again, because you better bet your ass I was going to have you again, you wouldn’t have someone who’d given up. You’d know that I stuck it out, and I tried, all to be good for you. All of it, every second, was for you.”

Alex searched Michael’s face, then his brows furrowed deeper. “But . . . that’s dumb.”

Michael huffed a wet laugh and sniffled, wrapping an arm around Alex’s waist and nearly pulling him onto his lap.

“I already told you,” Michael whispered, “I’m an idiot around you. Only you.”

After what felt like an eternity in which Michael listened to Alex breathing, wiping away any fallen tears, and letting him grab onto his sweater and hold on tightly, Alex sighed deeply, his head falling onto Michael’s shoulder.

“You’re exhausting, you know that?”

There was no malice in his voice. Instead, alongside the plain weariness and exasperation, Alex sounded as fond as always.

Michael was finally able to smile, and pressed a kiss to Alex’s head, his eyes fluttering to the soft strands tickling Michael’s cheeks and lips.

“I know,” Michael whispered. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“It’s more like loving you no matter what.”

Michael’s smile widened and he kissed Alex’s head again. “That, too.”

Alex shrugged a shoulder, but then turned his head enough to kiss Michael’s jaw. “Humanity sucks that way.”

***

For anyone interested, my Max x Alex Pride and Prejudice au is out now.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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specialagentsoftie · 3 years ago

Text

As Long as I Have You | s.b.

*Gif doesn’t belong to me! Credits to the owner <3 Pairing: Sylvie Brett x Fem!Reader Requested: nopee Warnings: trapped in fire, angst, death (almost) Word count: 1.7k ish A/N: a whole mess this is, hopefully it makes more sense to you than it did to me while i was writing it 😬

You're woken up by kisses on your face from your sweet girlfriend who got tired of watching you sleep.

She often got up earlier than you for her shifts and seeing you so peaceful was her favorite part of the day.

A string of incoherent sleepy talk falls from your lips as Sylvie told you she loved you and that she would see you after work.

It should have been a normal, ordinary day. Your girlfriend would go to the firehouse and you'd stay at her apartment, typing away at your computer doing your own work. It should have gone how it usually did, but it didn't.

You weren't even supposed to be at your apartment. The only reason you were was because Sylvie asked you to move in with her and you needed to grab some of your things.

Neither of you could have predicted that someone's reckless actions trying to rewire his own electrical system would almost cost you your life.

Later that day, after a surprisingly quiet first half of shift, the firehouse speakers sounded the call and everyone was routed to an electrical fire at an apartment complex.

When Sylvie heard the familiar address that came over the speakers, her face pales and she stops in her tracks. An overwhelming feeling of dread rushes through her.

“Brett? Are you ok? What’s wrong?” Violet asked, worry painting her face. It wasn't often that she saw her partner that shaken up.

“That’s Y/N’s apartment…” Sylvie stammers, as a multitude of worst case scenarios ran through her head.

“Get in the rig, I’m driving”

As ambo 61 pulled out of the firehouse, Sylvie grabbed her phone out of her jacket and clicked on your name. It was always the first on the list.

The phone rang for what seemed like ages, until a cough comes through the other side.

"Y/N?"

You couldn't say anything. The ceiling had come crashing down minutes earlier and you were trapped in your apartment. You weren't sure how long you'd been breathing in the smoke, but it stung.

"There's a fire, I can't get out." Your voice comes through muted as you held a cloth over your mouth. "I can't breathe."

The coughing attack that overtakes you was enough to send Sylvie into a panic. You must have been there for a long time already.

“Y/N, stay on the phone ok? Stay with me, we’re almost there.” Sylvie pleads to you, looking frantically out the windows of the ambulance.

She listens as your line goes quiet. The only thing she could hear was your labored breathing. As you took in more and more smoke, your vision started to go in patches. A sharp, searing pain tore through your chest and you were losing hope that they'd find you in time.

“Sylvie…” you choke out despite the burning you feel in your lungs and the tightness you feel when you breathe. “I love you…”

“No, don’t— don’t do that, Y/N." Sylvie’s voice cracks as tears fill her eyes. “You’re gonna be fine." She was trying to keep you calm but it was more like she was trying to convince herself of that because she didn’t know what she would do if she lost you.

She can hear your gasps for air and it killed her that the only thing she could do was stand there outside your burning apartment building and just hope that the firefighters got to you before it was too late.

“Syl… I’m sorry…” you whisper, the pain becoming too much to bear. You felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, the only thing bringing you back was the sound of Sylvie’s voice.

“No no no no, Y/N, you stay with me, you hear me? You’re not allowed to give up,” she sobbed. Violet puts a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from losing it all together.

“Listen to me, okay? You’re going to be fine… we’re gonna get married, and buy a nice house, and have a bunch of kids just like you wanted, so you stay strong until the firefighters get to you, ok? You are NOT allowed to leave me, not now, not ever.” Sylvie's tone was desperate and even the chief was getting emotional from hearing her words.

Matt and his team were out first, everyone else in the building was evacuated before you were. Severide found you trapped in your upper level apartment, somewhat protected from the flames, but suffocating in smoke. He grabs the phone that was laying by your hand and yells into it that they got you.

Sylvie was a mess as she waited hopelessly for Severide to bring you out of there and even though they weren't together anymore, Matt couldn't help but want to comfort her.

He knew exactly how she was feeling because he'd been there before. Years ago, it was his fiancée that was stuck in the same position you were in right now, except Hallie didn't survive that fire. He knew how worried she was for you and hoped you didn't meet the same fate.

He took off his gear and made his way to Sylvie, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"Hey, Y/N's a fighter, she's going to be fine," he reassures her as he brushed her hair out of her face. "You have to be strong for her. She'll be ok."

Sylvie nods silently as she stares at the entrance to the burning apartment building, tears streaming down her face.

As soon as she saw squad 3 carrying you out on a backboard, Sylvie tried to rush over to you but was stopped by Matt grabbing her arm and holding her back. She fought against him to no avail, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp but he was stronger than her.

Dropping her arm in defeat, she watched helplessly as Violet and the other EMTs worked on you.

A heartbreaking sob escapes her mouth when she hears them say you weren't breathing and had to be intubated. Her heart shatters when they have to start CPR on you and she feels her knees buckle beneath her, being held up only by Matt's strong arms.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

Mere seconds seemed like an eternity as the love of your life watched them do compressions on your chest and tried to resuscitate you. As if she had tunnel vision, she didn't even notice the hustle and bustle of the rescue around her, all she could see was you.

"We got a pulse!" Sylvie hears Violet call to the others, and just like that, she felt like she could breathe again.

You were alive.

Only then did Matt break his grip on her, nudging her towards the ambulance you were being loaded into and telling her to go with you.

When you wake up, the first thing you see as your eyes adjust to the bright lights of your hospital room is your girlfriend's blonde curls splayed over you. Her hand was holding yours tightly as she slept, as if you'd just disappear if she let you go.

With your free hand, you gently run through Sylvie's soft hair and she stirs. She's slow to wake, but she sits up quickly when she remembers where she was and the events of earlier that day.

"Y/N, you're awake," she breathes out, feeling a huge weight being lifted off her chest. Seeing you looking back at her as if nothing was wrong was overwhelming and Sylvie felt her eyes tearing up.

"Hi," you whispered hoarsely, bringing your hand up to stroke the face you adored more than anything.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Her voice was so quiet that you almost didn't hear her. Tears streak down her face as the emotional exhaustion takes over.

"Never. You're stuck with me forever." you murmured, but your words didn't seem to make Sylvie feel better. She needed to make sure that you were real and that you were ok.

You tug gently on her arm, encouraging her to stand, and you pull her towards you. Staring into her beautiful, sad blue eyes, you wrap a hand behind her neck and captured her lips with your own. You feel wetness on your face and you move to her cheeks, kissing away her tears.

When you break apart, your face cracks into a smile and for the first time that day, Sylvie's does as well.

When the doctor comes to check on you, letting you know you were going to make a full recovery, Sylvie was right there, standing protectively next to you making sure there was no funny business going on. She didn't leave your side even when visiting hours were over.

She would have raised hell if they made her leave without you.

You motion for her to join you on the hospital bed and despite some protests about not wanting to hurt you, she couldn't say no to your puppy dog eyes.

Carefully, as to not yank out your nasal cannula or your IV, Sylvie climbs in next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you lean into her. You intertwine your hand with hers when you're both settled comfortably against the pillow.

You feel Sylvie's lips against your forehead and you look up at her, noticing the worry carved on her face. She could never hide anything from you.

"Syl, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"Collapsed lungs and smoke inhalation isn't fine, Y/N," she sighs in frustration and you rub her thigh soothingly in an attempt to comfort her.

"Baby, even if I wasn't, I have the best EMT in Chicago looking after me and I'm head over heels in love with her."

Immediately, you see the worry disappear from Sylvie's eyes and she was melting at your words.

"I love you so much," she whispers, resting her forehead against yours.

"I know you do," you murmured, a smile breaking on your face. "Apparently you love me enough to wanna marry me."

"I wasn't sure you heard that," Sylvie mumbles, her face flushing red. You giggle at the sight, falling impossibly harder for the girl.

"Uh huh. You said we were going to get married...and buy a nice house... and have a bunch of kids just like I wanted," you tease, planting kisses on her lips between words.

"Can I let you in on a little secret though?" you ask as you tucked a blonde curl behind your girlfriend's ear. Sylvie nodded silently, still a bit embarrassed about her confession, but she meant every word.

"I don't need anything, as long as I'm with you."

Sylvie Brett Taglist

@sylvieshay

#chicago fire imagine #chicago fire x reader #sylvie brett x reader #sylvie brett imagine #sylvie brett x y/n #chicago fire oneshot #chicago fire one shot #sylvie brett one shot #sylvie brett oneshot #sylvie brett fanfiction #sylvie brett fanfic

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luimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Waking Up Next to Him

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the adventure. It’s long so it goes under the cut!

Time

The bright sunlight winked just beyond your eyelids at an blinding angle. Your back was against warm though and was surprisingly comfortable despite the growing ache in your neck. There’s a weight over your shoulder, pinning you in place but doesn’t dig in. A thrown blanket is covering your body and the secret weight, even if half of it has ended up on the forest floor. You’re too tired to think of what the weight can be. All you know is that it’s comfortable and you don’t feel like moving. A heartbeat passes and the solid form on which you lay shifts.

A groan.

More shifting.

Heat flushes your face slightly as you resign to get up, trying to play the whole cool, once you realize what, or rather who you passed out against.

“Mornin’ Time.”

Your pillow takes a minute to assess the situation.

It’s early, none of the others are up yet. Too tired from the journey the day prior, but the resident chef wakes up the earliest to cook breakfast on time. He’s asleep now but won’t be for long. You thank the stars and your luck that you woke up before him. No pictures for him to take this time.

Time grins, seemingly unbothered by the events and sighs good naturedly. “Good morning.”

Twilight

It was a cold night. They told you it would be. Both your traveling companions and the breeze as you settled with the day’s end.

But you couldn’t have guessed how cold it turned out to be.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Discomfort and shivers kept you awake. Your blankets were warm but not warm enough. At some point, in the middle of the night, you gain the warmth your tired brain was waiting for before drifting off to sleep.

When you wake, you can’t breath.

Hairs tickle your mouth and nose and there’s a large and heavy being on top of you. At first you think it’s Wind because the shape is much to large to be four but smaller than some of your other companions.

Further analysis and you realize that it’s not hair but fur, that’s threating to enter your lungs and the color of the material seems awfully familiar.

“...Wolfie, I love you but you’re killing me. Get off.” You weakly push the beast away, not coherent enough to move your limbs and piece together how to be a functioning human yet.

The creatures blinks up at you, having just woken up as well and notices your open eyes. A yawn and crushed ribbed where he stepped to get off later and your freedom has been duel earned.

You take a breath of relief and grin, only now noticing the cold with the rising sun to be a little more barrable than the previous night.

“Thanks buddy, you’re a walking heater. I probably would have been a popsicle if it hadn’t been for you.” He nods in acknowledgment and swiftly turns away before you can reach behind his ears to thank him properly.

You look up and see Wild and Time already awake, not talking. Warrior looks to just have woken like you today. Not unusual but welcoming nonetheless. Wind and Sky probably won’t wake up for another hour or two and Hyrule and Four always wake up a little after them. No one knows for sure when Legend will get up because its never consistent and Twilight seems to be missing as well.

The ranch hand emerges from the tree line seconds after you realize he was gone to begin with. He smiles at you and waves in greeting.

You wave back and try to dust the wolf hairs off of your clothes.

You missed Twilight’s subtle smirk.

Warrior

It was a hard fight and not a safe place to stay put but the dungeon left you with little option. Separated from the group and low on provisions and healing items, you and Warrior realize that your both running low on fumes. Taking refuge in a secluded corner, hopefully far away from any potential monsters and threats, you rest.

Waking up is hell.

Sleeping back to back was probably not the best idea but neither of you wanted to risk an ambush. Shifts were supposed to be taken but given that you both fell asleep says something about your energy levels and the previous fights.

Your neck hurts, your legs are sore, your butt and hips are not thanking you for the treatment and everything ache will familiar but expected battle wounds. None major but each one takes its toll.

“You up?” Warrior stands up as if he wasn’t bleeding from the shoulder yesterday and he also didn’t sleep sitting for who knows how many hours.

“I am clearly sitting Captain.” You mutter. “I am not up. I refuse to be up.”

“You know as well as I do that we have to get to the others. What if they need help?”

“I’d argue we need the help. Everything hurts. We have no fairies and there’s more dungeon ahead of us with obviously more enemies and traps and puzzles...” The puzzles... were the worst. “Just five more minutes....Please?”

Warrior says your name in a way a tired mother tries to get her stubborn child to listen to reason. His face twists at the idea and when he attempts to look over his shoulder to check your surroundings, it instead contorts in a pained grimace.

So his shoulder pain was still there after all.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

Sky

As expected, Sky goes down for the count within the first few minutes of the mandated lunch break. Unfortunately after a rumble or two and strange smoke coming from the distance that decidedly wasn’t there when you first arrived, the group decided to investigate.

Legend goes to shake Sky’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him but it’s all in vain.

Sticks are drawn after a long and loud argument about what to do and yours in the shortest.

Everyone else goes to check out the commotion and you are stuck with babysitting duty. It’s not bad all things considered- he’s asleep- no actual babysitting happening. But part of you can help but grumble about missing the action so you sit non too gently next to him and decidedly not pout.

Your stomach is full and the sun light begins to feel heavy and warm and nice.

Your eyes close before you can fight it.

Some time later, you’re shaken awake. Adrenaline fills your system instantly but upon seeing the laughing face of Sky himself, you remember yourself and only marginally resist the urge punch him.

“Feel better?” You ask instead.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He chuckles and points to his chin.

You wipe across the area and your hands comes back wet, cold and covered in drool.

“You saw nothing.”

“Oh sure, but Wind did.”

Great.

Now it’s on his pictobox. That’s blackmail material in his favor, you suppose and refuse to acknowledge it further.

Wild

When you wake up, it’s still dark. Not even close to sunrise.

The fire burns bright and warm throughout the area but it’s not the fire that’s keeping you warm.

You also find out you can’t move.

You crane your head slightly to find long hair draped over your shoulder and a familiar scarred ear belonging to the resident champion.

He wrapped around you completely, hugging you tightly and pining you down with a leg to boot.

You attempt to shimmy out but his grip tightens instead.

You sighed and watch as Twilight comes into view. He crouches closer and squats on Wild’s side, whispering to you. “Do you need help getting out? I can wake him to take over Hyrule’s shift for the night.”

You take a minute to rethink about your position. It’s not painful. The opposite actually. It feel nice. You’ve seen Wild cling to who ever he can get his hands on when he sleeps so you’re not surprise.

You don’t need to pee or leave anytime soon anyway.

“No, I think I’m good actually.” You reply, whispering as well. “Let him sleep, it’s been a day for everyone.”

Twilight nods and leaves, but not without looking back once or twice in case you changed your mind.

You shimmy back in place and allow yourself to be held by your friend.

Sleep comes easier this time.

Hyrule

Gentle fingers card through your hair. Warmth, magic and the unusual feeling of safety plague your mind. Confusion hits you but the alarm that typically follows never comes.

“Oh thank goodness, you’re awake.” A voice fills your ears. It’s muffled and must have been quiet to begin with because you can’t make out who said it yet.

Organizing your thoughts feels like traveling through knee high mud.

Your eyes blink open and the light comes through.

The Traveler is leaning over you, thankfully blocking out most of the sun from immediately assaulting you.

“Hyrule?”

“You had us worried for a minute.” He visually sags with relief, a tired smile on his face and leans back. “You took quite a hit.”

Your head feels swollen but as Hyrule continues to push your hair back it dissipates as time passes. Your thoughts clear and with his help, you sit up.

A hand places itself by your temple. It takes a half second before you realize it’s yours.

It comes back covered in dried blood.

Sky runs over after tending to Four with what looks like a bloodied wet cloth. He sits down slowly and begins to clean your head in a familiar fashion.

“Thank you. Both of you.” You tired voice comes through and a worn out smile follows soon after.

“Anytime.”

Wind

It’s nice day.

According to some people.

Dark clouds cover the sky, the sun nowhere to be seen. It pours cats and dogs and the only cover for miles is a lone cave where your group currently takes up residence. Everyone’s wet and your clothes feel heavy and cold. No one is happy.

Wild, Twilight and Legend dive deeper, intending to check out if any monsters reside in the cave.

Hyrule insisted on traveling with them but Warrior’s concussion and Time’s bleeding leg call for further attention and Legend claims to have more magic restorative potions than healing potions.

He stays behind.

Four and Sky take over the food while he’s distracted, trying to make a half decent meal before he intervenes.

Wind is groaning, sore and bored but otherwise unharmed.

You don’t make any comments at your own pain, biting your tongue and taking a deep breath. As you lean against the stone wall, Wind stomps up next to you and sits down with purpose.

“I could’ve gone with them.” He slams his fist into his cheek with his elbow on his knee.

“But you didn’t. It’s not so bad.” You said.

“They didn’t want me to go.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m just as good as them you know.”

“I know and you make a better pillow.” You says, throwing yourself sideways with your head landing on his lap. He squawks indignantly and attempts to push you off but you hold on. “Sorry, you make the best pillow.”

“NOOOO!”

“YEEEESSS!”

“Nooooo.” Wind keeps his hands on your back but you’ve misjudged your exhaustion. You’re out in seconds.

A moment passes.

“Hey, hey, hey.... wake up. You have to eat.” A small hand shakes your shoulder.

“Hm?” You blinked tiredly. There’s a bowl if front of your face and you don’t hesitate to grab it. “Thanks.”

“You’re heavy.” A voice calls from behind. The owner lets you take the bowl and begins to gently push you off into a sitting position. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“It was supposed to be a joke but thanks for letting me sleep.” You admit and smile at the pirate.

“You trapped me.” He pokes your side, trying to look annoyed but falling flat. There’s a joke in there somewhere. You’re missing something.

The others have come back while you were out of it, all either have hidden smiles or failing to hide their shaking shoulders and snickers.

Curious and a little self conscious you looks into the provided meal, your reflection greeting you as always.

A lightbulb goes off over your head.

“DID YOU DRAW ON MY FACE?!”

Four

There’s a force dragging you down but there’s two arms under you.

It’s very concerning for a moment but then....the size of them catches up to you.

Your head snaps up and comes face to face with a very surprised Four.

“Hello.”

“...Hi.”

“Lovely weather we’re having, don’t you think?””

“You’re leading with that?” Four snorts and continues walking, unbothered by your weight in his arms.

“How...?” You trail off trying to find the right words to explain what happening to you. You don’t feel any pain and nothing feels injured....but the lack of memories is a little concerning.

“How am I holding you?” Four smirks as he guesses incorrectly. “I’m stronger than I look.”

“I was going to ask how did I fall unconscious. I don’t remember anything. I’m more surprised by that than the fact that you’re holding me despite being half my size.” You blinked and try to keeping searching through your memory.

Nothing comes up.

“Wizrobe.” Four answers causally with a shrug. “It caused some chaos, fought another wizrobe and you got caught in the cross fire between the two of them before we could intervene. Their attacks canceled each other out well enough that you weren’t actually injured but uhh..... Well I suppose you’ll figure it out sooner or later.”

“Four.” You glare in warning.

“Maybe don’t look at your reflection for a while. Legend, Twilight and Hyrule all agree that it’ll fade with time but...”

“What are you talking about? What happened to me?” You sit up a little in his grip, Your arm reach over his shoulders and something wrong catches your eyes.

Your skin is green.

Your shocked silence stills your entire body. Four winces once he follows your eye line and stops to place you on your own feet.

“It could be worse?”

You stare a little while longer and look back to Four with hopeful eyes. “Think you can knock me out again?

He’s not amused.

Legend

You blissfully wake up for the first time in a week.

It’s been an easy week in terms of travel and attacks so the boys take it upon themselves to cause trouble and it hasn’t been merciful to your sleep schedule.

They are the very incarnation of that thing your hometown friend used to say. How did it go again? If there’s no trouble then I’ll create it? Something along those lines.

But this is different and you don’t plan on wasting it.

You close your eyes and attempt to go back to sleep while you can but hushed voices reached your ears, keeping you awake before you can tune them out.

“Should we wake them?”

“You know how Legend is. He can be as bad as Sky and he had a rough night to boot.”

“But he’s right on top of them and they promised to show me how to fight in hand to hand combat.”

“You have all day for that and they didn’t say it was going to be today.”

“But I‘m excited! I want to start as soon as possible.”

“Will you idiots keep it down?” A voice by your shoulder speaks up. It lacks the usual snark it posses but the intention for venom is there. “Some people took double shifts last night. Shut up.”

You breath a small sigh of relief as the voices abruptly cut off and don’t return for a long minute.

The body next to you stills.

Three heartbeats pass and the unnoticed weight gets off of you.

You pretend to be asleep still, not wanting him to push you away so early in your relationship. He’s just started to get used to you.

You’re determined to be his friend before everything ends.

He’s determined to avoid that.

It’s been a battle of wills.

An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.

But this could tip the scales in his favor if you fail to play it off correctly.

“No one say anything.” Legend hisses. “Not. One. Word.”

You make the mistake of stretching.

“You’re up! You’re up! You’re up!” Wind practically pounces on you, knocking his name sake out of your lungs and demolishing any chances for a peaceful morning. “We can start now!”

“Can I eat first at least?” You groan out, not bothering to fight him off.

“Wind. Off.” Time calls out and the boy follows the command without question. He quickly kneels by your side though, practically vibrating on the spot.

You sit up and look around.

Looks like you were the last one up.

“Morning everybody.” You smile. You glance at Legend who unluckily has the tips of his ears tinted red. His arms are crossed and he’s avoiding looking at you, even greeting you as the rest of the group return your call.

You smirk. “Good morning Legend. Did you sleep well?”

He huffs and turns away completely, taking a few steps to leave.

You get to your feet, shadowed by Wind and head to take your share of the food from Wild.

A beat passes without any words exchanged and you tilted your head innocently at the Veteran. You refuse to let it be awkward between you so you pretend you know nothing.

The blush travels down his ears to his face and neck. “I did. Thanks for asking.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #this one is a long one #but they're all going to be like this #when I started this I thought I would be biased #and it would easy to tell who were my favoites #but I was pleasantly surprised. by the end

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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years ago

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 17 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer is concerned about Reader’s growing impulsiveness, but Reader is the one who gets a call from JJ asking if she can come get her boyfriend. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader   Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)   Content Warning: Discussions of drugs, death/dying, suicide, overdose; Alcohol, addiction, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, Daddy Kink, fights, PTSD, hospital talk, drunk smut w/ blanket consent Word Count: 12.5k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

When I opened the front door, I realized that I had returned to an empty home. I wasn’t sure which was weirder; the realization that the house was empty, or the fact that I was referring to her apartment as my home. It certainly had started to feel that way.

It never stopped being a shock that I would find a home in someone so quickly and with such little self-awareness. I'd certainly never suspected that the house we’d be in would also be shared with several other people, all of whom were significantly younger than me and shared almost no similarities with me beyond our love for (y/n).

And even if it wasn’t the weirder of the two realizations, the fact that she wasn’t there was definitely the more troubling one. I tried to gather at least a little evidence before I called her; I wasn’t exactly excited about being blindsided again. Judging by the red solo cups that were scattered in the kitchen, I had an idea of how her friends had spent the night. The fact that no one was here led me to another conclusion that I desperately hoped was inaccurate.

Her phone rang four times before she picked up, which was strange in itself. When she did pick up, she sounded like I expected her to. Tired. Groggy.

“Hello?”

“Hey little girl, where are you?” I hoped she couldn’t hear the fumbling of my keys in my pocket, or any other sign of just how anxious I’d gotten in the last three minutes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Spencer, I forgot I was supposed to see you today.” She mumbled, sounding genuinely apologetic if not a little confused.

“You… forgot?” I repeated, quickly making my way over to the calendar hung on a bulletin board outside the kitchen, noting the nothingness over both the current and following week.

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away with school.”

She was lying. I couldn’t be for sure about what, but it was obvious. If she was really having that much trouble with classes, she would have told me. We’d gotten past the whole insecurity over me thinking she was stupid thing a long time ago, and she knew I would always let her learn it on her own if she didn’t want my help.

“... What are you not telling me?” I tried to make the words playful, although my hand was now nervously patting the side of my hip at an alarming rate.

“Nothing! I just got distracted. I’m... a little busy today so we should just meet up again next weekend.”

“A week?” I knew she was probably getting tired of me parroting her words, but that just seemed like a ludicrous amount of time. Usually, we went barely a day or two without seeing each other when I was in the city, cherishing the time together when I wasn't called away to attend to crimes halfway across the country.

“What’s going on?” My voice was quickly falling into that register that warned her I was about to start profiling her, whether I wanted to or not. And unfortunately, she chose the worst possible reaction to that warning, further tipping me off to the fact that something wasn't quite right.

“Spencer, stop being weird.”

But I wasn’t. I knew that I could be weird; it’s kind of my thing. If you looked up weird in the dictionary, you wouldn’t find my name, but you’d definitely find a description that perfectly characterized my personality.

“You’re the one being weird. Turn on your camera.”

“I can’t. It’s dark in here.” She shot back her answer so quickly, I knew that she had already anticipated the request.

“Then move.” I ordered more than suggested. She understandably didn’t take kindly to my reaction, but I know she also knew why I was doing it. The excuses she was giving weren’t even well thought out.

“What is this? An interrogation?” She scoffed, “Do you think I’m cheating on you with barely dissolved stitches in my intestines?”

I took a deep breath, sitting down at the kitchen table still sticky with leftover sugary liquor and turned the phone onto speaker. “Turn it on.” This time, my voice broke with the order. As much as that didn’t make it sound authoritative, it did make her feel guilty.

As the screen lit up, it all made sense in the worst possible way. She was forcing a fake smile, her other hand resting against her face in a failed attempt to draw attention away from the the mottled skin of her left eye.

“I’m not cheating on you. Happy?” The words were sharp on her tongue, an anger in her features paired well with the understanding that I wasn’t wrong to be worried. I honestly think that was what bothered her the most – that she wanted it to be nothing, for me to be overreacting, but knew that it was a little more serious that she let on.

“I’m definitely not happy. What happened?” I was already at the door by the time the sentence ended... She shut off her camera just as quickly, hearing the commotion from my side. “Where are you? I’m coming right now.”

She sighed, and I could see it clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t on my screen anymore. “I don’t want you to come here. Spencer, I’m fine.”

I might have believed her. I might have honestly given her the benefit of the doubt – let her lie to me a little, and just accept that a black eye wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Eventually, she would tell me how she got it, so I wouldn’t need to worry about it.

But it became very obvious very quickly that it was not just a black eye.

“Ms. (Y/l/n)?” A third voice announced in the background, accompanied by the distinct sound of an alarm sounding in the distance.

“... Are you in a hospital?!”

“For fucks sake. I hate dating a profiler.” She grumbled, implicitly admitting that my conclusion was right. She wouldn’t let me have another word, speedily slurring her goodbye. “I have to go, Spencer. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

—————————————————

Anyone who has spent a long time in inpatient knows that nosy nurses are both the best and worst kind of people to be assigned to your stay. They were the best because they always had the best gossip and would spend their precious little free time sharing stories about their lives that were always more entertaining than whatever poorly budgeted gameshow was on the old, staticky television.

They were the worst because one wrong move meant that you were the subject of gossip. And boy, were they good at getting it out of you.

“Trouble in paradise?” She sweetly hummed as she pushed my bed down the hall.

I wanted to tell her that there was trouble, and that it was through no fault of my own. If the other people in the hospital didn’t have the audacity to be sick at the same time that I needed a CT scan, then I wouldn’t have even still been here. I could have been back at home, where… well, I guess Spencer would have figured it out either way.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sadly admitted, playing with the string of my gown. “He’s just a worrywart.”

The woman had that glimmer in her eye, the kind that came from years of seeing the same stories over and over again. Although, I had a hard time believing she’d ever been in this exact scenario, I guess they were all kind of the same after a while, semantics aside.

“Well, that makes sense considering your current state.” It was more of a reprimand than anything else, and I audibly groaned to try and get her to stop there. She didn’t, though, having spent enough time with me to know I needed to hear it. “You were very lucky, you know. If things had been even just a little bit different…”

Couldn’t you say that about everything? If things had been even just a little bit different, I never would have met Spencer in the first place. We never would have fallen in love or fought or done any of it at all.

I didn’t like thinking about that. I didn’t like even considering a life without Spencer. No matter how much pain I’d been through, or what traumatic memories were dug up, they were worth it.

That’s what she wanted me to realize, and she had succeeded. Suddenly, as we turned into the room, I was overcome with guilt at the way I’d ended my conversation with him.

The nurse knew it, too, because as she transferred me onto the scanner, she smiled. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. If he woke up next to your hospital bed last time, I understand why he’d be scared.”

Chewing on my lips, I thought about the last time I was in a hospital. I thought about how Spencer had curled his giant lanky body onto the bed and barely slept for 2 weeks. I could see the way his eyes got more sunken by the day, but never stopped shining with relief. I could hear him chewing on ice because he didn’t want to leave to grab food until after I’d woken up, and the cold would distract him from just how hungry he was.

“He must love you an awful lot to be that worried.”

I hated when they did that; when they read my mind and said exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, I know.” I tried to smile. It was hard with the stabbing pain in my stomach and the aching in the entire left side of my face, but I managed. It was just one of those things where if I thought of Spencer, my body had to react. It was as natural as breathing.

Which, speaking of…

“Take a deep breath in.” The technician alerted me from the speaker.

The high pitched whines of the CT scanner weren’t as obnoxious as the MRI machine. I was silently grateful that they were still too scared to use the giant magnet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be stuck in a confined space, listening to loud banging that sounded too much like gun shots for my comfort.

Even just the thought made me nauseous. I felt like a baby, to have such a strong reaction to something so stupid. I’d been in an MRI before. I was a in a hospital. Nothing bad was going to happen to me, and I knew that.

But even now, in a machine that made virtually no noise and barely covered half my body, I wasn’t able to hold in a breath. Each time I tried, it felt like I was choking on Spencer’s lap again. The stinging in my stomach felt so much stronger, even though I knew it was healed.

The world felt like it was closing in on me, and every second that passed felt like days. I couldn’t even trust myself to guess how long it took for them to get images that should have taken no longer than 5 minutes.

I felt like such a burden. Like I was in their way. Like I was doing it wrong. Like I was a little kid, thinking that she knew what she was doing and could do it on her own.

I wanted Spencer.

That was the only thing I could think, and although it should have been comforting, it just left me feeling empty. The thought of him wasn’t enough to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. The hands of the nurses trying to calm me down didn’t help, either. They felt wrong. They felt cold.

I just wanted Spencer. I wanted him to be there to hold my hand and distract me from my own thoughts. I wanted him to replace them with other things, like he'd promised me. I wanted to make new memories far away from here.

But I couldn’t. I was an idiot and I’d gotten myself back in the hospital, and he wasn’t here because I told him I didn’t want him to be. Why had I told him that? There was no reason that made any sense.

Once we finally did get out of the damn radiology department, I could still only barely function. The ride back to my room was much quieter, and the nurse didn’t meddle anymore. Gossip was only fun when it didn’t hurt like this.

Again, I couldn’t trust myself to guess how long I’d been in the CT scanner, but as we crossed back into my room, an overwhelming sensation of relief washed over me when I saw his satchel in the seat beside my bed. I hated the knowledge that I’d wasted 45 minutes of the technician’s time, but I was just so fucking happy that he had actually come.

Being alone in my room wasn’t a big deal anymore, because I knew it was only temporary. So as soon as I could, I sat up and waited patiently for my favorite mop of curly brown hair to peek around the corner.

He didn’t disappoint. He rarely did.

“Hey little girl.”

All the tension melted from my muscles, my head finally resting against the pillow with a dopey smile on my face. “Spencer.” I sighed, holding my hand out to him to usher him closer.

He gladly took the invitation, taking wide steps so he could be with me sooner.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I grumbled, flicking him on the arm while I locked our hands together. “But I’m glad you are.”

It was obvious from the way he let out a deep breath that he was also relieved to see that I wasn’t angry at him for coming. However, that’s also where his relief stopped. Because he’d seen me an hour prior and knew that I hadn't been crying then. But now, on top of the black eye, he saw the red rimming my sclera.

Taking my hand into both of his, he pressed a hard kiss against the back of it. Without looking up, he muttered into the skin a sad plea.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?” I asked, pulling back on my hand so he would stop with the shameless display of romance in such an awful place.

“Whatever’s going on.” He paused, but was clearly unhappy with the open ended question, and just as quickly specified, “What happened last night?

Unfortunately, I still wasn’t in the giving mood, even when it was information, and even if the person begging me for it was the boyfriend that I’d just cried for in the CT Scanner. If anything, that almost made it worse.

I hated feeling like this. Vulnerable.

“Nothing.”

Spencer was getting fed up, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself from fighting with him. I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell him that I needed him to take care of me and ask him to hold me while I cried on his shoulder about nothing at all, but I couldn’t. He would do it in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t ask him to. I couldn’t ask him for anything.

I couldn’t need anything without feeling too horribly guilty.

“Please don’t lie to me.” He was begging again, looking up at me with those impossibly warm amber eyes. He smiled when he saw the way my lips curled at the sight of him, unable to be angry for too long.

“Am I not allowed to have any stories for myself?” I joked, reaching forward to poke his face. Instead of moving away to avoid my hand, he leaned into the touch.

“You can. I just...”

“I know. You’re worried.” I responded with an exasperated sigh, rolling my head back. I could still feel him watching me, though, with a precarious smile, happy to see my spirits relatively high while also being deeply unhappy about the circumstances.

Wanting to see that full, confident smile again, I realized I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sure that whatever he’d come up with in his head was much more sinister than what had actually happened.

“Fine. Stop looking at me like that.” I mumbled, gesturing to the childlike pout and laughing when he sucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to follow my direction. I was glad he was still in a joking mood, because I had a feeling it would disappear as soon as I started talking.

I took a deep breath, looking up and away before I began my explanation of the stupidest night.

“I went out for drinks with my friends–”

“Drinks?!”

It hadn’t even been five seconds and he’d already cut me off. I couldn’t blame him, but it was so freaking annoying. This was exactly why I hadn't told him. Well, that and the fact he could get in serious trouble.

“I didn’t have any! Geez. Chill out.” I yelled back, chuckling a little bit at the conflicting looks of terror and relief. Because while he obviously believed that I didn’t drink any myself, it gave ugly context to the nightmarish guesses his mind had concocted.

“And everything was fine. We were on our way home. But then some asshole started messing with my friend. And she was way too drunk and started crying.” I was groaning internally the whole time, thinking about all the different ways this whole situation could have been avoided. Honestly, I don’t know why she had decided to try and square up with a cat caller when she knew damn well that she would start crying the second he raised his voice.

Which, of course, he had.

“So, I told the guy to fuck off. And he did not like it.”

There was a powerful rage boiling under the surface of Spencer’s skin, which was only betrayed by his clenched jaw and the sheets scrunched under his hand. “Did they arrest him?” He said, trying to calm the trembling in his voice. He wasn’t angry at me for being a victim, even if he was probably a little annoyed that I went out without telling him.

Not like he was even in the state, anyway.

“I didn’t press charges.”

He took a deep breath, clearly about to tell me that I was stupid for not holding him accountable. That I could’ve gotten hurt and he would’ve gotten away with it. That I could’ve died if he’d hurt me the wrong way.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop. I didn’t want to go to court, and I’m fine. I didn’t even need invasive surgery again.”

Spencer was still angry but trying to settle himself down before he spoke. He could hardly even look at me, his hand leaving the bed to run through his hair and shake his keys in his pockets.

I wanted to tell him that the tension of silence was worse than if he’d just raised his voice at me, but I couldn’t even gather the energy to do that. My body and mind seemed resigned to their current state; they’d just given up.

“(Y/n)...” He started, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the use of my name. They didn’t retreat, especially not when he dragged a chair over to my bedside, sitting down and placing a gentle hand over mine again.

“Are you okay?”

It was so sincere. So pure, so unforgivably kind. My hand that had felt paralyzed seconds earlier twitched under his. “I just told you.” I shrugged, fighting the urge to pull my arm away again. I wanted him here. I wanted him to touch me.

So why did it hurt? Why did everything hurt?

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His voice broke, and I saw the way he was holding back tears with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. He was biting back so many things he didn’t want me to know.

But again, I was too tired to fight it. So instead, I said nothing.

“It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re hurting.” He continued, urging me to give him anything to work with. “How can I make it better?”

He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t I let him help?

“I’m fine. Nothing even happened to me.” My throat tried to reject the words, my brain screaming at me that they were fundamentally untrue. But my heart hurt, pounding louder in my chest to tell me that the logic was wrong. Because I was a big girl, and I shouldn’t be scared by things that already happened.

I’m safe, right? I don’t need to be scared, right?

Spencer could see the panic on my face because I couldn’t even have hid it if I'd wanted to. And my brain was telling me to not to. It told me that I needed to talk to him, to let him listen.

“That’s not true. You’ve been through a lot.” He bargained, trying to locate that little voice in my head with his offerings. He wanted to pull that small part of me out and force it to talk so that we might finally be able to start to move on.

“You go through worse every day.”

‘It’s common for patients suffering from PTSD to minimize their suffering or compare it to others. It’s a completely normal response, but I want you to try to resist belittling your own feelings. They’re yours, and no one else’s. Okay, sweetheart?’

The voice was so clear in my head, my body jerked in response. I looked around the room, looking for any sign of the man who’d told me them first. But he wasn’t here; he hadn’t been here for some time.

“Do you know how many profilers I’ve seen leave in my time at the bureau?” Spencer distracted me from the thought. He probably figured my flashbacks were more sinister than what they actually were. As upsetting as they had once been, hearing my dad’s voice in my head was usually oddly soothing.

“No.” I answered blankly, trying to pay all attention to the man who was still here.

“Four. And I’ve considered it myself.” There was a soft chuckle to hide the guilt in the admission.

I didn’t know why he felt bad for it; his job was so ridiculously difficult. On top of constantly having to rearrange his life on account of the various inextinguishable evils in the world, he had to face those evils every day and try to figure out their inner workings in order to thwart them. The only time I'd ever done that, I'd killed all three of them. Not the best track record.

“The first one, she... she reminds me a lot of you.” The soft twinkling in his eyes, much like emotional music in the movies, alerted me that a backstory was coming. Based on the extent of just how nostalgic he was coming, I guessed that whatever he was about to say was deeply important to him.

However, I was fragile enough as it was, and I didn’t need to add jealousy to my current emotional repertoire. “Is this another JJ origin story? Cause I don’t think I can handle it.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the frustrated pout that formed on my face. “No,” He said quietly, taking a pregnant pause to formulate the story. “Her name was Elle.”

The story he told was woven well, although I expected no less. He told it passionately and with absolute sincerity. He told me about the woman who was one of the first people he'd bonded with on the team. The playful relationship he described was painted so vividly in my imagination.

I wanted to meet her. But by the end of the story, it was obvious that it wasn’t an option. He didn’t say anything about it, but from the far off look I could guess that he hadn’t seen her since that last day.

“She was like a sister to me, and to see her fall apart and not be able to do anything to help her... it was one of the worst feelings in the world.”

And I understood then, why he was worried about me the way he was. He was projecting his previous experience on me, but things were different with me. At least, that’s what I told myself. Realistically I should have been reminding myself that she'd had the training and resources to overcome her obstacles, whereas I was basically still a stupid kid. The prospect of facing the reality was too difficult though; I just shrugged it off.

“Well, I already killed the people who did this to me.” I chuckled.

Spencer did not appreciate my humor. There was an even stronger concern that flashed over his features, worried by my flippancy over the death of three human beings.

Fuck, I should feel worse about it than I do, shouldn’t I? But if I thought about it, then it hurt so badly. If I had to pick one, I would pick apathy every time. I would choose the emptiness before the ocean of remorse.

“I’m not worried about them.”

I had drifted away from him again, and the sentence forced me to look at him.

��I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.’

I’d said that before. Those were my words.

I pulled my hand back from Spencer, rubbing my forehead with both hands before wincing at the sharp pain around my eye socket. It took me a minute to focus on the sentence and dive deeper into its implications. But once I remembered why it instilled such a visceral reaction, I nearly gagged on the words.

“Wait, you think I’m going to kill myself?”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly responded in the most defensive manner possible. If that was his attempt to calm me down, it did not work. It only pissed me off even more.

Because there was only one reason why he would think I was going to kill myself. I hadn’t given him any reason to believe that was a risk. Yeah, sure, I was being reckless and impulsive, but I was a teenager!

“Why would you think that?” I demanded an answer, and he was immediately hesitant to provide one. It was all the evidence I needed to reach my conclusion. “Don’t lie to me, Spencer Reid. You asked Hotch, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair now that it was obvious, I wasn’t going to want him to touch me. “Yeah, I did.”

“You told me you wouldn’t, Spencer! You promised!” I ground the words out between my teeth, hoping he understood just how much I was holding back my volume.

He looked over at the screen monitoring my heart, noting the way the spikes appeared at an exponentially faster rate. “I know.” He whispered with an evident guilt.

“What did he tell you?” I hated the way my voice shrank with my shoulders, my body insisting that I assume to the smallest position I could. Because as much as I hated that Spencer had asked when he told me he wouldn’t, I was desperate for the information.

I’d always wanted to see the files, to hear the story as they knew it. I wanted to know what happened, and this was probably the closest I’d ever come to that, unless that whole Ouija board thing is real.

“Probably the same stuff that you already know.” He knew he was disappointing me. He shouldn’t have felt as bad about that as he did, but I’d take the implicit apology for what it was.

“Tell me anyway.”

Spencer should have been delighted to have the opportunity to talk at me for such a long time, but I also understood why he wasn’t. They weren’t the best topics of conversation, your ex-best friend and your girlfriend’s dead father. But he was a trooper and a skilled conversationalist, despite people not being able to understand that.

“He told me that there were several missions your father was a part of that ended controversially. That… he reported several violations that were never followed through on.”

The words so easily unlocked memories I had tightly and resolutely locked away, it was unsettling. I could hear my parents arguing about the philosophy of blame and responsibility. My dad always arguing that he couldn’t stand aside and let innocent people get hurt. My mom reminding him that he couldn’t save everyone.

‘We also get to see a lot of good.’ Spencer had said on our first not-a-date.

‘Yeah, but which do you see more of?’ I’d asked, and he’d avoided the question. I remembered seeing the question dance across his vision before he shut it out. He'd wondered why I was so confident in my conclusions.

“And the last mission…”

He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“I saw the report.”

My breath was knocked from my lungs by an invisible fist to my damaged gut. I swallowed, trying to regulate my heart that was at risk of setting off the damn machine next to me. “What did it say?” I whispered, clutching onto the sheets and my gown, hoping it would be enough to keep me grounded.

“Killed in action.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” I barked, my brows furrowing regardless of just how badly it hurt to contort my face so badly. “He didn’t– H-He wasn’t–“

“I know.” Spencer responded, a note of pity in his voice that made my face twitch in annoyance.

I turned to him with the same snarl, years of repressed anger resurfacing and wreaking even more havoc on my already destroyed life. “Do you? Do you know?”

“I mean, I can’t ever know for sure but… You weren’t the only one who felt that he...” He couldn’t say the word suicide, and for once, I was grateful. “It seems like all of his team had the same concerns.”

He was trying so hard to calm me down, to placate my fears and rage. He was sympathizing the best he could, but the truth was he would never be able to understand just how fucked up it was. He hadn't been there when it was happening, so the only thing he could do was try to slap a band-aid on a well-settled scar and hope that my not being able to see it made it hurt less.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered the two words cautiously, his heartbreak clear in his eyes. He had nothing to apologize for, but there he was, doing it anyway.

“For what?”

“That you’ll never have your answer.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but his answer took me by surprise. Of all the explanations I’d heard after an unnecessary platitudinous apology, I’d never heard that. And even worse, I’d never heard it in such a broken way, sounding for all the world like he believed he'd failed tremendously.

“I’m sorry that... that I couldn’t find it for you.”

I couldn’t stand the sight, and my hand found his cheek like it did so often, returning home to find that it was just a bit more stubbly than I remembered it. “It’s not your job, Spencer. We’re not one of your cases.” I assured him, running my thumb over the rough skin and remembering that he’d only just gotten home from exactly that: a case.

He did so much for me every day, but in the past few months he’d had to do so much more. And as much as I tried not to, I took him for granted so often. It was never as obvious to me as it was in that moment, when a tear slid down his cheek at the tenderness of my touch. He always expected anger and pain. I didn’t want him to feel that way with me.

“But thank you for trying. I appreciate you.” I tried to throw my soul into the words as they formed on my tongue, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too.” He sighed into the small embrace, leaning his weight more heavily into my hand. Still holding back, he grimaced at the words he shared. “If I’m going to be honest, I looked something else up myself. Not on any FBI database just... old school research”

I wanted to act surprised, but it was the least shocking thing I’d heard in a while. So instead I just stared at him, with the closest I could come to boredom while still being interested in what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’d you find?” Finally settling into the inevitable resignation, I moved my hand up the side of his face to tangle in his hair. It was so soft despite not having been washed for a few days. I could tell he hadn’t slept much. I wondered why he'd bothered digging into my past in the precious little free time he had.

But then he said it, reminding me of the pain of the cemetery and the events that both preceded and followed it.

“Trent Loughton.”

My fingers stopped in their exploration of his curls for a second, but eventually continued. “I see.” I hummed, trying not to push the conversation any further than he wanted to take it. As emotional as the topic was for me, it must have been harder for him. After all, he was the one who shared the nasty habit with Trent.

“I-I saw how he died... and I think I can fill in the rest myself.”

“Mrs. Loughton did give a lot of clues.” I laughed, mostly to stop myself from crying. That woman didn’t deserve any more of my tears. It was because of her that I’d spent years trying to convince myself that Trent’s death wasn’t my fault. Deep down, a part of me still believed her.

But honestly, it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered to me. It was Spencer’s. If he thought I was a failure, or that it was my fault for what happened, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to move past it. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to move past it.

“The drugs he overdosed on... they weren’t yours.”

Relief washed over me, but my mind told me not to get too comfortable, yet. “No, they weren’t.” My body had such a strange reaction to the words being said without an argument. I didn’t need to convince Spencer; he already knew. He not only believed me – he had come to the conclusion himself.

“So why did you say they were?”

It was such an easy answer, I knew he had to know it already. His hesitance to come to conclusions on my behalf, while appreciated, wasn’t necessary in this situation. “Pretty little girl with no record and a batshit war hero dad stood a better chance in the criminal justice system. I didn’t ask my dad to protect me, but he did.”

Spencer clearly sympathized with my father more so than me in that moment, which made my heart flutter in a remarkably inappropriate manner. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that those damn psychologists were right – We really do sometimes pick men that remind us of our fathers.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Spencer said under his breath, and I wondered which one he was even talking about. It honestly could have applied to my whole life. He would have meant it each time, too. Because to him I couldn’t do anything wrong. I tried to take solace in that, but it honestly caused another voice to creep into the back of my mind.

I’d never be as good as he saw me. I’d never be worthy of his love.

Shoving those anxieties away again, I nodded in solemn recognition of the years I spent working to come to that same conclusion. “I know. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

My hand finally fell away from his face, although he grabbed my wrist to stop it from going too far. There was another hesitancy in his body language. His face turned down and his leg bouncing so gently I almost missed it.

“Is he the one you were talking about? The one you loved?”

Ah, nothing like a subtle hint of jealousy to boost a girl’s ego. I chuckled at the sound, swaying a bit in place to let him suffer a millisecond longer. “No. Not exactly.”

But then I genuinely couldn’t figure out how to say it. How could I describe what we had shared, when I'd spent so long trying to forget it? Had I loved him? Probably. No, I'd definitely loved him, just not in the way Spencer was thinking. Not like I loved Spencer.

“It was like, he always liked me, and I always thought we’d end up together because that’s how it happens in the movies, right? I was supposed to fall in love with him.” I ranted, trying to move my hands that were currently wrapped up in Spencer’s. “But I didn’t, and then he was gone and...”

We both stopped, his eyes trailing after me with questions he didn’t voice yet. He wanted me to finish before he decided whether or not they were worth it. I wanted to explain to him that they weren’t. As important as Trent was to me, he was gone.

“It’s fine. I’m sure he would be glad I found someone who makes me happy.” I was confident in that, at least. Because as I stared into those big hazel eyes, forcing themselves to stay open just to listen to me talk about my life, I was glad, too. “Even if that someone snoops too much for his own good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There were many reasons, most of which I didn’t want to go into. But the way he was looking at me shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I knew that if I lied to him now, it would only make it harder to put those parts back together.

He just wanted to help. I knew I should let him help.

“I didn’t want to think about it.” I admitted for the first time out loud. “I didn’t want to consider all the similarities. I didn’t want you to think I was just looking for a man to replace the ones I’ve lost.”

I couldn’t tell when I started to cry, but it was even more exhausting and painful than normal. Which is why I didn’t hesitate to accept Spencer’s offer when he stood up, wrapping his arms around me just tightly enough that it wouldn’t hurt.

“I didn’t want to lose you, too.” I whined, the comforting scent of his cologne filling my lungs and reminding me of all the beautiful moments we’d shared so far. We had so many more to go.

“You won’t lose me. I’m here to stay.” He said, reading my mind like he always did.

“I know.” I started to laugh, but this time it wasn’t held back by secrets. “You’d think a girl could lose you by getting in a bar fight an hour away and going to an unnamed hospital but nooo...”

He laughed too, although his was much more reserved. Spoilsport.

Spencer’s arms tightened around me briefly, holding me closer to him before he backed away, his hands finding home on my cheeks. I anticipated a kiss, which was usually what happened when he held me like that. But he didn’t kiss me, instead giving me a gentle instruction.

“(Y/n), look at me.”

My eyes, bruised and dry, still opened at his command.

“No jokes. No lies.” He asked, clearly enunciating each word. “Should I be worried about you?”

All I could hear was the sound of my heart and the humming of the machines. I was brought back to the CT scanner, the way it felt to be choking on air. Flashes of other men I loved were racing through my mind. I couldn’t save them, I remembered, before my eyes landed back on Spencer.

My stomach twisted at the memory of a wooden box, a check, and suddenly all I smelled was the pine of the forest.

“(Y/n)?” He asked again, although I saw he’d already received half of the answer.

“No. I’m fine.”

The most terrifying part about it was that I believed what I said, but the look on Spencer’s face told me that I was lying. And I believed that, too.

—————————————————

The thing about coming back from a gunshot wound to the stomach is that it takes a ridiculously annoying amount of time. Like, yeah, the pain is something awful, but the wait for things to return to normal was even worse.

I didn’t even know how long it’d been, my brain blocking out anything that reminded me of that day. If I ever really needed to know, Spencer could tell me. I was basically only keeping track of the days by deadlines for school and the dwindling prescriptions I had left.

My follow-up appointment was next week, and it couldn’t come soon enough. Spencer told me he would come with me, but I hadn’t really heard from him in a couple of days. He didn’t even have time to tell me about the case, although I could tell it was one of the “bad” ones – not that there were really any “good” ones.

But still, it was almost 11pm and I was about to go to sleep, but I wanted to wait a little bit longer before I called it a night. I was just hoping that I’d be able to talk to him, even if it was just to say goodnight. I missed his voice like crazy.

So when my phone lit up, I didn’t even look at the caller ID. There weren’t many people who would call me this late on a Friday – my friends were all already out for the night.

“Hello?” I sang into the receiver, already excitedly spinning around in my chair.

But the voice that responded was decidedly not Spencer.

“Hey, (y/n), right? It’s JJ.”

Her voice rang like a record scratch through my head, and I halted in my chair. “Oh, hey JJ... Why are you calling me?” Suddenly, my enthusiasm morphed into an overwhelming anxiety and darkness that threatened to crush everything in its path. “I-Is everything alright?”

But then I heard it. The sound of terrible music, loud laughter, and the general bustle of a restaurant. It was followed by an even more nervous JJ, “Uhh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was calling because Spencer might have had a few too many drinks and—“

Above the chaotic noise that I just described, I heard Spencer Reid loud and clear. Well, maybe not the clear part. His inaudible slurring sounded vaguely like a rant I’d heard before. Then again, hadn't I heard them all at this point? ?

I hadn’t put it together yet, though, and once I did, I couldn’t help but laugh. “My boyfriend is drunk? Cute.”

I was already standing, gathering my things and tossing my jacket on to head out when I asked, “Do you want me to come get him?”

“Please.” I’d never heard a more relieved woman in my life. The very thought of him driving his best friends insane with his drunken lessons was enough to combat my exhaustion. The poor thing was probably humiliating himself one sip at a time.

But for every chuckle, I was really just hiding a deeper concern. Spencer wasn’t supposed to be drinking. Spencer wasn’t allowed to drink, and he knew that. Out of the two of us, he was the one who put himself at risk more often, and I had a goddamn bullet wound.

“Sure thing. Just send me the address.”

It dawned on me somewhere along the 20 minute drive that Spencer had not only finished his case, but also come home and gone out for a drink with his team. Normally that wouldn’t bother me, but the fact that he hadn’t told me about any of it...?

I tried not to think about it, knowing that talking to him about it tonight would be a waste of time, anyway. From the way he'd sounded over the phone, he wouldn’t be in any state to talk about the deep nuances of addiction and our relationship.

So I pushed it away, trying to enjoy the fact that I’d be able to see him again. Now that we’d cleared the air about my past, things felt strangely calm. I told myself it wasn’t just the eye of the storm because I wasn't sure I could handle much more excitement lately.

Showing up at one of the bars I used to frequent didn’t do much to convince me otherwise, either. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol hit me like a freight train as soon as I stepped out of my car. How did I do this every other night before?

As I approached the door, I didn’t even recognize the bouncer’s figure in the shade of the dim porch light. I recognized his voice, though, that’s for sure.

“Hey Jailbait, haven’t seen you around.”

Shit. Slower now, I hesitantly approached him with the most innocent and well-meaning look I could muster, knowing full well that another part of my life was going to be exposed tonight. At least this time, Spencer was the story and not the listener.

“Hey Tom...” I nervously laughed, drawing out the words while I came to a stop.

“Heard some pretty crazy shit went down to keep you off the scene. Must be bad if it keeps you away from me.”

It was weird to think that they talked about me. But I guess it was to be expected; we were all friends before Spencer Reid. And when someone in those friend groups goes missing suddenly, there’s usually reason to be worried. But in my situation, the worry wasn’t really necessary (aside from the whole being shot thing, I guess).

“Crazy is a good word for it.”

He leaned forward, beckoning for me to move in even closer with a wave of his hand. I complied, although I was a little confused as to why we were being so secretive.

“Hey, sorry, but... I can’t let you in tonight. You know I normally would, but the place is swarming with feds tonight.”

Then I remembered that I actually had to explain the reason for my absence, rather than just think about it in the abstract. “Oh no, I know.” I peered around him, trying to spot the man past the door. It wasn’t hard, considering how goddamn tall he was.

I pointed to him, causing Tom to turn with an amused grin before I explained, “I’m here for the drunk noodle man.”

The look on his face – hilarious, and a little insulting.

“What? Jailbait’s picking up a fed? Damn girl what’ve you been into?” He laughed, barely able to control himself. He laughed so hard, in fact, I’m surprised there weren’t tears in his eyes.

“Stop that.” I whined, but he didn’t listen.

“Does he know who he’s dating?”

The question hurt more than he could have anticipated. I didn’t want to confront those messy feelings, so I bundled them all into an annoyed exclamation. “Yes, he knows!” I huffed, crossing my arms and turning away from him as I stepped towards the door. “So can I go get him?”

He composed himself rather quickly after that, shaking his head and unhooking the rope that blocked off the door. “Please do. If I have to hear one more fact about Ancient Rome, I might quit.”

With the last obstacle gone, I happily skipped through the door, the excitement returning in a bubbling wave through my chest. “Thanks, Tom!” I chirped, barely giving him a glance as I raced through the door.

The only person more surprised to see me than Tom was Spencer. Although, to his credit, I did practically launch myself at his side. We both nearly toppled to the ground thanks to our lack of coordination, but we were luckily stopped by the bar he was leaning against.

“Boo!” I shouted in his ear, hearing a small, surprised gasp from my boyfriend.

“(Y/n)?” He turned towards me now, stars quickly forming in his eyes as a big, goofy smile spread across his face. It took him a minute, but eventually he recognized me in the dim light.

“Hey old man.”

Hugging me back just a little too tightly, he began to gush, “Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?” Of course, before I could answer, he came to several other conclusions. “Wait! This is a bar. You can’t be here! You aren’t twenty one!”

He thought he was whispering, but he definitely, definitely was not.

“I’m here to pick you up, not party.” I actually whispered back, turning to see JJ practically hiding at the table. I’m guessing he hasn't wanted her to call me, although I was pretty sure he wouldn’t care at this point. He seemed pretty happy I was there.

“You can’t pick me up. You’re hurt.”

I didn’t even know where to start with that, so I just chuckled. “Smart as a whip, Dr. Reid.”

I ran my hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkled dress shirt he'd either had no time to iron, or had worn to bed the night before. I didn’t like either of those options. Spencer must have noticed me analyzing the fact, because his hand came up to stop me.

Trying to quickly change the subject, I blurted out over the terrible music, “Even when I’m hurt, I can probably still pick you up. You probably weigh the same as me.”

He scoffed, looking down at his lanky body compared to mine before shaking his head. “That’s hurtful, (y/n).” He attempted a puppy dog face, which only made laughter burst from my pursed lips.

Grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling him away from the bar, I turned and waved to the few team members I could spot among the crowd before returning to my drunken idiot of a boyfriend. “Come on, love. It’s time to take you home with me.”

When the cool autumn air hit him, I felt the goosebumps ripple over his arm. He leaned a bit closer, resting too much of his body weight on me for my comfort, but I wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“How did you find me?” He mumbled, trying to touch me more than he currently was. Pushing him away from me was supposed to serve as a gentle reminder that we were in public, but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“JJ called me.”

“They all like you a lot. So do I.” His fast responses were a little less impressive considering how spontaneous they seemed, but I let it slide. As long as he was saying nice things, it was fine by me.

Guiding him as gently as possible, which is to say not gently at all considering he was essentially a human giraffe, I sighed. “I’m glad to hear it, Spencer. Maybe I can actually hang out with them one of these days.”

The guilt appeared before I could stop it, but it was the least of my worries at the moment. More concerning would be getting him into his house and in bed without either of us doing something stupid. After all, he was usually the one who stopped me from being stupid. And so far tonight, he’d already done something pretty damn stupid.

As I pulled the driver side door closed, a silence filled the car. Spencer was stuck between staring at me with a lovesick smile and looking away, probably because of his pink cheeks making him look a perfect combination of embarrassed and plastered.

“So what had you drinking, Spencer?”

“A case.” He shot back with that voice he usually reserved for the bedroom. It was the voice that told me not to press, to take his answer and let it die.

Unfortunately, I couldn't really do that this time, concerning this particular topic. . “Good thing or bad thing drinking?” I asked quietly.

I think he wanted to snap at me, to tell me that it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t. The way my hands and words trembled told him that I was just as scared as he was that the answer might be the wrong one.

“I don’t know,” was what he said, instead.

“Okay.” I accepted that answer, understanding that it meant we could talk about it later, when his blood went back to normal and his mind was where it should be. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

And there we were, me sitting and staring at the indicators on the car as the engine turned, and him staring at me in the little light provided. After staring back at him for a moment, I had to ask the glaringly obvious question.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

That’s when Spencer Reid let out an honest to god giggle, his hands reaching out to massage my face that no longer showed any signs of the black eye I'd received a few weeks prior. “You’re sooo pretty.” He drawled, slumping over in his seat so he could rest his face against my shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh back, petting his hair for a second before returning my attention to the wheel. “Oooh, I like this.” I whispered, letting my heart skip a few beats as he nuzzled into the warmth that only I could provide him.

“I love you.” He mumbled against my shirt, letting out a deep breath before apparently trying to fill his lungs with the smell of my laundry detergent.

The sensation of his breath hot against my neck caused a familiar desire to stir in me, just barely beaten out by the even more powerful adoration I had for the puppy-like man who was already practically asleep on my shoulder.

“I love you, too, darling.”

He didn’t hear me, his soft breath indicating that he would be out for the drive. Taking my time to avoid the roads with potholes and curves, I managed to keep Spencer on me the whole way back to his apartment. Once we were there, though, I didn’t have any option but to wake him up. Unlike him, I definitely could not carry him out of the car.

It took him a surprisingly long period of time to realize that we were not, in fact, at my place. As soon as he did notice, he rubbed his eyes like it would transform the door in front of him. “Why didn’t you take me home?”

“This is your apartment, babe.” I explained, digging through his pockets to find his keys. He jumped at the contact before letting out a sound that was way too close to a moan for him to be making in the hallway.

“Yeah that’s not home.” He answered, swallowing down other noises that threatened to erupt by the time I withdrew my hand. “But home is–“ He hiccuped, patting his finger on my nose as he tried to stabilize his feet. “Home is where you are.”

“Mmm, so smooth.” I hummed, unlocking the door and shoving his drunk ass into the apartment before he could do something else that made me question whether I should just turn around and go home.

But he just looked so proud of himself, spinning around on his feet and crashing into the table beside the door. “Thank you!” He chirped, reaching forward to grab my hand and pull me closer.

When our bodies pressed together, the first thing I noticed was the fact he was clearly much more excited to be home with me than he was letting on. The thin fabric of his slacks left little to the imagination, and when my hand slid over the tent in his pants, there was nothing left to wonder.

“I brought you here... because I didn’t want to have to be quiet.” I purred, palming his erection over his clothes.

Through his broken moans, he still managed to ask the silliest question: “Why are you going to be loud?”

He was so fucking cute; so remarkably innocent in his drunken stupor, it was hard to remember that he was the same man that once finger fucked me on the metro.

“Why do you think?” I asked just as sweetly, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

Spencer still just stared, mesmerized by the way the buttons slipped from the fabric between my fingers. Once they were all open, I ran my hands over his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck.

He was the one to close the gap, coming down to deliver a feverish kiss against my lips. He tasted like honey and whiskey, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in him. His hands were on my lower back, sneaking under my shirt and spreading goosebumps all over my skin.

I moaned into his mouth with the utmost desperation, murmuring words against his lips. “Take me to bed, Spencer,” I begged.

The words awoke something in him, and suddenly, his hands were off of me and raised in the air.

“Wait— I can’t.” He concluded, drawing in heavy breaths.

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure which part of this situation did him in, although I had my suspicions. As much as I wanted him, I would suppress those urges if he was really, truly uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for a second, but then he spoke again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

With a few slow blinks, I tried to figure out how the hell I was supposed to return a serious answer. Deciding that was impossible, I deadpan replied, “I am your girlfriend, you absolute idiot.”

I took his stunned silence to be permission enough to start leading him into his room. He honestly looked like I’d just told him all the answers to the universe, and he trailed after me like my hand was a leash. Still, once I sat on the bed and pulled his body against mine, he paused again.

“My girlfriend can’t— she’s hurt. She can’t have sex with me.”

I got the impression he was trying to reason with himself more so than with me, which explained the third person. But it was deeply unsettling, because I really needed to know he was here in this moment with me.

“Stop saying 'she'. It’s me, babe.” I gently reminded, and I watched it dawn on him again, his eyes lighting up in the darkness. Sliding my hand up his arm, I pulled him forward to hopefully convince him to climb into the bed with me. “And we don’t have to have sex.”

Funny enough, Spencer was the one who had enough sense to strip off most of his clothes before he stumbled onto the mattress after me. His lack of coordination was even worse with the alcohol, and it reminded me of the virginal teenager I’m certain he once was.

It was strange to consider, that if we’d met each other under different circumstances, at a different time, our roles might have been somewhat reversed. To picture him as an innocent little thing was... kind of exciting.

But he was anything but innocent now, his face hanging over mine while he helped me disrobe, trying to focus his analytical abilities on me in his haze. Finding no pain or hesitancy, he crashed his lips over mine with an energy I hadn’t seen in some time.

And it was so invigorating, to feel his skin against mine without him having to constantly worry about whether or not he was hurting me. It’d been far too long since we shared a bed together like this, and now that it was happening, I could hardly breathe.

“God, I love her.” He whispered against my skin, before quickly correcting himself, “I love you.”

I laughed, the kind that sputters from your lips when you try to hold it back. Pushing the hair from his face, I ran my fingers over his scalp. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m stupid.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, diving back down to kiss me again. I wasn’t going to argue with the brilliant Spencer Reid, even if the point he was making was that he was, in fact, stupid.

Maybe it was stupid, the two of us tangling up in his sheets despite the fact that I hadn’t been cleared for it yet by my doctor. I knew that it was coming soon – probably at my appointment in a couple weeks, actually – so why wait? I knew that Spencer would never hurt me. Even now, his hands were gentle in their insistence, raking over my hip and stopping just short of the place where I really wanted him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned, his hips rocking forward and pressing his erection against my leg.

“Touch me.” I ordered, louder and more forcefully than I intended. I was expecting an argument, but I didn’t get one. In fact, Spencer’s finger had already breached my folds before I even finished talking. Unwilling to let him be the only one to enjoy himself, I reached down to grab his cock.

“Shit.” He hissed, biting down on his lip while he rutted against my hand. “I just want to hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” The restraint was obvious in the fingers slowly sinking into me, his jaw clenched and his eyes barely able to stay open. “But I can’t.”

Through my heavy breaths, I panted out another request. “Tell me more about it.”

He immediately realized why I’d asked, and his fingers began to pump in and out of me faster and with more force, his lips trailing kisses over to my ear. While I tried to keep up the pace of my strokes, it became more complicated when his breath fanned over my ear.

“It’s been so long since I bent you over and had my way with you like I did that morning over your kitchen counter...” He moaned, and I could almost feel the sensations as he remembered them. Although his fingers would never be the same, just having him inside me in any capacity felt like pure bliss.

But he wasn’t done, continuing to speak his thoughts into my ear. “I just want to—fuck, I want to fill you up.” I went to respond, but I choked on a sob, instead. The lewd sounds between us only aided his descriptions.

“God, I love the way you feel. You’re always so wet for me.” He whispered, beginning to make small thrusts with his hips. The movement essentially allowed him to use my hand to stroke himself, and he let out another unsteady moan at the contact. “Think about what it feels like, little girl.”

“I-I am.” I could barely make the words come out; my body too sensitive to his touch after being starved of it for so long. And Spencer was ready to take full advantage of that.

“I still have so much planned for you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little stunt you pulled when you got all riled up.” He growled, using his free hand to grab a fistful of my hair. He yanked my head further to the side, laying sloppy kisses along my jaw. “I told you I’d give you triple the marks you left on me, and I can’t wait to cover you with me.”

“Fuck. Please, Spencer.” I hoarsely begged, my hand on his shoulder tightening so that my nails dug into his skin. If his grip on my hair wasn’t so tight, I would have thrown my head back. Instead, I just squirmed underneath him, crying out, “I’m so close, Spencer, please!”

He did not disappoint, his fingers curling inside of me with each thrust, and by some grace of God, he was able to coordinate his thumb over my clit. As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled back to look me in the eyes.

“I want to feel you come on my fingers.” It was more of a demand than a desire, as evidenced by the way his hand tugged on my hair. “Come on, little girl. Make daddy proud.”

Just like that, my body responded to his call, my muscles trembling from the tension as my orgasm hit me like a fucking freight train. It was such an overwhelming experience, to remember exactly how Spencer was capable of making me feel.

And he knew it, too. “Oh, good girl,” he cooed, continuing his kisses against my neck and murmuring the words as they came to him. “That’s my pretty little slut.”

After taking my time coming back to earth, I struggled from the overstimulation still burning between my legs. Spencer hadn’t stopped his fingers, which were diligently stroking inside of me while he continued to buck his hips against my hand.

“I want you to finish inside me.” I slurred in my delirium, withdrawing my hand from his dick while he whimpered.

“I-I can’t. I can’t fuck you.” He was asserting a necessary and understandable hard limit, and it was clear I wouldn’t be able to convince him to fuck me that night.

But that wasn’t the plan, anyway.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I said between gasps, struggling against his fingers still inside me. “Come up here.” I whined, rubbing my hands on his shoulders while simultaneously trying to sit myself up.

The movement and the words made him withdraw completely. “(Y/n)...” He warned, running a hand through his hair while he sat up on his knees. “I could hurt you.”

“That’s always been a risk with us, Spencer.” My retort was both quick and persuasive, judging by the way he almost moved, but stopped himself yet again.

“Please. Please, do it. I want you to do it so fucking bad.” There was an obvious and deep desperation. I was literally begging him, to the point that I swore I almost cried. It felt stupid, but I needed him like I’d never needed anything in my life before. He’d spent months taking care of me, and I couldn’t do anything in return.

I just wanted to make him feel good, to give him something like we used to share.

Of course, I think those thoughts were also visible on my face, and they were obviously worrying him. With tender touches, Spencer’s fingers lightly trailed over the side of my face. The brief flashes of clarity alerted him of my struggle, and he let out a shaky breath at the war inside his own mind.

“I want to feel you inside me, and this is the only way.” I concluded, trying to lead him to the simplest conclusion. It was the safest, easiest way to solve both of our current problems. And although I could see how hard the decision was for him, my pleading eventually bested him.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, leaning forward to grab the headboard, staring down at me as I shimmied further up the wood.

“Fuck!” He repeated, rolling his head back with a light groan when both of my hands reached forward to grab his hips. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

A giggle bubbled through my throat, and my body actually bounced in excitement as he slowly positioned himself in front of me. I wasn’t even sure which I was more excited for, my own orgasm or getting to finally give him one again.

As soon as my mouth closed around the head of his dick, I got my answer. Spencer’s moan filled the room, his hands holding so firmly on the headboard that the entire bed creaked. Although I figured he’d been taking care of himself in my absence, it appeared that wasn’t entirely the case. He seemed just as starved as I was.

“Holy shit.” He groaned, dropping a hand to the top of my head. I had to remind myself that he was drunk, which explained why he seemed so much more responsive than normal, with whimpers and pants flowing steadily through his mouth. He only got louder as he began to slowly push himself further into my mouth, stopping every few inches to retreat before pressing further.

“God, I need to do this more often. No back talk, no whining.” He said in a low tone under his breath, beginning to settle on a steady rhythm.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t think of anything except how fucking good it felt to be useful again, to feel him struggling to hold himself back as he started to more aggressively fuck my mouth. My eyes could barely stay open, but I needed them to. I needed to see him in the dim light of the streetlights that peered through the window.

He looked so beautiful, so perfect, and so mine. Feeling him slide back and forth against my tongue revived memories from long before and reignited my longstanding desire to do anything to please him. In all his caretaking, I was worried he might have forgotten how to control me.

But he hadn't. Thank god, he hadn’t.

“Come on, little girl. Earn your fill.” He whispered, burying himself in my throat and holding me against the headboard. I only lightly choked on the intrusion before my body complied, swallowing him further until my lips were pressed against the base of him.

Suddenly, Spencer withdrew, beginning a brutal, dizzying pace. Now, my eyes couldn’t stay open, rolling to the back of my head as I used my hands to steady myself against his thighs. The sobs trying to escape felt more like moans, and they shoved Spencer over the edge he’d been riding in his caution.

“That’s it. Take it.” He barked the instruction, looking down at me and smiling, “Don’t you dare spill any of it, do you hear me?”

My answer was stifled against him, just the way he wanted it to be. And with a few more rough thrusts, Spencer buried himself as deep as possible. I swore my heart synchronized with the pulsing against my tongue as his seed spilled down my throat.

I hollowed my cheeks, trying to drain every last drop from him as he finished. It had its desired effect, and Spencer grabbed my hair and forced himself deeper one more time with a growl. “Good girl.”

Once he had enough, he pulled out of me with a satisfied grunt, waiting just a second before clumsily falling onto the bed beside me. I laughed as he hit the pillows, obviously too tired to even reposition himself in the disastrous sheets.

“Thank you, daddy.” I spoke in the silence, gingerly cleaning the spit that had dripped down my chin.

“Fuck.” The curse was muffled in the pillow, but I understood it well enough. He seemed more concerned when I started to sink down into the sheets again, reaching a tentative hand out to him.

Finally rolling over, he grabbed my arm and guided me closer. “Come here.” He said with the tenderness I’d grown used to over the past few months. He turned towards me, apparently not ready for me to sleep on my side just yet.

He brushed my hair from my face, lifting the sheets to look at the now mostly healed wound. I hated it when he looked at it. It just reminded me that I’d never be the same girl he first met. Every time he saw it, he would remember that day. I didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

But even with the insecurity and anger in my gut, I wasn’t lying when I answered. “No, I’m fine.” My heart was so full, my body relaxing for the first time in so long. I was just so unbelievably happy to be together again. Even if it wasn’t like last time, it was still just as wonderful.

“I’m a little better than fine, actually.” I admitted with a bright smile.

Spencer hummed something in thought, but then winced. “Do me a favor.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping a heavy hand over his face.

“Anything.”

“Kick my ass in the morning.”

He was caught off guard by my response, which was a full-hearted laugh that was too loud for how close the two of were. But I couldn’t help it, it was just so Spencer to still be punishing himself despite the fact that nothing bad had happened.

Once I calmed down enough to talk, I turned to him with a devilish grin. “I don’t wanna.”

Then were both laughing, and Spencer pulled me close to him until he could rest his chin on the top of my head, curling up against my side. “Spoiled brat.” He whined, running his hand through my hair and down my arm.

When I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the guilt hit me just as hard as any of the pleasure. I'd been so excited to get to experience this with him again, I almost forgot the reason he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

He just didn’t want to hurt me. He just wanted to make me happy.

“I just wanted to be with you again... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I whispered, pulling the covers up so that I could hide my shame beneath them.

“I wanted to be with you, too.” He reassured me, half asleep and barely able to talk but wanting to get the words out. “I know it’s important to you, but I need you to know I would be with you even if I never got to touch you again.”

“Please never stop touching me.” I quickly replied, a genuine worry in my eyes.

But when Spencer glanced over, he just laughed, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“No? Even when I get pregnant and have a big ol’ belly?” I playfully answered, bringing his hand to my stomach and pressing it against the side that still remained intact.

The familiar position caused a shift in Spencer’s body language, and suddenly he was even more insistent on being impossibly closer. “You’ll still be irresistible to me.” He said against my hair, running his fingers lightly over the unmarked skin of my lower stomach.

“We’ll see, I guess.” I mumbled, not realizing that I said it aloud until I heard his confused reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” The defensiveness in my voice was terrifyingly transparent, and I hoped that if his drinking made him forget anything, it would be this conversation. “Go to sleep, drunk ass.”

“I need hugs and kisses first.” He complained, rubbing his nose against me in a way that should have been irritating instead of adorable.

“Spoiled.” I grumbled, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. I turned to kiss his cheek through the smile that was plastered over my cheeks.

Already half snoring in his sleepy state, he got out one more cringe worthy joke before he succumbed to his exhaustion. “What’s good for the goose...”

“...is good for the gander.” I finished for him, before taking the advice and following him to sleep.

—————————————————

| Part 18 |

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asweetprologue · 4 years ago

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me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #big bang #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #me lamh #geraskierbigbang #multichapter

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kiame-sama · 4 years ago

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Take my trash! I forget where I put the actual requests for this one, but I have had many from both Wattpad and Tumblr for this next installment of 28 years.

Here you have it, pregnant with Alluka!

Warning; ANGST, mentions of adult themes from 28 years, pregnancy complications, cute moments with infant Killua and Alluka, Killua is the unsung hero we never knew we needed, maternal struggles, lactating

You woke up late at night, feeling your stomach rolling in pain and that feeling of being sick rising up in your throat. You were quick to wiggle out of Silva's relaxed grip and immediately headded directly for the toilet, almost gagging as you went.

To say it was an unpleasant way to wake up would be an understatement, as if you body were rejecting everything you had ever given it. You were faintly aware of the feeling of someone holding your hair away from your face as your poor body shook with great force. Once you finally felt your stomach settle once more you pulled away, feeling a large hand gently rub your back.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know... Just felt so sick so suddenly... You don't think it could be- but I thought I wasn't able to after Killua... And it's so soon after..."

"I doubt you're pregnant again."

"... And if I am?"

"(Y/n), I refuse to lose you for any reason. You almost killed yourself being pregnant with Killua. I don't think your body can honestly handle another pregnancy so soon."

"But..."

"If you are pregnant again, your body will likely reject it or you'll lose the child early on. You know this. You're already in such a delicate state when you're pregnant, adding another one so soon after giving birth would be the worst decision."

"I... You're right. I don't think I can handle it again so soon."

Silva almost seemed pleased at your agreeing with him, grabbing mouthwash for you to get the terrible after-taste out of your mouth. He gently helped you to your feet and held you steady, making sure you were alright minus the sudden sickness.

You didn't want to admit he was right, but you knew it to be true. Your body already tries to reject any pregnancy you have and with how exhausted and beaten you feel after having Killua, you couldn't imagine going through it again immediately after. You would have to do everything you could to cancel the pregnancy early on, before you felt too attached to the life growing inside of you.

A soft whimper came from the room you had been sleeping in just moments ago, hearing the whine develop into an upset cry. All of the noise and movement must have woken Killua from his peaceful sleep. He was only a month old and you still had more time to cherish him before he would be taken away to be trained as your other sons had been.

You made sure to move quietly and gently, lifting the small boy from his crib and cuddling him securely in your arms. His whimpers quieted as you held him, slowly swaying ans humming to the small child to get him settled once more. His bright blue eyes blinked open to look at you as he stopped crying, his soft white hair ruffled slightly and just made him look cuter with his disgruntled expression.

"Shh, little one. You're okay. You look just like your father when you frown like that..."

The infant merely gave a tired grunt and cuddled back down into his swaddling, eyes closing as you carefully returned him to his cradle. Warm arms wrapped around your body and held you close to a firm chest, slightly soothing you. Silva had been surprisingly supportive of your maternal need to care for the infant and had actually started to behave like a father would towards the young child.

You let him lead you back to bed, returning to the warm blankets that seemed extra inviting at that moment. As you settled down once more, Silva's chest at your back as he held you close, you were content to drift off to sleep. That is, until you felt a hand slowly trailing down your front.

"... I swear, Silva. If you're about to try and fuck me right now with our son in the room, you're going to have a bad time."

"It's not like you don't enjoy it."

A sigh of irritation left your lips, feeling his hand slide ever so slightly lower. Enough was enough and you wanted to sleep, so you turned your head and bit down directly on his arm. There was a beat of silence before you heard the softest of laughs rumble from his chest.

"Alright, you've made your point. I'll let you rest... For now."

Releasing his arm from your jaws, you turned back to rest your head against the pillow. You didn't break skin, but you certainly left a clear mark behind on his fair skin. A small bit of pride bubbled up in your chest at your small victory over the white-haired man as you let yourself get pulled back into sleep.

~~~~~~~~

At least two months had passed since your sudden evening sickness and no other signs of pregnancy had occured. Just to be on the safe side, you and Silva both decided to use certain birth controls to ensure you would not be carrying another child. It made you sad to think about at the time, but you knew it was for the best given all that had happened up until that point.

You thought all of those different foul tasting medicines had done their job and you wrote off your absent menstrual cycle as your body still recovering from being pregnant. However, when the second month came and left without your cycle, you were becoming far more concerned. When you brought it up to Silva, he reassured you that there was no possible way you could still be pregnant with all of the different contraceptives you had taken.

Now you were almost certain you were still pregnant, seeing your stomach slightly swell once more. But that shouldn't be possible given how thorough you had been early on to stop the pregnancy. You decided you needed outside opinion on the matter and made up some small excuse about your head hurting and wanting to be checked.

Naturally, Silva didn't question and almost immediately retrieved the kind doctor to check you for anything and everything. She explored every possibility and ruled out almost any kind of illness before she got to your stomach, noting the way your body had been reacting. As a precaution- despite Silva's insistence you were not pregnant- she decided to do an ultrasound of your stomach.

Sure enough, there was a small heartbeat in your body.

"..."

"... How the hell is it still there?"

"I guess all of those contraceptives didn't actually work."

"That's not possible."

"Hm, it would seem the little one disagrees with you."

"We're getting it out of you right now."

"No you damn-well aren't."

"(Y/n)-"

"Clearly the first attempt didn't work. If something is so determined to stay alive that it refuses all efforts to remove it, it should be allowed to live."

"For fuck's sake-"

"N. O. No."

"Damn it, (y/n)-"

"I said 'no' and I meant it!"

Silva let out a highly frustrated and irritated snarl, obviously beyond irritated with the sudden turn of events. Your kind doctor sat in silence as the two of you snapped at each other, trying to go unnoticed given how angry Silva was. The raised voices brought attention to the both of you as Zeno casually strolled into the room, eyebrow raised as he looked between you and Silva.

"What are you two snapping about now?"

"I won't let him get rid of our child."

"Killua is too young to start training."

"I'm not talking about Killua."

"... What?"

Zeno looked to be honestly surprised at your words, trying to make sense of what he was saying as he took in the ultrasound machine near you. The back and forth squabble had apparently woken Killua from his afternoon nap and the sudden entrance of his grandfather made him whine. The complaint from your young son had you moving to stand, only to be stopped by Zeno who picked up the squirming child and gave him to you.

There was certainly a fair part of you that appreciated your father in law, since he tended to take your side whenever an argument came up. He had to qualms about telling his son to be quiet or saying he was being unreasonable when he became too posessive or controlling of you. Not to mention the fact that Zeno had no qualms in telling Silva off or intentionally poking fun at his son on any given day.

"It's too soon for her to go through another pregnancy, especially after carving her stomach open for that brat."

"Well, you aren't wrong. It is probably too soon. (Y/n), what do you make of all of this?"

You hummed, soothing little Killua who lay in your arms and chewed on your fingers in fascination. You knew they were right, but you also knew that you wanted to give it a chance.

"We already tried once to end this pregnancy and that clearly didn't work. Something with a will strong enough to persevere despite any and all attempts to stop it should at least be given a chance."

Zeno nodded and gave a hum of contemplation, narrowing his eyes in thought. As the elder considered everything at hand, Killua decided you weren't paying enough attention to him and let out an ear piercing squeal, holding his hands up to you demandingly. It was hard to say he wasn't absolutely adorable even if he was a demanding and bossy little thing.

"Alright. Keep the child. But, if it begins to have too much strain on your body, it will be removed. Does that sound fair to the both of you?"

You wanted to argue that it was your choice even if you wound up dying, but you knew it would backfire on you, so you simply nodded. Silva also seemed as if he wished to argue before relenting and growling out in annoyance already frustrated due to your denying of his advances with Killua's presence in the room at night. This only added even more time he was unable to take you as he wished, growing increasingly irritated by the day.

~~~~~~~~

The more your stomach swelled, the more you wanted to just cuddle up with your growing family and enjoy the quiet. Silva, though liking your affection with him, still felt frustration gnawing at his mind the longer he spent unable to indugle in his desires. There was little he wanted more than pinning you to the bed and satisfying his growing need for you. He was halfway tempted to do it regardless of the pregnancy or how you felt, but he kept himself contained, counting down the days until he could do as he wished.

There were still days that he was unable to resist holding you close and just feasting on the sweet milk you produced. It was barely enough to tide him over and keep himself from jumping you.

The words that would best describe his behavior was a tiger in a cage, anxiously pacing and growling out his frustration. You almost wondered what was in store for you as soon as you were finally without child. Some part of you hoped he would be merciful, but you also figured that would never happen, especially with how pent up he would be come the end.

The gentle heat that came from Silva helped you relax as you rest your head against his chest, Killua was napping and you almost felt like you wanted to do the same. Silva's large hands gently supported your swollen stomach and took the pressure off of your back, allowing you to cuddle close to the intimidating man. His gaze seemed distant as he stared down at your stomach, callused hands gently sliding over your soft skin.

His eyes suddenly moved from where they were resting to look at you with a raise eyebrow, making a small squeak of surprise escape your lips. A slight smirk pulled at his lips, one of his hands gently resting on the back of your neck as he pulled you into a deep kiss. A soft whimper whined from your throat as he slid his tongue in between your lips.

You pulled away from the intense kiss, panting lightly from the sudden show of affection. His blue eyes seemed almost hazed with need as you found yourself pinned beneath him on the plush couch. Your heart thundered in your chest as you pressed back against him, turning your head to the side.

"Stop, Silva!"

"I don't think you can make me."

"Stop it!"

He seemed like he was lost in whatever haze had been taking over his mind before a sudden shrill screech broke him out of his lustfilled gaze. You turned your head to look back at where the noise had originated, stunned to see Killua standing at the doorway, holding onto the door-frame. Somehow he must have gotten out of his crib and opened the door to get to where he now stood.

You were amazed that this child, this infant, was not only able to escape his crib, but was currently standing and staring at the two of you. Silva seemed to regain control of himself as he moved away, letting you get up from where you had been pinned to the couch. The moment you sat up, your little five month old walked to you as if it were the most normal thing on the planet.

Typically, infants began trying to walk at around 7-8 months old, and even then they would need something to hold onto in order to balance properly. Not this kid apparently. If there were ever a sign your little Killua was different from other children, it would be this.

As he reached your side, he held up his arms in a demanding way towards you, clearly wanting to be picked up.

He gurgled at you and started chewing on his fist, watching you closely. You were about to say something as Silva jealously wrapped an arm around you only for Killua let out another screech. You wanted to smile as Killua clearly did not like it when Silva touched you, already showing how much he favored you over his father.

You silently thanked the child, pleased that he had snapped Silva out of his aggressive and forceful behavior. At least you knew your children were on your side.

~~~~~~~~

It was a month before your due-date but Silva was already stressing. He would pace and constantly check in on you, making sure to have any and all possibilities in mind. There would be absolutely no repeat of your prior pregnancy and he was determined to not leave your side for a single moment.

He had taken to pacing around you at almost all hours other than the the ones he spent holding you in his arms. Nothing seemed to be able to soothe him and you found yourself speaking softly to him and telling him everything was alright even though you were the pregnant one.

At least you had some semi-stable company, Zeno sitting with you and watching his son pace as you absently listened to the large television and whatever was on it. You were surprisingly comfortable despite everything that had been going on. Today was the day your eight-month old was being taken away.

You were upset with how early it was and Silva himself almost tried to stop his father from coming to collect the child. Though it saddened you, you also knew that it would be hard to deal with your final month of pregnancy and take care of your eight-month old child at the same time. Besides, Zeno wanted to start training Killua earlier than the others given how quickly the child picked up walking and language comprehension.

At least Zeno decided to stay with you for a few hours instead of just taking Killua away, letting you adjust to the idea of your son leaving your side. You were thankful for the few extra moments with your son, content to sit and relax among the other family members.

A faint uncomfortable feeling hummed in your mind, making you frown and try to move around to a more comfortable position. But no matter where you moved and no matter how you tried to settle back down, that annoying feeling persisted. Unfortunately, Silva seemed hyper aware of every move you made, so when you slightly winced from the growing irritation in your body, he was by your side immediately.

"Tell me how you're feeling, you don't seem all that comfortable right now."

"I'm fine, just a bit tired..."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah. I'm certain. Still at least a month away from my expected date, so we have-"

You cut off, feeling that small ache turn into a sharp pinch that suddenly stabbed at you, like a needle being jabbed into a water balloon. You practically felt all of the color drain from your face as you suddenly rest your hand on your stomach.

"... Silva?"

"Yes?"

"I think I need to see a doctor now."

"Wait, why-?"

"RIGHT NOW, SILVA."

The sudden urgency in your voice spurred both men into action. Zeno quickly moving from his seated position, setting Killua aside in the small play-pen before helping you to lay back against the couch. Silva was out the door seconds after the words left your lips, racing off to round up anyone and everyone you would need.

You figured he wouldn't take you with him and would just lead the doctors to you since there were so many things that could go wrong, he didn't want to risk moving you. It was still so early, so why did your water break so suddenly?

~~~~~~~~

You were exhausted and wanted little more than to sleep after a long eighteen hours of being in labor. Eventually, after the immense pain you were in, doctors decided that you would need to have a c-section to ensure both your safety and the safety of the infant. Why they didn't come to this conclusion earlier even though you had Killua in a similar way, you didn't know.

At least you were able to rest now. You partially wanted to stay awake to be able to hold your newborn, but thee fact of the matter was, the child was born prematurely. Naturally, all sorts of precautions had to be taken to ensure that your newborn would live, so you didn't argue too much. You'd rather your baby be safe even if you weren't allowed to hold them.

"Any thoughts about names?"

Your gaze slowly drifted over to the location of the voice, seeing Zeno looking up at Silva, hands behind his back. He likely thought you were already asleep, given the ordeal you had just gone through. Silva hadn't named any of your children up until that point so you wondered what he would respond with, if he responded at all.

"No idea."

"Come on, Silva, you must have at least one name in mind."

"... Alluka?"

"That's the first time you've come up with a semi-decent name."

You let out a tired chuckle, appreciating the flat tone Zeno used whenever chastising Silva. A large hand gently held your own and you tiredly turned your head to look at Silva, who gently kissed the back of your hand, all previous conversation forgotten. For a moment, you hoped things were going to be alright, and you let yourself drift to sleep with Silva's deep baritone voice as your lullaby.

~~~~~~~~

Several months had passed being allowed to croon and fuss over the infant, adoring the black-haired, blue-eyed child. It seemed as if your sweet Alluka never ran out of energy and always had a smile no matter what. Only rarely did the infant ever cry and was easy to soothe the few times it happened.

Silva wanted little to do with the newborn, but still entertained any time his darling asked questions or spoke in such a cheerful tone. At least she was alright. If anything, she seemed to be better than alright.

Silva watched as his darling angel fell asleep, her body curled on the couch around the mass of blankets where the infant slept. He was getting tired of sharing his (y/n) with the infant and frustrated with how often (y/n) pushed away his advances. He was her husband, he should have the right to all of her attention and not be forced to share her with anyone.

It was still early on, but Silva figured she had enough time with the parasite and she would get over her sorrow if he took it away.

He silently slipped his hands beneath the sleeping infant, lifting it away from the curled up woman who peacefully slept. Moving silently, Silva left the cluster of rooms with the infant in his arms.

~~~~~~~~

Slowly waking up, you moved carefully to not disturb the child in your arms, turning your head to look at the mass of blankets. Your heart made a hollow thump when you saw the empty space your baby once lay in.

In seconds, you were on your feet, searching through every room for any sign of your lost infant. How could your little one wander off without you noticing? You turned over every piece of furniture, every blanket in the rooms, searched every corner, but there was still no sign of your lost infant.

You stood in the middle of the main room, arms wrapped around yourself as you desperately sucked down breaths as your chest tightened up. You felt like you couldn't breathe and your panicked gasps became wheezing and strained, evolving into what was a continuous crying wail of pain and desperation.

You heard the door open suddenly, but it did nothing to stop or distract you from your long mournful cry. You held your arms close to your body and your voice hitched with every small breath you took, feeling as if the world were falling out from underneath you. Large hands gripped your shoulders, one coming up to grip your chin and tilt your head back, only straining your already shallow breaths.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?"

"..."

"(Y/n), tell me what is wrong."

"..."

"Damn it, say something!"

"You took Alluka, didn't you?"

"... (Y/n)-"

"You took my baby!"

Though he said nothing further, only allowing his grip on you to go slack. You knew you were right. You knew he had taken your child from you while you were resting. You felt your breathing become even more strained as you gripped your chest over your heart, feeling your body swaying and shaking. An old voice reached your ears, but it did not soothe you, nothing but the soft babbling of your child would be able to.

"Silva, what on earth-? Ah, I see she isn't too pleased about Alluka."

"He took my baby..!"

"Wait, did you not know the child was leaving today?"

"He told me nothing...! He took my Alluka while I was sleeping..!"

"Silva, you told me she was okay with you taking him!"

"He told me nothing..!"

Your shaking had not stopped, if anything it only became more intense and your breathing more unstable. It felt like your heart was desperately working to beat and keep you alive, but it felt like it was being crushed by the muscles around it. You heard Zeno say something more to Silva, but you couldn't make out the words, feeling like all of your senses were leaving you.

"..?"

"(Y/n)..?"

You don't know when your legs gave out beneath you, but in seconds you were falling, barely able to see through your own eyes. It was as if you were fading away, but you didn't know why. There was no sound beyond that of your tiny shallow breaths before those too faded away into the empty void.

~~~~~~~~

"What did I tell you about taking her children away from her!?"

Silva just glared out of the corner of his eyes at his father, not saying anything in response. For a moment, it looked like Zeno was about to say something before his attention suddenly snapped over to (y/n), who had been quietly sobbing. Silva also looked back at his wife, his eyes widening slightly when he saw just how pale she had become, as if the blood under her skin had gone still.

"(Y/n)..? (Y/n)?"

Silva softly called out to the woman, trying to rouse her from whatever it was that had made her look so lifeless. Then he realized something, she was barely breathing. Her tired eyes gazed at a far away place before her body lurched and began to fall backwards. He was quick to catch her before she hit the ground, but something was wrong.

His angel's eyes had closed and her breathing had ceased. He checked her pulse only to realize there wasn't one, her heart wasn't beating. He didn't think, he simply just acted, beginning to put pressure on her fragile rib cage. Each steady and rapid pulse of pressure made her body slightly react as he desperately worked to get her heart beating again.

He wanted to scream in frustration each time she didn't revive before an arm began pulling him back, other hands reaching out for his angel. He fought against the firm grip as more hands seemed to join the first, forcefully pulling him away from his love. He fought to break free and was snarling in rage the closer those hands got to his darling, not wanting them to touch her soft skin.

A firm pressure on the back of his neck slowed his movements before stopping them all together, his eyes still staring and hand still reaching desperately out to his darling as his vision went black.

~~~~~~~~

"Well, this is just one big cluster fuck."

Maha growled out as he looked between the unconcious family. Luckily, it didn't take long for doctors to get (y/n)'s heart beating again despite the heart-attack she had endured as a result of her infant being stolen. Silva was still in a deep unconscious state from the forceful suppression of his nen. The both of them lay on the same cot in their unaware states, as Zeno and Maha knew the uproar Silva would cause if he woke without his darling (y/n) by his side. Alluka lay in peaceful slumber in his mother's arms, swaddled carefully and securely.

Zeno was still furious with Silva for not only taking the child away too early for the second time, but for doing so without (y/n)'s knowledge. But that fury was surprisingly outweighed by the pity he felt for his son. The sheer broken and miserable cries Silva had let out were not only a foreign noise, but one Zeno had never heard from his son before. It was like everything in the world had shattered into tiny fragments, leaving behind a broken and empty shell of his son.

He would never admit it to anyone, or even bring it up around Silva, but he saw true tears of agony in his son's bright blue eyes. He had seen Silva in a frazzled state, in a despondent state, and even a mournful state, but he had never seen such a shattered spirit like what he saw in Silva. As if every passing second (y/n) did not draw breath was pulling more and more of Silva away each time.

The man he had trained to be a ruthless and cold assassin crumbled into a terrified and lost soul. So filled with pain, so filled with agony, even he would not wish it upon his worst enemy. To see his son- a strong and steady man- crumble away into a broken shell so quickly was something that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

He would say that Silva brought it upon himself with the actions he had taken, but even that would be unfair. There is little more unsettling or sad than seeing someone with such a strong will become no more than a fragile whimpering shell.

Silva was the first to stir from his unaware state, his eyes were empty and dull. He truly seemed as if all the life in him had been ripped out like the stuffing of a toy. As his gaze slowly drifted, there was a sudden revitalization of energy when he saw (y/n) laying next to him.

He immediately had his hand upon her neck, checking for the pulse he feared wouldn't be there. As if a great weight had been lifted from his chest, he let out a long sigh of relief the second he found the soft pulse. He didn't seem to realize that he had an audience, merely enraptured with the moment.

He protectively wrapped his arms around both his darling lover and his young infant, holding them close and refusing to let either go. (Y/n)'s vacant expression became a vague smile as she slowly seemed to curl into Silva's arms, holding her baby between them protectively.

Zeno would deal with his son and the clear poor decision making later, for now he let the family rest in quiet comfort together.

At least they were all still alive. That, he could work with.

#x reader #yandere #female reader #yandere x reader #fem reader #reader insert #silva #yandere silva #yandere silva x reader #tw yandere #tw pregnancy

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blitheringmcgonagall · 4 years ago

Text

My Gallant Lad - Part I

So I got a wonderful anon today telling me this is their favourite Lily Rescues James fic, it’s part of my canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes. But, because it works as a stand alone, I’ll be posting it in 4 parts here. I hope you enjoy it (Lily is very BAMF here but tbh so is James). Set during First Wizarding War...

James slammed the palms of his hands down on Dumbledore’s desk.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he said, his eyes a hot mess of emotions.

“Get your oafish hands off my desk, now!” Lily said, recovering from the initial shock almost immediately with a flash of anger.

“Your desk?” James said, taking his hands off the desk, nevertheless.

“I’m using it now, yes, I need to get these mission forms finished and signed before bringing them for filing in the Room of Requirement,” Lily said, looking back at James angrily. “What the hell is your problem, Potter?”

“My problem?” James was furious. “I’ll tell you what my problem is, Evans. My problem is that my bloody wife thought it sensible to visit Walburga Black, the same woman who thinks nothing of throwing a Crucio at her children, whose husband tried to kill Sirius, who detests muggleborns, who tried to – oh fucking hell, Lily! What the absolute, ever-living fuck possessed you?”

She had never seen him so angry. She folded her arms defensively and glared back, wondering how he had found out.

“I’ll tell you exactly what possessed me, Potter,” she said coldly. “My problem is my dickhead of a husband who nearly got himself thrown into Azkaban by the Blacks, but then thought it sensible to attend a Black family funeral, and to top it all, decided to call over to chat to Orion’s heir, as you do! Do I need to explain it further? What exactly was I meant to do? Let you read the letter and let you waltz back in there so that bitch could finish you off, once and for all?”

She was standing up now, and he couldn’t quite understand how someone so slender and uncommonly kind could look so intimidating and fierce within the space of a few seconds.

“That letter was addressed to me, damn it!” James said, his voice rising with irritation. “You had no right opening my post!”

“I don’t care!” Lily said, looking more agitated and feeling guilty. “If you think I would have let you just go there, you’re even more stupid than I gave you credit for!”

“You’re a muggleborn, Evans, fucking bloody fucking…” James’ words ran out as he waved his arm about with rage. “You could have been killed, do you understand me? Killed, damn it!”

“Yes, well, so could you, at least I have more sense! Remus and I knew what we were doing!” Lily shot back, feeling angrier by the second.

“You clearly didn’t, Evans! What you did was grossly irresponsible and wilfully sly! I don’t care what you say, you could have been killed, Evans, for fuck’s sake! When I see Moony, I’m going to kill him!”

James made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and slammed his fist against the wall. Damn it, he was furious and livid and scared out of his wits and fucking sick of this shit.

“Remus didn’t have any choice, I told him I was going, and he decided to come with me, surely a safer bet! Don’t you dare drag Remus into this!” Lily said.

“Don’t you dare, ever, ever go behind my back like that again, ever, do you hear me?” he shouted.

“You can scream all you like, Potter, you don’t get to tell me what to do!” Lily said, her voice rising angrily.

“Don’t you dare act like you’re the innocent one in this Evans, for fuck’s sake!” James said.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Potter!” Lily said. “Get out!”

Her voice was starting to wobble which made her even madder.

“You know what? Fine!” James said, gripping his wand tightly and watching as furious sparks flew from his wand tip. “If you want to tell yourself that this is my fault, if you want to lie to yourself so you can – ugh! Lily, don’t you dare defend this!”

“I’m not listening to your ranting any longer!” Lily said, slamming the book shut and flinging her quills and parchment into her well-worn bag.

She marched past him, livid and upset and boiling with rage. They hadn’t spoken since. James had slept at his parents’ house for a while and now, with Sirius and Remus gone, James had taken to sleeping in his friends’ bedroom. He didn’t like leaving her with only Wormy for protection. They avoided each other at mealtimes. Peter had cringed and disappeared into the relative safety of his bedroom. There was simply no way he could win if he took sides. They were both still furious.

***

“Looks like you swapped into an easy shift,” said Edgar Bones, loosening his collar and placing his cloak over his arm. “Nothing much happening, no handover.”

“Thanks,” said James curtly.

“Lily, James,” Edgar said, tipping his hat at them, sensing something was amiss but too polite to bring it up in conversation.

“Edgar,” said James.

“Bye, Edgar, see you soon,” Lily said, smiling at him half-heartedly.

“If it stays this quiet, I’m going to try going for a kip,” said Frank Longbottom, looking at the fireplace one last time and throwing a blanket over himself.

James nodded absent-mindedly, his left hand restlessly tapping on his thigh, shooting Lily fleeting glances when he knew she wasn’t watching. He hated whenever they fought, and this had been their worst row ever. The night stayed quiet, Lily dozed off on the armchair and James watched her. He was worried about her too, she looked pale and she seemed off her food for weeks now. It added to the leaden feeling of guilt he was carrying. It was his fault. He was right, he was damned well right, and he had nothing to apologise for, but he probably would. Because he knew what he was getting himself into when he married her, didn’t he? And wouldn’t he have done the exact same thing in her place, he told himself for the umpteenth time? He transfigured his jumper into a warm, thick blanket and placed it over her gently, doubling it up and kissing the top of her head tenderly. He watched the magical fairy lights on the tree twinkling merrily. He couldn’t have felt less Christmassy. He fell asleep eventually, having transfigured the rug into a scratchy blanket.

He was woken up by a loud shout emanating from the fireplace.

“You better get your sorry arses down here immediately! I’ve just intercepted intel that a couple of Death Eaters are planning an attack on a muggle school bus in the vicinity of Newcastleton!” Dedalus Diggle’s voice crackled.

“Where’s that?” said James, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Border between England and Scotland. Dumbledore has left a special portkey in his room that means you should be able to get anywhere, immediately. Hurry! There’s nobody else around.”

“Great!” grumbled Frank, sitting up reluctantly, but shoving his feet into his shoes without hesitation. “Typical Dumbledore, never around when you need him!”

“Get some water and rations and let’s go,” Lily said, standing up and sitting back down rather suddenly.

“Alright, Evans?” James said, with a concerned frown.

“Fine, just feeling a bit sick, probably need to eat something,” she said.

“Maybe you should stay behind?” James said.

“No!” Lily said, forcing herself to stand. “It’s fine. We can’t risk it. It’s children, James!”

James nodded immediately. He wanted to apologise, but not in front of Frank.

“Dedalus, can you try and contact a few of the others in case anyone is available to join us? We’ll be with you in a jiffy,” he said.

“No can do, I’ve also had word of another attack planned in Wales, I’m trying to get in touch with Moody as we speak!”

“Got it,” said Lily, looking at Frank and James. “Don’t worry, we’re on it!”

***

“This place gives me the creeps,” said James, peering up at the tall trees.

The air felt thick and heavy, the branches seemed to vie with each other to block out the sunlight, suffocating. Thick moss, grey and faded, clung to everything, dried twigs and branches snapped loudly beneath their feet, disturbing the numerous birds whose harsh cries filled the air, as though spying on them, he thought, watching their acrobatic flight.

“Jackdaws,” he said quietly, moving closer to Lily.

Lily gave him a quizzical look.

“That’s their call - a short, loud, ‘kya’ sound, and they have distinctive, beady white eyes,” he added.

“Is there anything you guys don’t know?” grumbled Frank, shooting James a friendly grin.

“Nope,” James grinned back.

He moved closer to Lily, protectively, feeling a threat in the fabric of the forest, ancient memories, secret and forbidding. He had transfigured the portkey into a muggle leather bracelet, insignificant and worthless to any potential Death-Eaters, which he had placed on Lily’s wrist despite her protestations.

“They must be here somewhere,” Frank whispered, holding his wand aloft. “If we just keep walking, we’ll increase the chances of them seeing us.”

“Let’s split up, I’ll hide in there,” Lily said, pointing to a decrepit, large pine, whose gnarly trunk was rotting and held space for one person. “You two get on higher ground. We can all see the road from here. If you spot anything dangerous, send your signal.”

James’ was an owl hooting, Lily’s was the snort of a frightened deer, Frank’s was the harsh screech of a magpie.

“Alright,” James said, turning to look at Lily, feeling awkward and unsure. “Take care, please.”

“You too,” Lily said, her face unreadable.

“I’m glad Alice isn’t on call today,” Frank whispered after a pause, as they moved on carefully. “We just found out she’s pregnant. Bit of a shock really. Took us ages to figure it out, despite her feeling nauseated for a couple of weeks, being off her food, feeling dizzy and tired, you name it!”

He looked excited and pleased.

“Frank!” said James. “Wow, that’s… that’s brave of you, and rather wonderful news.”

He didn’t know what to say.

He stopped short.

Took us ages to figure it out, despite her feeling nauseated for a couple of weeks, being off her food, feeling dizzy and tired, you name it!

The night of Sirius’ twentieth Birthday. They had both forgotten to cast a contraceptive charm. Could that explain…?

“Frank, I forgot something, I need to run back to Lily, go ahead!” James said.

“You okay?” Frank said, seeing James’ face turn grey.

But he was already gone.

***

“Lily!” James said, catching his breath.

“What is it?” Lily said, wand ready to shoot.

“Lily, have you done a pregnancy charm?”

“A what?”

“To see if you’re pregnant?”

“No, why?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Understanding dawned on her.

“James,” said Lily, her green eyes searching his anxiously.

“Let me,” James whispered, taking hold of his wife’s slender wrist and turning her palm upwards, he pointed his wand tip at her pulse point. “Gravidam!”

They both watched as James’ wand tip glowed green.

“Fuck,” he said hoarsely, staring at her.

“What does that mean, James?” Lily said.

“It means… it means you’re pregnant,” James said, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Fucking bloody fucking…”

Lily’s eyes were wide as his words sank in. As his reaction sank in. She turned away from him and swiped hastily at the tears that fell down her cheeks silently.

“We need to…” James said urgently. “Fucking Merlin… fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Lily’s voice broke as she spoke, her lower lip trembling. “I should have been more careful. I didn’t mean this to happen now, God I really didn’t mean this to… I understand if that’s how you feel, James, but I-“

“What?” James said, turning her around to face him and taking her face in his hands tenderly. “Lily, Merlin, I don’t mean –“

The screech of a magpie rent the air and they both jumped.

“Incarcerous!” numerous voices shouted, as thick ropes coiled themselves swiftly around them, James’ wand dropping to the floor.

“Expelliarmus!” a recognisable voice added, James’ wand flying through the air. “Where’s the other one’s wand?”

“Mulciber,” James said, the blood draining from his face.

“I said, where’s your wand, bitch?” Mulciber said, grabbing Lily by the throat.

“I dropped it earlier on,” Lily rasped, staring back at him defiantly. “I can’t find it.”

“Accio Lily Evans’ wand!” Mulciber ordered, pointing his wand at Lily.

Lily’s wand flew out of the thicket behind them. Mulciber leered at Lily.

“Grab hold of them and set anti-apparition wards around them! And get them to de Soulis Castle, now!” Mulciber said to the other Death-Eaters who surrounded them. “The Dark Lord will be very disappointed to find that it isn’t Sirius Black we have captured, just a useless blood-traitor and a vile mudblood. The information we received must have been incorrect.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mulciber!” James sprang forwards in fury.

“Quiet!” Mulciber said, coming right up in front of Lily and grabbing hold of her Jacket collar. “Or she gets hurt.”

James swallowed.

I tried to laugh about it Cover it all up with lies I tried to laugh about it Hiding the tears in my eyes 'Cause boys don't cry

***

The weathered remains of the castle loomed, malevolent, as they crossed the bridge over the moat. Fragments of a tower emerged, the holes in its walls reminiscent of a skull. While the forest around it was dry and parched, wilting and unseasonably warm, as they neared the castle gates mist descended on them. The inside of the castle felt damp and cold. Much colder. Mulciber’s breath condensed in front of him as he spoke, frost clung to the corners of the walls, there were no windows in the great hall.

He had seen this room before… where?

The heavy double doors leading into the main banqueting hall swung open, and four men entered, none of their faces were masked.

“Villiers, Wilkes, Rosier, Snape,” said Mulciber, with a cold laugh. “Your very closest allies, I believe? I failed to retrieve the disowned Black heir, but I found these.”

Villiers and Wilkes giggled. Silence descended as another figure entered the room, the five men bowing immediately. Muciber pushed James and Lily forcefully and they fell forwards onto their knees. James watched as Voldemort approached slowly, with a gleeful expression. He zoned in on Snape, Snape who was watching Lily with terror on his face, before carefully schooling it into neutral.

The room.

McGonagall’s grim tones echoed in his mind.

“So, a group of Death Eaters, who appear to have captured Lily Evans, in an unidentified location?”

Divination class. His vision. He had forseen this.

“Lily,” he said quietly, speaking through his teeth. “Do you trust me to get us out?”

He was sure Voldemort could hear his heart pounding.

“If you have an idea, I’m all in,” Lily murmured, watching Voldemort as he drew nearer.

“Leave it to me,” he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and locked eyes with Severus Snape.

“Fuck you, Severus Snape! You absolute bastard! Stay the fuck away from my wife, do you hear? Don’t you dare go near her, you fucking piece of shit! I despise you, Snivellus! You fucking coward! Bastard cursed Death Eater! Stay the fuck away from her or I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” James screamed.

#My Gallant Lad #WCBH one shots #BAMF!Lily #BAMF!James #Lily rescues James #first wizarding war #angst and adventure #anti sneep #not for you if you like sneep #jily fic #canon Jily #marauders era

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mochegato · 4 years ago

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 29 – Truth Will Out

Chapter 1 Chapter 28

Marinette slowly, carefully closed the bedroom door. She waited next to the door with her hand on the knob for a few seconds just to make sure Rob really had fallen asleep and wouldn’t start crying again. Hearing no noise for a full minute, she let out the breath she had been holding in case the sound from her breath woke him up.

She gently removed her hand from the knob and silently padded toward the library, which had quickly become their regrouping center, much to Jason’s annoyance. However it was right across the hall from the room their family was staying in while at the manor and it had almost immediately been annexed as a place where she and Dick could relax and talk to people while still being close enough to hear the twins when they woke up. For quick naps and showers while the twins were sleeping, they used Dick’s room, which was just a little further down the hall. But the library offered a place that was more open to the whole family.

“And thank you two for not meowing or trying to sneak past me,” she cooed at Kismet and Alfred as she walked. All of the animals in the house had taken a liking to the twins and more often than not, Marinette or Dick were woken up by one of them scratching at the door to get into the bedroom so they could curl up with one of the twins or lay down at the base of one of the cribs.

As long as they were quiet about it and didn’t wake up the twins, Marinette thought it was absolutely adorable. However, those rare times when their scratching or barks or meows woke up the twins, Marinette would send them a glare that had the dogs running with their tails between their legs and the cats… well, not really reacting at all until Marinette got the water bottle.

“He sleeping?” Dick asked looking up as she came in and chuckling at the line of animals trailing behind her.

“Welcome home. And yes. We have a little bit of time before they wake up again,” she smiled at him, slumping onto the couch next to him.

He hugged her into his unbandaged side, chuckling into her hair. “You want to take a nap?”

Marinette made a vaguely groan sounding noise and pushed away from him just enough to angle her head up to look at him with a sleepy smile. “I’ll do that during their next nap. I think I should eat during this one.”

“Do you want me to talk to Alfred?” he offered, half getting up as he spoke.

“I can make something for her,” Adrien offered, waving him down. “Or let Alfred know so he can. You can rest if you want.”

“Thanks, Adrien,” Dick gave him a grateful smile. “Actually, I think I’m going to shower. Get the Academy off of me.”

Marinette pulled her shirt away from her body and eyed it suspiciously. “Yeah, I’m not sure when the last time I took one was. Maybe I should do that during the next nap time instead.”

Dick chuckled and pulled her closer. “You know, you could always take a shower with me…” he whispered into her hair.

Marinette blushed deeply and pushed his face away. “Yeah, not there yet. Food, sleep, nap, shower. Those are my priorities right now. And I’m extremely negotiable on the shower part.”

“Two of those were the same thing, Bug,” Adrien shook his head.

She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him as if challenging him. “All four can be the same thing if I try hard enough.”

Dick rolled his eyes but laughed in spite of himself. “You’ve been hanging out with Stephanie too much.”

Marinette scoffed. “If anything that’s Alya’s influence…” her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh God. They can never meet.”

Adrien scoffed this time. “Alya got that from you, not the other way around. You and Steph are the danger duo. Although you, Steph, Cass, and Alya… I’d be afraid for Gotham.”

Dick shuddered at the thought. The sheer chaos of it. “Just make sure I’m not on duty that night, please.”

Marinette giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. “How was the first day, Cadet Grayson?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Boring. Introductory stuff. Not that I’m expecting it to get better. I’ve known more about police procedure than most officers since I was eight. I can already pick out some of the cadets who joined as a power play. I also recognized a few people I bus…” he looked over to Adrien with a grimace, “…who I know I’ve seen on the news after the bats busted them. Which means either the person in charge of vetting entrants didn’t do their job, ignored the records, or someone on the force expunged their records. I already let Gordon know,” he gave out a tired sigh.

“You sound like you need a nap,” Marinette poked him in the cheek.

He hummed noncommittally as he caught her hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss, causing Marinette to blush again and bury her head in his shoulder. If he kept doing little things like that, she didn’t know how much longer her resolve was going to last. But it had to last. They had to wait until they figured out their issues. They couldn’t rush it.

“Shower first, then we’ll see what the twins allow for,” he smiled at her.

“How long will Clover and Hood sleep?” Adrien asked too innocently for his comment to not be intended to get a reaction.

“I hate you,” Marinette grumbled into Dick’s shoulder, but made sure it was loud enough for Adrien to hear. Adrien laughed hard at her reaction but immediately tamed it down after the glare Marinette shot him. If he woke up the twins, she really would hate him.

“Clover and Hood?” Dick asked unsure, looking back and forth between Adrien and Marinette.

“Lucy, Lucky, Four Leaf Clover, Clover. Robert, Rob, Robin, Robin Hood, Hood.” Marinette elaborated into his chest.

Dick stared at her for a few seconds, letting the logic train sink in. He glanced over to Adrien in time to catch his smug grin. He leaned down to whisper in Marinette’s ear. “We can’t let him call him after Jason.”

Marinette gave him a flat look. “You explain it without telling him who you are,” she whispered back, working hard to keep the smirk off her face. She knew Adrien knew who Dick was, but Dick didn’t know and was still trying hard to keep it a secret. Adrien knew that too, which is why he was having so much fun pushing his buttons.

“You can’t call my son ‘Hood’. You can’t go around yelling ‘Hood’ at a kid. People are going to think he’s a thief or that you saw Red Hood,” Dick finally reasoned. Marinette pouted at how he handled it. It was entirely too quick and well thought out. She was hoping for something more dramatic.

Adrien pouted at him. “Fine. That makes sense. I’ll come up with something else.”

“Good. That was subpar effort, K…” she suddenly woke up slightly and blinked a few times. “Uh… sorry. That was a terrible effort, Adrien.” Adrien gasped dramatically, pulling his hand to his chest in mock offense.

Dick laughed. “Okay, I’m getting up. You’re going to have to find another warm pillow.” Marinette mumbled something that might have been an objection, but made no move to stop him. He scooted out from under her, kissing her on the head as he left.

Adrien was trying to get Marinette to tell him what she wanted to eat and keep her awake as he was leaving. Dick shook his head and wished him good luck with that. When Marinette crashed, it was hard, a bit like Tim after a bender on a case. A tuba couldn’t wake her up. And yet, the slightest whimper from one of the twins would. He shook his head. Must be a hormonal thing.

He let out a deep sigh as he made his way to his bedroom to take a shower. He wished they were going to take a shower together, or a nap together… or something more, but they weren’t there yet, and he knew that. They were still figuring out some lingering trust issues. Marinette trusted him, but not when it came to not lying about something he thought was important, which was fair, because that was something he needed to settle with himself.

He was so used to deceiving people to cover his vigilante work and to do what needed to be done, he was having a hard time remembering he didn’t have to do that with Marinette. It had been ingrained in him that he was the leader and therefore took the brunt of the decision and all the worst of the consequences, so he forgot he was supposed to be sharing responsibility and decisions with Marinette for the rest of his life. The things he was doing were the way Batman would do them and he wasn’t Batman. He didn’t want to be Batman. That wasn’t his dream. His dream was having a loving family, preferably the one he had already started. He wanted to be Lucy and Robert’s father. He wanted to be Marinette’s husband, someday. He had to change how he thought to make his dreams come true. He had to retrain his brain and it was taking time.

He turned on the shower and started to undress before remembering he left his shower things in the bathroom off the family bedroom. He groaned, dreading the idea of going back into that room while the twins were sleeping. Lucy was like her mom, she could sleep through most things, except the animals making noise. Robert however inherited his father’s tendency to wake up at the slightest sound.

He anxiously looked around for something else to use, but there wasn’t anything in his bedroom or bathroom. He groaned again, turned off the shower, and padded back to the family bedroom. He paused outside the room to prepare himself and plan how he could be as quiet as humanly, or possibly even more than humanly, possible. His whole body went rigid when he heard talking in the room. Nobody was supposed to be in the room. Marinette had left it with just the twins. She would never have left so calmly if anyone else were in it, even a family member.

“Come on, Sugar Cube. This is offensive. Look at this long nosed monstrosity. It should be a cat. I should accidentally destroy…”

Dick stopped listening at the word ‘destroy’. He tensed for a fight and burst into the room with a yell. The two figures hovering over the cribs squeaked in surprise and the elephant stuffie Marinette had made, which seconds before had been in the black one’s hands… paws? In the black one’s grip suddenly evaporated in a stream of dust and ash. Dick froze in surprise unable to make sense of the image in front of him.

Marinette and Adrien rammed into Dick in their rush to check out what was happening. The push broke Dick of his paralysis. He moved between the floating figures and the twins. “Who are you? What do you want?” He quickly picked up Robert when he started fussing at the sudden noise.

“Plagg… Why is there a pile of ash on the floor?” Marinette glared at him.

“Pla… you know what these creatures are?” Dick whipped around to stare at her.

“Yes,” Marinette admitted with an annoyed glare at Plagg. “Let’s get Robert back to sleep and talk in your room.”

Dick looked at her incredulously. The red figure obediently flew through the wall into the next room, but the black one stared at him as if challenging him. Adrien silently moved over to it and grabbed it by the tail to fling it out the door with a huff. Dick slowly turned to Marinette, staring at her questioningly. She gave him a strained smile and gently took Robert out of his arms. She laid him in the crib, gently rocking him in his swaddle in the crib and turned on the mobile above his bed. It took a few more minutes, but Robert was soon sleeping again. She motioned out of the room with a comforting smile.

Dick glared at her, but followed her to his room as requested. She carefully closed the door behind them. As soon as she got to his room she glared at the black figure. “Plagg, what the hell just happened?”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! Pompous circus boy was supposed to be in the shower in his room. Instead he’s sneaking around like a fox and scared me.” He flew toward Dick but Adrien grabbed his tail again to stop him. “Talk to the annoyance, not me,” he grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am talking to the annoyance,” Marinette gritted out.

“That hurts, Bug,” he responded in a mock hurt voice.

“Not as much as it’s going to. No camembert for a month,” she growled.

“A month!” His eyes suddenly were as large as the rest of him.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she exclaimed loudly. “You’re objecting to a month? You’re lucky it isn’t six!”

“Bug, have mercy on a poor, innocent, protective cat,” he bent his knees and brought together his hands as though he were praying in front of her.

“It was my nursery! And my pompous circus boy you just exposed yourself to,” she threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

“Hey! I have no idea what’s going on here, but I’m fairly confident I’m justified in objecting to that,” Dick interjected.

Marinette looked over to him as if just remembering he was in the room. She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It would have been so much better if this happened after a nap. I…” she collapsed on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know where to start.”

“You knew those things were here.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes,” she confirmed with a short nod.

“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning?” he questioned, skepticism lacing his voice. This wasn’t some small thing, some small secret. These were magic, probably, creatures roaming around his kids and his home. Creatures Marinette knew about and never discussed with him. Creatures Marinette exposed his children to and never discussed with him.

“You didn’t think your nightly activities were worth mentioning when you were missing half the pregnancy?” Marinette raised her eyebrow with a pointed look.

Dick grimaced slightly. “Okay, point taken. But I remember getting yelled at for keeping it from you. I remember you breaking up with me for keeping it from you and you were keeping something just as big from me.”

“No, you got yelled at for lying. We broke up because I couldn’t trust you after all the lies. I was asking you questions and you were lying in response. We were still finding out about each other, figuring each other out, deciding how much to trust one another. I told you before, you were and are allowed to have secrets and that I had some too. This is one of them.”

“Okay fine. I don’t know that I agree with that logic, but okay. Let’s shelve that to come back and bite us later. But can someone explain…” he motioned toward the floating figures.

“Well you see…” Adrien started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I think he means me,” Marinette interrupted. The exhaustion seeping out of her voice and listless posture.

Adrien looked between the two of them. “Oh, right. Why don’t I…” he looked around uncertainly. “Why don’t I leave you to it then?” He turned to look at Marinette sincerely. “Unless you want me to stay around, just in case.” He eyed Dick suspiciously.

“I’ll be okay, Kitty,” she assured him. “We were going to have this conversation soon anyway. This just pushed it forward by a few weeks.”

“I’ll stay, just in case,” Plagg insisted, floating up in front of Dick’s face with a malicious grin.

“No, you won’t. Not if you’re going to threaten my babies’ father,” Marinette chastised sternly.

“Fine! No threatening him. I’ll just stay… and keep Tikki company,” Plagg offered petulantly.

“No. I don’t want either of you here,” Dick objected. Plagg looked affronted but Tikki gave him a look of understanding and started tugging him toward Adrien. “I don’t want creatures with unknown powers, actively destroying things, to be around my children.”

“Why don’t I take them both tonight? You guys should be pretty safe here in the manor. If you need us, we’re just a phone call away,” Adrien assured her. He opened his pocket for the kwami. Tikki zipped over to him but Plagg held his position, attempting to stare down Dick. He was fuming from the suggestion that he would ever hurt the twins. He’d been with the twins more than Dick had and yet Dick was kicking him out! The unmitigated gall!

“Thank you, Adrien,” Marinette answered quietly. “Plagg,” she spoke up. He kept facing Dick but his ears twitched indicating he had heard her. “Plagg, thank you for everything you’ve done. Let me speak to Dick alone please.”

Plagg huffed at her. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know,” Marinette moved over to him and scratched between his ears. “But, Adrien’s right. We’ll be safe tonight. You’ve been on babysitting duty for seven months straight. You can take a break for one night.”

Plagg huffed at her again, still refusing to move. Tikki flew out of Adrien’s pocket to tug on him. “Come on, Stinky Sock. Let them have some time alone.”

Plagg finally acquiesced, but sent a final glare to Dick. “Fine. But if he hurts her…”

Tikki pushed him again. “He won’t hurt her. Come on protective cat. You’re causing more damage than good.”

Adrien let out a relieved sigh and nodded to them. Just before leaving the room he turned and gave a pointed look to Marinette before shifting his eyes down to his ring with a nod. Marinette smiled at him with an understanding nod at his wordless permission to divulge his identity.

She slowly turned back to Dick. She shifted anxiously from foot to foot, her entire body tense. This was not the way she wanted to tell him, but then again Dick hadn’t gotten to dictate the terms of either of his reveals either. Neither of them got to prepare for the deep, meaningful conversations. But, even if timing might be against them, she had faith they could do this. They had always been able to communicate, excepting the lying portion, they had always been able to talk through their concerns and worries. She just had to breathe and be honest. They could do this.

Dick studied her carefully trying to read the situation from her body language. She was nervous, but not at all about the creatures. She was completely at ease with them despite the stuffie incident. And Marinette was one to catastrophize. She was more likely to anticipate the worst than just blithely accept it. Which meant she is thoroughly familiar with them and their powers. She was completely confident they did not pose a threat to their children. No, that wasn’t what she was nervous about. She was nervous about him and how he was going to react to the situation. He sighed and leaned against the desk. Their lives were a complicated mess. “Let’s start slow. What did you mean he’s been on babysitting duty for the last seven months?” Dick finally asked.

“Plagg has been with me constantly since the pharmacy incident,” Marinette answered quietly. “That incident scared Adrien and the kwami a lot. They wanted Plagg to be with me too in case something else happened. I wouldn’t transformed while pregnant, especially not with Plagg, but he could do other things, like let Adrien know where I was if I got kidnapped and lead him to me.”

Dick stared at the door Adrien had left through, the clues slowly starting to click into place. “Because Adrien is Chat Noir. That’s why Chat is so protective of you, because he’s Adrien.” Dick’s mind was racing through all the implications, missing the way Marinette winced in response to his wrong assumption. He looked over to her as something else clicked into place. “When Chat said he had you bugged, he meant that thing. That that thing…”

“A kwami named Plagg,” she supplied.

“That… Plagg was with you,” he finished. She nodded. “And that creature… Plagg, how dangerous is he?”

“Depends,” she bobbed her head to the side in a wishy-washy motion. “Kwami are the physical embodiment of concepts. Tikki is the embodiment of creation and good luck. Plagg is the embodiment of destruction and bad luck, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I haven’t discussed it with Adrien, but I’m pretty sure the destruction of the Court of Owl base where they were holding me, was Plagg. I don’t think Adrien could have done it that completely. It had to have been Plagg. They are linked to physical objects that a person can wield, when transformed their power is a lot more controlled by the wielder. But Plagg has control too.”

“He accidentally destroyed a stuffie,” he gave her a pointed look.

She waved off his concern as she rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t accidental.”

“You can’t know that,” he said cautiously. She may be comfortable with having a creature like this around his children, but he definitely wasn’t.

“If it was accidental, there would have been a whole lot more damage and no ash trail. The destruction would have been complete. When he accidentally destroys things, entire cities disappear. Entire orders of animals become extinct. That was a controlled, focused use of his power. Likely because Robert was showing a bit too much attention to that stuffie rather than the black cat stuffie.”

“Okay…” He eyed her suspiciously, not entirely convinced.

“Also, I should warn you. Intentional use of his power to punish can result in destroying a cult’s stronghold or… sinking a city,” she gave him an overly wide, tense smile.

“Like Atlantis,” he nodded in realization.

“Like Atlantis,” she confirmed. “Apparently he still holds a grudge too. Your friend Garth, he’s Aqualad, right? He has to be. Plagg was acting up all night when I met your friends. Every time Garth came near me, Plagg was pitching a fit. I couldn’t figure out why and he wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s what that noise was!” Dick gasped. He had thought something was going on. Some emergency at the office because her purse had been buzzing constantly. “I thought your phone just kept going off.”

“No, just Plagg being overprotective and not wanting him near me. I had to keep hitting my bag. I’m surprised your friends didn’t think I had muscle spasm problems,” her eyes widened in embarrassment remembering that part of the night.

“Okay… so that’s why you had Plagg, because Adrien asked you to keep him. Is it the same for the other one Teachi? Did her wielder ask you to keep her too?” He cocked his head to the side, a slight furrow marring his brow as he tried to force the pieces together.

“Tikki. No.” She looked away nervously and ran her hands up and down her arms to try to calm herself down. She knew there was no reason to be nervous. Dick wouldn’t reject her or be mad at her for having been a hero. But he was the first person outside of her team to know. The first new person who would find out and she could never take it back and that was terrifying. She had to be absolutely sure of him.

But she was. She was sure about him. She wasn’t sure if they would end up together. She wasn’t sure if they would get married and have more kids, but she was absolutely sure she could trust him, at least with this much. And she was absolutely sure she didn’t want to keep it from him any longer. “Tikki is with me because she’s my kwami.”

“Your…” he stared at her. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise. “You’re Ladybug!”

“I was. That’s why Adrien was so protective. We were partners. When I said we were always together during attacks, that’s why we were. When I said we died for each other… that’s why we did,” she finished quietly.

“You were a hero,” he breathed out, barely above a whisper.

“I was,” she confirmed again with a slight laugh. He had the most adorable gob smacked expression on his face like it was the last thing he would have ever thought, which, with the magic glamour, might be the truth.

“Oh my God!” He slapped his forehead and fell onto the bed next to her. “I was wearing a Ladybug shirt when we first met. You were wearing a Nightwing shirt!”

“Yeah,” she giggled. “You’re where I was a few weeks ago.”

“That’s why Adrien and that… Plagg kept calling you bug. I thought it was because you are so small.” Marinette scowled at him but he was so caught up in the revelations and puzzle pieces finally coming together. “But that didn’t make sense that Plagg would call you that until now.”

He turned to her, a glint of awe in his eyes. “I remember seeing video of you in action. I checked out Ladybug and Chat Noir after you mentioned them when we first started dating. You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” she bowed her head graciously.

“I mean you still are. I didn’t think I could think you were any more amazing than I already did, but you were so impressive in action. Your moves and your confidence, your compassion and your creativity.” He looked away to process the new information and come to grips with his newfound admiration. He thought through some of the fights he’d seen footage of, some of the moves he remembered. She had been absolutely amazing. Everything he admired about Marinette but amplified because of the extreme situations. He shook his head at the fights he remembered until one of them caught in his head. One incredulous, ridiculous, asinine move. “You jumped into a dinosaur’s mouth!”

“I… did,” she grimaced at the reminder. Not her best moment, but it worked.

“Oh God. No wonder you and Jason hit it off so well.” He shook his head at the thought of the two of them fighting together. Jumping into a situation relying on luck and determination to get them through. They would fit far too easily together in a fight. “Oh my God, the rest of the family is going to go insane when they find out. Wait,” he looked over to her with a questioning look, “were you planning on telling them?”

“I… hadn’t decided yet, but I don’t think so. I thought I might eventually tell them about being Multimouse or the dragon, but not about Ladybug.” Dick frowned slightly. If anyone could understand being a hero and weighing normal life with that life, it was them. They could understand her in a way few others could. “It isn’t that I don’t love them and trust them it’s just… you know our villain, Hawkmoth? He wanted our miraculous because combined, it gave him a wish. One wish that could rewrite reality. Could destroy a continent, or a planet, could bring perpetual wealth, or health, could make one immortal or bring someone back from the dead, but at a cosmic price. I just… I don’t know. If your brothers knew of that power. If your brothers lost someone and knew all they had to do to get them back was take the jewels and make a wish, but if they did there would be a price. Do you think they would restrain themselves? Or do you think they would find a way to sneak them away from me and Adrien to make the wish, whatever the consequences?”

Dick stared at her, a concerned frown on his face. She was right. He knew she was. If they lost Bruce again, he had no doubt Damian would do anything to bring him back. If Tim ever lost Kon… If any of them had a child that was lost… He massaged his forehead trying to ward off the migraine he knew wanted to start with all this new information bombarding his brain.

“That’s why I took so long to tell you. There’s so much damage that can be done. I’ve never… we’ve never… neither of us has ever told anyone else. The core members of our team know, but nobody else. There’s six people in the universe who know who we are… now seven.” She looked at him gravely.

He took a few deep breaths and eyed her apprehensively, letting the seriousness of the situation settle over him. Finally he nodded in agreement. “So we don’t tell the family. Is there more I should know?”

“If we’re going to stay together, yes. But I don’t know if I’m ready to go there yet. Things only Chat… Adrien knows.” She studied him carefully for a moment before one side of her mouth quirked up a bit. “I’ve had it drilled so thoroughly into my head that I can’t let anyone know, it feels strange to be able to be honest with someone else. I’m glad you know.”

“I’m glad I know too.” He moved closer to her and cupped her face, gently stroking her cheek. “I can’t wait until we both know all of each other’s secrets,” he whispered, slowly leaning toward her.

Marinette smiled. “You have more secrets to tell,” she whispered back with a teasing smile.

“So many.” He nodded, his eyes focused entirely on her lips as he leaned closer still. “I’ll make some up if I have to.” He smirked at her eye roll. He was close enough now that he could feel her breath fanning out across his face and she wasn’t backing away. She wasn’t pushing him for space and that fact alone was making his heart soar.

He was just about to close the gap when she quirked her head to the side and sighed. “That sounds like Lucy, which means Rob will be up too.” She gave him an apologetic smile and moved to go nurse them.

Dick let out an exaggerated sigh and fell back on the bed. He suddenly shot up as a thought occurred to him. “He knew I was Nightwing and Jason is Hood when he suggested the nickname for Rob.”

Marinette laughed at the offended look on his face. “Oh, definitely.”

“That bastard. I’ll show him. I’ll introduce him to Wally as a punishment. He’ll never be able to get another word in again. Hey, wait up.” He jumped up and rushed over to her, slinging his arm around her waist and planting a kiss on her temple. “I’ll change their diapers for you.”

Chapter 30

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95 @jayjayspixiepop @alessialeone6997

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - powers

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heyitssmiller · 4 years ago

Text

Frosted Windowpanes Part Two

I have no idea why this was so hard to write? Part one just came so easily and this... not so much. But here it is! All the holiday tropes! Christmas puns (thank you to all of y’all who gave me ideas for those)! Falling in love!

As always, @donttouchmycarrots is my hero for proofreading!! Love you <3

@lumosinlove Guess who’s back to borrow your characters ;) Thank you so much!!

Part One if you missed it!

Finn had a Plan.

Well, half a Plan.

Maybe.

Step one: meet up with Logan and Leo again. Step two: woo them. Step three: …

Well, it wasn’t much. And it was very vague. But Finn’s plans tended to never go the way he wanted them to anyway, so vague was usually for the best. And so far, it had been going well. They’d grabbed dinner several times, ran into each other at the store or buying Christmas presents downtown. And on Monday the diner was closed, so Finn and Leo spent hours at the farm helping where they could and pestering Logan. He was so fun to tease – he got all gruff and grumpy and adorable. Leo seemed to think so, too, if the number of times he teamed up with Finn to make Logan get all red was anything to go off of.

At the beginning of all this, Finn had thought he’d been overdramatic. He’d woken up the morning after first meeting Logan and Leo and assumed he’d been tired and jet-lagged and was imagining all those feelings he’d felt the night before.

And then he’d met up with them again.

Love at first sight wasn’t real. Finn knew this. But being here, meeting Logan and Leo, just might have been enough to change his mind. It made no sense, but – well, here he was. The past few days were happy, rose-tinted, and Finn couldn’t believe his luck. What were the odds that he’d find both of them in this sleepy little town?

So here he was, pulling into the parking lot of Leo’s for a cup of coffee and a healthy serving of sweet southern blond.

Leo was out front, shoveling snow and looking absolutely miserable while doing it. He was bundled in a thick coat and hat, scarf wrapped high around his neck. Finn laughed under his breath as he turned his car off and braved the cold. Poor southern boy. Leo glanced up at him briefly when he approached, then did a double take.

“Morning, sunshine.” Finn said with a cheeky grin. “Enjoying the snow day?”

Leo’s resulting grumpy look made Finn laugh. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Nate called and said he can’t make it to work today because the roads are so bad.” Leo took a deep breath, and then the rest of his words came out in a jumbled, rushed mess. “Which isn’t his fault and I’m not blaming him at all. But I haven’t started cooking and we open in thirty minutes and there’s no coffee brewing and nowhere for people to park because of this goddamn snow and so I’m stuck shoveling snow instead of cooking and I’m so far behind-”

Finn gently pressed a finger to Leo’s lips, halting the nervous ramblings. Leo looked down at his finger, then back up to meet Finn’s eyes.

Oh, he was so gorgeous.

Finn had to force himself to focus on the matter at hand instead of cherry-red lips and soft baby blues. “Relax, ok? And hand me the shovel. I’ll do this, while you get on inside and start cooking.”

“But – Finn,” Leo said, and wow did he love the sound of his voice in that southern twang.

“Leo,” He echoed with an attempted accent, eliciting a smile from the blond.

“I can’t just ask you to work. You’re on vacation.”

“First of all, you didn’t ask – I offered. And the friends I’m visiting are both at work,” Finn explained, “so I’ve been left to my own devices for the day.”

Leo winced in sympathy. “Bless your heart.”

And see, Finn had done his research. He’d googled New Orleans, the state of Louisiana, and the south in general. And he’d learned that southerners were very confusing – more confusing than people gave them credit for. They were polite and kind to everyone, even if they definitely didn’t mean it. The phrase “bless your heart” could mean they either absolutely adored you or they thought you were the worst person on the planet.

Finn really hoped it wasn’t the latter. He didn’t think it was the latter, anyways.

“I’m literally dying of boredom. I’ll shovel the snow, and then I can come help you cook!” At Leo’s skeptical look, Finn brought out the big guns: his puppy dog eyes. They were known to melt even the hardest of hearts. He’d learned this lesson in college when asking his Grinch of an Ethics professor for some extra credit. “Please?”

Leo hesitated, but Finn could see the exact moment he caved. “Alright. But you’re getting paid.”

“Absolutely not. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“I’ll pay you in food and coffee.”

“Deal.” Finn said, grabbing the shovel from Leo’s mittened hands. “Like I could ever say no to your food.”

Leo’ smile, warm and a little bashful, probably could’ve thawed the snow on the pavement if it was directed that way. “What would you like: sweet or savory?”

“Sweet,” Finn said instantly, even though he really preferred savory. His one-track mind was still stuck on dimples. “But I take my coffee black.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Finn watched him go, knowing that he had the dopiest smile on his face. Today was going to be a good day. And he knew a way to make it even better.

Finn dialed the number for Tremblay’s Trees, hoping more than anything that Logan would be the one to pick up. But of course he wasn’t that lucky. A bright, cheery voice answered the phone - definitely not Logan. “Tremblay’s Trees!0 This is Thomas, how can I help you?”

“Uh,” Finn said articulately, “Hi, I’d like to talk to Logan. Is he there?”

There was a slight pause, then: “Maybe. Who’s asking? And how do you know our dear Lolo?” The voice sounded curious, if not a little mischievous. Before Finn could answer, though, there was a scuffling over the line.

“Talker, give me the phone.”

“Oh, come on, I’ve got the five o’clock news slot tonight. Give the people what they want, Logan! Who’s your mystery caller?”

“I swear to god-”

The scuffling sound got louder, then there was a loud clatter when Finn assumed the phone hit the ground. He jerked his own phone away from his ear with a wince. “I am very confused.” He stated, not sure if anyone else heard him.

There was a small, softer rustle, then a breathless voice asked, “Hello?”

Finn couldn’t help but smile. “Hi, Lolo.”

That laugh was just as wonderful over the phone as it was in person. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Mmm… I might need to be convinced.” Finn said, letting some flirtiness slip through. “Anyways, I’ve got an idea. You busy today?”

“I’ve got the morning off. Why, what did you have in mind?”

So Finn, with the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear, told the story of this morning as he shoveled – Nate not being able to make it to his shift, the ice and snow in Leo’s parking lot, Leo being behind on cooking and acting anxious. “So I was thinking we could do something? Like a surprise? And I know you guys need to actually sell things and make a living and stuff but I was thinking about decorating the diner? He just works so hard and he’s so stressed and I feel like he could use a little holiday cheer. What do you think?”

The other voice from earlier must have shouted, because he was loud enough to hear over the phone. “Phone guy! What the hell did you say to make him melt like that?”

Logan punched Talker in the shoulder. Hard. “I will lock you in the closet, Talker. Shut. Up.” His attention was brought back to the phone by Finn’s laugh and his demeanor softened again. He’d never met someone as chaotically considerate as Finn O’Hara. It was such a sweet, thoughtful idea. And it was something to help out Leo? How could Logan say no?

“Sounds like a plan.” Logan said, cradling the phone closer to his ear. “Most people already have their decorations so we don’t have a whole lot left, but I’ll see what I can find.”

“Perfect! Oh this is going to be so fun – fuck, I’ve gotta go. Customers just showed up. But I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Great. Ok see you soon bye!” The words reached Logan in a rush before the line went dead.

What a dork.

Logan was pretty sure he was half in love with him.

“So…” Talker said suddenly, making Logan spin around quickly. “Who are you pining over?”

Noelle, who had been passing by on her way to the kitchen, backpedaled in order to join the conversation. “Are we talking about Logan’s love life? Because I’m so here for that.”

Logan sighed and went to the coat rack by the door, grabbing his coat, toque, and scarf. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

They both promptly ignored him. Talker grinned at his fiancée, sensing trouble he could get into. “He’s become such a sap.”

Noelle snuggled up to Talker, turning her teasing gaze to her brother. “But if it’s who I’m thinking of, they have such good chemis-tree.”

“Did you guys practice this or something?”

“Hey man, don’t be so defensive.” Talker said, voice turning serious. “You know we’re all rooting for you.”

“I hate you both so much.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Lolo.” Noelle sighed, giving him an over-the-top hug and obnoxious kisses to his cheek. “We’re just having some fun. Do you want us to stop needling you?”

“I’m having fun fir sure!” Talker shouted, then burst into raucous laughter, which stopped as abruptly as it started. “Wait. That wasn’t Leo on the phone. You've got eyes for someone other than him, now? Branching out a little, are we?"

“No.” Logan said instantly, then winced. Because his feelings for Leo definitely hadn’t changed. But then there was Finn… “Maybe. It’s complicated, ok?”

“The redhead that was hanging out with you and Leo on Monday?”

Logan felt his cheeks heat up but didn’t say anything. Monday had been the best, though. Showing the two of them the farm and how he did his job and watching their noses and cheeks turn adorable shades of pink from the cold. Even though he’d been there for a year, Leo still seemed in awe of all the snow. He clearly hated it, but Logan could tell he still found wonder and beauty in a clean blanket of undisturbed, freshly-fallen snow. Finn, even though he was clearly freezing too, kept cracking jokes the entire time, his voice muffled by his scarf. They’d walked and talked and learned more about each other among the saplings that would be full-grown and ready to be cut down by next season.

Yeah, Monday had been a great day.

And Logan was so screwed.

“Birch, please.” Noelle teased, then softened. “But really, Logan. Both of them were just as interested in you as they were in each other. You’ve got nothing to worry about, you just need to talk to them.”

He looked up from the buttons of his coat. “You think so?”

“Only one way to find out. What are you doing with them today?”

“We’re decorating the diner.” Logan pulled his hat on and looked over at his sister. “Do you think dad’ll be ok with me taking some garland and a wreath?”

Noelle scoffed. “With all the coffee and pastries you boy’s given us, I think he’s more than paid for it. Do you want company?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” Talker said, wiggling his eyebrows. “We’d make the perfect wingmen.”

“You did enough while I was on the phone, thanks.” Logan said, grabbing the keys from the counter. “Ok I’m headed out. See you later.”

Talker and Noelle sent a chorus of boos after him, only stopping when the door closed firmly behind him. He huffed out a laugh, shook his head, and headed towards the display counter to grab decorations. They were a little old since it was so close to Christmas day, but they’d have to do. Logan hesitated for a split second, then grabbed the Santa hat as well. They’d get a kick out of that. He threw the decorations in the back of the truck and took off down the road.

They actually worked really well together – Leo and Finn, that is. Finn dealt with customers while Leo made the food. They had a complex, intricate dance around the close quarters of the diner but they seemed to know the footwork already and could predict exactly what the other needed without blinking an eye. Leo peered out the kitchen window at Finn as he took orders at another table, laughing at something one of the women said. He was good at this. He was naturally outgoing and good with people, but he was also efficient and seemed to be able to keep track of twenty different things at once.

Leo frowned thoughtfully down at the grits on the stove. Logically, he shouldn’t like Finn. The redhead had appeared like a whirlwind and thrown everything off course. But then he went out of his way to be helpful and sweet and thoughtful even though it didn’t benefit him in any way. He had a big heart with a lot of love to give. And he gave it willingly to everyone, it seemed.

Don’t get him wrong, that was a good thing – it was a great thing. But it also made the past few days incredibly confusing. Was Finn treating Leo like everyone else, or did he want something more?

He definitely wanted something more with Logan, though. That much was obvious.

Leo just wasn’t sure how he fit into all of this.

Finn barging into the kitchen snapped Leo out of his thoughts. He looked up as Finn started looking around for something on the counters and shelves, tongue poking out in concentration. Leo couldn’t help but smile at the little detail.

“What are you looking for?” He asked, stepping away from the stove.

“The, um…” Finn said, trailing off as he continued to search, clearly distracted. “The spicy maple sauce for the chicken and waffles.”

“In the fridge.” Leo stated plainly, maneuvering around Finn to grab flour from the pantry, brushing against his back as he did so and trying to ignore how the simple touch heightened his awareness of the redhead. Finn threw open the fridge door, scanning the shelves.

“Where?”

“Second shelf from the bottom, on the right.”

A few seconds of silence, then: “Where?”

Leo laughed, dumping a cup of flour into a bowl and heading to the fridge. He peered over Finn’s shoulder, then reached around him with one long arm to grab the bowl of sauce. “Right in front of you, sweetheart.” He teased. Finn turned around so that he was facing Leo, a look that Leo had seen a lot in the past few days but still couldn’t identify on his face.

“Yeah,” was all he said, soft and a little strangled.

Leo looked away from those deep, brown eyes and down at the sauce. His heartrate picked up significantly. “Have you tried this yet?” At Finn’s shake of his head, Leo grabbed a spoon from a nearby drawer. “Figured I’d combine my roots with where I ended up, y’know? Tabasco, black pepper, maple syrup, and a few more secret ingredients.” He said with a wink, spooning some out and holding it out to Finn. “I’m pretty proud of it, if I do say so myself. Try it.”

Instead of grabbing the spoon from Leo, Finn just leaned forwards and tasted the sauce straight from the spoon in Leo’s hand. Leo’s breath hitched and his stomach swooped as Finn straightened again and met his eyes.

Oh, he could stare into those eyes forever. Eyes the same color of the coffee Finn had slid through the kitchen window about an hour ago with the words, “figured you could use some” before dashing off to clear another table. Leo had turned beet red, but grabbed the coffee and held it close before taking a sip.

Leo also hadn’t realized how close they were. The diner was small and the kitchen was cramped, but they definitely didn’t need to be standing this close. Not that Leo was complaining.

“Is it hot in here?” Finn murmured, gaze flitting from Leo’s eyes down to his lips and back again.

Leo seemed a little lost, too, leaning closer to the redhead without even realizing he was doing it. “Must be the sauce.”

It definitely wasn’t just the sauce.

The chime that alerted them to the front door opening startled both of them, forcing them to jerk away from each other and blush furiously.

“I, uh, I’m going to go check on that.” Finn said, still not looking away from Leo as he backed up.

“Ok.” Leo whispered, reaching back to grab the island behind him in an attempt to steady himself. Finn reluctantly tore his eyes away and disappeared from sight, leaving Leo reeling in the kitchen as he entered the dining area.

Finn’s mind was still back in the kitchen, wishing more than anything that he hadn’t been forced to step away. He’d never wanted to kiss someone senseless quite as much as he did right then. And how was he supposed to keep it together when all he wanted to do was flip the diner sign from open to closed and get Logan here and finally talk to them. They’d felt this pull - this magnetism - too. He knew they did. The only thing left to do was finally talk about it.

Finn was forced to snap back to the present when the counter was suddenly covered in green needles, red berries, and festive ribbons. He looked up to see Logan grinning at him. Under his coat he was wearing red plaid, which matched the Santa hat perched on his head.

How was it possible to want two people so much at the same time? He couldn’t breathe with all the emotions overflowing in his chest.

“Ho ho ho,” Logan attempted to say, but cracked up before he could finish. Finn grinned and laughed as well, stepping forward to greet him.

“You should’ve used the chimney.” Finn joked, tugging on the end of his hat playfully. He got a smile and sparkling green eyes in return. Finn bit back a dreamy sigh. “But really, thank you. Leo’s gonna love this.”

Logan’s face grew a little worried. “How is he?”

Ha.

Haha.

That was a good question, since Finn left him standing there in the kitchen with the spoon still in his hand, looking a little lost.

He ended up shrugging, glancing back at the kitchen door longingly. “Better now. Still seems tired.”

“We’re going to have to force him to take breaks, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

“Probably. If we tag team, I think we can manage to make it happen.” Finn looked down at the decorations. “So where are we putting these?”

Logan looked around the dining area, giving Finn a perfect view of his profile. He longed to kiss that strong jawline so badly, holy shit. “We could hang some over the kitchen window and some around the front window. And the wreath can go on the door.” Finn followed Logan as he maneuvered his way around tables to the front window, eyeing it critically. “The frame is wide enough that it should stay up on its own, so we won’t need nails or anything.” He grabbed the garland from the counter and then turned back around. Finn looked from him to the tall crown molding around the window.

“Need a ladder?”

“No.”

Finn laughed, grabbing one end of the garland and stretching up to place it on the ledge. Once it was secure, he looked over his shoulder at Logan and stuck his hand out for the other end. Logan hesitated, clearly wanting to do it himself, but quickly admitted defeat and handed it over. He huffed at Finn’s smug smile.

“Shut up.”

Finn laughed as he hung the garland. Logan was so small and grumpy and cute. Finn wanted to bundle him up in his arms and never let go. His little pocket-sized lumberjack. How adorable. He was so different from Leo, in basically every way. And yet Finn still wanted them both. How the hell did that work?

“I should probably check on the customers.” Finn said reluctantly, glancing around at the breakfast crowd. “Do you think you can manage the kitchen window?”

“I got it.” Logan grumbled, sizing up his next target. Finn just shook his head fondly and started making his rounds to the occupied tables. Logan grabbed the remaining garland and headed behind the counter. He couldn’t help but stick his head through the window and look around. It was several degrees warmer in the kitchen than it was in the dining area. Logan was surprised at how tidy it was, considering how hectic the morning had been. There were a few scattered dishes in the sink, but the counters were mostly clean and organized, each bowl seemed to have a designated location. Leo, focused with his head down, maneuvered between stations with an effortless grace as he breaded a chicken tender and threw it into a frier. Logan never thought he’d be so entranced by something as simple as cooking but here he was, watching Leo hum along to the Christmas music on the radio as he poured batter into a waffle iron. He grabbed a mug of coffee off to the side and looked up as he took a sip, jumping when he saw Logan.

“Logan! Hey, honey!” He smiled, like seeing Logan was the highlight of his day. Logan yearned at the sight of that smile. He seemed to be doing a whole lot of yearning lately. “When did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Brought you something.”

Leo arched an eyebrow. “That sounds a little ominous.”

“No,” Logan laughed. “No, it’s a good thing.” He held up the garland and wiggled it around a little, causing it to sway in the air.

Leo’s entire face lit up. “Christmas decorations?”

“It was Finn’s idea.” Logan said, looking back over his shoulder at the redhead. Leo visibly softened, smile gentle and eyes warm.

“He sure is sweet, isn’t he?”

You just need to talk to them, Noelle’s voice echoed in Logan’s head. Looking at Leo right then, he couldn’t help but think that maybe she was right.

“Sure is snowing hard out there, eh?” Logan asked several hours later as he looked out the window. It was a strange lull in the day – too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. They were all grateful for the break. Logan honestly wasn’t sure how Leo did this every day – it was exhausting.

Finn, who was sitting on the other side of the booth from Logan and Leo with his legs stretched out, pulled up the weather app on his phone. “It’s only supposed to get worse. They’re calling for a blizzard.”

Leo looked out at the snow worriedly. “I really don’t wanna drive home in all that.”

“Might need to close up early, then. No one’s going to be out in this weather, anyways.” Logan said, watching Leo bite his lip as he thought about it. “I could drive you, if you want.”

Leo looked over at him, relief clear in his eyes. “Would you?” He rushed to continue, “I don’t wanna inconvenience you or anything, and I know you need to get home too-”

“Leo,” Logan cut in with a smile. If Leo didn’t know Logan would do pretty much anything for him at this point, he was clearly oblivious. “I don’t mind, I promise.”

Leo seemed to accept it without further argument and looked over at Finn. “Do you wanna tag along? I was thinking about making cookies.”

“Well that depends.” Finn said with mock gravitas, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the table. “What kind of cookies are we talking?”

Leo matched his pose, mischief alight in his eyes. “I was thinking snickerdoodles, but I’d be willing to reconsider.”

“Sneak in some sugar cookies we can decorate and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Leo and Finn shook on it, keeping it professional.

Logan was infatuated with the two of them.

“So you’re closing early?” He asked, excited at the prospect of spending the rest of the day with them. At Leo’s nod, he nearly sighed with relief. “Good. You need a break.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. “Maybe I do.”

Finn grinned. “He finally admits it!”

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Leo sighed, shoving Logan’s shoulder repeatedly until he got out of the booth. Leo followed after him. “I’ve got to put stuff away in the kitchen and then I’ll be done.”

Logan and Finn shared a look before trailing after him. They worked together to clean up, put food away, and organize the receipts and cash register for the day. It went much faster with three people. Before they knew it, all three of them were piling into Logan’s pickup truck, bundled up against the cold and brushing freshly-fallen snowflakes off of their coats and out of their hair. Logan pulled out onto the road, driving while Leo gave directions from the passenger’s seat.

Leo’s house was nice – small, but it looked warm and well-loved. There was a snowman out front, complete with a scarf and carrot nose.

“Cute.” Finn said as they got out of the truck, walking up to the snowman. Leo smiled, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“My friend’s little brother made that over the weekend.” He unlocked the front door and ushered everyone inside as he held the door for them. Leo’s house was all cool tones – soft blue and purples and greens. There was a tree in the corner of the living room by the window, all lit up and decorated. There were presents under the tree, wrapped in brown paper with ribbons and bows.

Leo hung his coat on the coat rack and took Logan’s and Finn’s from them. “So. Cookies?”

“Nope,” Logan said, grabbing Leo by the hand and tugging him towards the living room. “Rest first, then cookies.” Leo laughed, reaching behind him to find Finn’s arm and pulling him along with them.

“I won’t say no to a Christmas movie.” He agreed as they all collapsed onto the couch. Finn grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and threw it over the three of them while Leo grabbed the TV remote.

Logan moved closer under the pretense of getting under more of the blanket. He was now pressed up against Leo, butterflies in his stomach. “My vote is for Die Hard.”

Finn scoffed, throwing his legs over Leo’s and Logan’s thighs. “That doesn’t count as a Christmas movie.”

“I beg your pardon-”

“Is it about Christmas? No. Case closed.”

Logan leaned forward to look around Leo at the redhead. “It takes place during Christmas!”

Leo just listened amusedly to the bickering as he flicked through movie titles. They were still arguing when he started the cute, old Claymation Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Both boys trailed off as the introduction music started.

“This works.” Finn said, settling in to get more comfortable, his calves flexing against Logan’s thighs as he stretched. Logan hummed in agreement, eyes already glued on the screen.

They hadn’t even met Hermey the elf before Leo was sound asleep, head pillowed on Finn’s shoulder and breathing slow and even. Finn looked over blond curls at Logan and smiled, making his heart thud painfully in his chest. He needed to talk to them, and soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit there and keep all these feelings internalized.

But it could wait until after a nap. He snuggled up close and turned back to the TV.

“No, you need to-” Leo stopped and laughed, pointing to the recipe. “Teaspoon of vanilla extract, darlin’, not tablespoon.”

Finn switched out one measuring spoon for another with a wince. “That would’ve been bad, huh?”

“Very bad.” Leo agreed, looking over at the oven to see Logan already staring back at them, a wide, almost-giddy smile on his face as he started loading cookie dough balls onto a baking tray. One tray of snickerdoodles were already in the oven and spreading out rapidly as they cooked.

“We might’ve put those too close to each other,” Logan said, crouching down to look into the oven. “They’re all starting to stick together. It’s just one big, square cookie.”

“That’s ok. It’ll still taste good.” Leo said with a shrug. They both turned when Finn started banging on the table in time to the music.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas! There is just one thing I need!” He screamed, bopping along to the song. Logan laughed and let himself be tugged forwards to dance. Leo watched as they both jumped around and danced in the kitchen, hips swaying and acting like total dorks. But they were so happy, as well. Big smiles graced their faces as they laughed and sang and held each other close. Leo whisked wet ingredients together in a bowl and leaned back against the counter as he enjoyed the over-the-top show. They were cute together in the warm glow of the kitchen – a sharp contrast to the snow falling outside and collecting on the windowsill. Finn tilted his head back to shriek the last high note, causing Logan and Leo to both burst into fits of laughter.

“O’Hara, please don’t audition for Broadway.” Logan teased, still laughing a little. Finn scowled and grabbed a tea towel, spinning it up before whipping it at the brunet.

This started an all-out war. Many a cookie lost their life in the crossfire when Logan accidentally hit Leo’s arm as he was transferring cooled cookies into a tin. They had a warrior’s send-off as they were dumped into the trash can.

After the cookies were baked and decorated and the kitchen was cleaned thoroughly, it was pitch black outside. Leo had genuinely lost track of time, but he was selfishly grateful for it. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for y’all to be driving in this weather in the dark.” He said, snagging a cookie from one of the plates and taking a bite as he tried to be casual about the two boys potentially staying the night. “I’ve got a guest bedroom and a pull-out couch if you wanna stay here.”

Finn and Logan looked at each other, then Logan shrugged. “If that’s ok with you.”

Ok? It was wonderful.

“Of course it is. I’ll go make up the beds and get y’all something to sleep in, ok?” Leo said before hurrying to his room, where he hastily made his bed and rummaged through his dresser for clothes. He muttered to himself as he pulled out two pairs of sweatpants. “Don’t make a big deal of this, Nutty. They’re just spending the night. That’s it.”

His mind fast-forwarded to imagine sleep-mussed hair, soft smiles, and rough morning voices. Sitting at the table together, nursing cups of coffee as the sun rose over a clean, white blanket of snow. They’d talk and laugh and just maybe share some coffee-flavored kisses.

Leo sighed, pressing his forehead against the edge of his dresser. “I’m screwed, ain’t I?”

Logan woke up to a gentle hand prodding his shoulder. He breathed in sharply as he remembered where he was and blinked his eyes open to be met with worried blue ones. “Leo?” He asked as he sat up, voice raspy with lack of use. “What’s wrong?”

He was greeted with an absolute onslaught of words. “There’s so much snow outside. Like, so much snow. I’ve never seen this much snow before. And I didn’t think it would be this bad so I don’t have any milk or bread or eggs in the house and I doubt I can get to the store. How long do you think the roads will be out? And what about the diner? Is snow damage a thing? Do I need to go check-”

Logan laughed softly, falling back against the pillows and covering his eyes with his forearm. “What – milk, eggs, and bread?”

“It’s a southern thing.” Logan couldn’t see him, but he could hear the pout in his voice. His vision was suddenly filled with blond bed-head and wide baby blues as Leo pulled his arm away from his face. If he could wake up to this every day, Logan would die a happy man. “Come on, sweetheart, I’m really freaking out right now.”

One of these days, the terms of endearment were actually going to kill him.

“I’m sure the diner’s fine. Besides, there’s not much we can do until the roads clear, so we’ll just have to wait it out.” Logan shifted over on the bed, leaving a Leo-sized spot open. He tugged on Leo’s arm until he crawled into bed, laying on his side to face Logan, their feet tangled together. Leo was wearing fuzzy socks.

Logan smiled at the sight in front of him, then closed his eyes again. “Go back to sleep, Leo. We’ll deal with it when-”

The door banged open to reveal Finn, face bright with excitement. “Snow! Have you guys seen all the snow? We should-” He stopped when he saw the two boys in bed, nestled together and still sleepy. He cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-”

“Cuddle.” Leo said, reaching up for Finn as well. “We should cuddle.” Finn smiled warmly and didn’t hesitate to clamber into bed on Logan’s other side, scooting in close and only elbowing Logan once as he got comfy. Logan grumbled, but quickly got over it when he felt a tentative arm wrap around him as he drifted back off to sleep.

Leo woke up to two boys asleep in bed with him and couldn’t think of a time when he was happier. They were all tangled together in a mess of limbs and blankets and pillows. It was warm and soft and Leo never wanted to leave. But he also wanted to surprise them with coffee and breakfast. Breakfast in bed wouldn’t be too obvious would it? He thought back to the past twenty-four hours and decided that if this wasn’t flirting, he wasn’t sure what was. Now it was just a matter of taking that next step and actually talking about it. So who cared if it was too obvious or not?

Leo glanced at Logan and Finn one last time. There was just something about seeing the two of them in his clothes. Logan’s sweaterpaws were visible from where he was grabbing onto Finn’s arm in his sleep. Finn was close to the same size as Leo so the clothes actually fit him pretty well. His face was pressed into brown hair, arm tightening around Logan as he huffed out a breath. The sight did something to Leo’s heart. He smiled dopily before sneaking out of bed, his back popping as he stretched. Ok, game plan: coffee, breakfast, talk. He could do this.

He crept down the hall and into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as he could when getting a frying pan out and setting it on the stove. Next came the kettle for water to use in the French press, bacon, and ingredients to make homemade biscuits. Normally he would’ve done eggs, but they’d used all of them on the cookies yesterday.

The biscuits went into the oven and the bacon into the frying pan, sizzling away. So much for breakfast in bed. Leo knew the smell of food cooking would bring the other two out of the bedroom and, sure enough, he soon heard two pairs of footsteps headed towards him, one slightly muffled by too-long sweatpants hems dragging along the floor. He grabbed three mugs from the cabinet and sent a smile over his shoulder at the two boys.

Three cups of coffee: one black, one with cream only, and one with cream and sugar.

Leo pulled the biscuits out of the oven and quickly transferred them onto a plate, doing the same with the bacon before bringing both to the table.

“Leo, you’re an angel.” Finn said as he grabbed plates and silverware for the three of them. Logan hummed in agreement from in front of the fridge, where he was collecting butter and jams for the biscuits. They all joined each other at the kitchen table, still a little sleepy-eyed and half awake.

Leo, halfway through his first sip of coffee, passed Finn his mug of steaming black coffee, then Logan his own cup full of cream and sugar, just how he liked it. Logan looked down at it and sighed happily, “Love you, Nutter Butter.”

Finn’s head shot up. Leo choked on his coffee, cheeks heating up. Logan looked at them confusedly before he realized what he said and his face paled. “Shit.”

“You... you love me?” Leo asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s heart ached a little at the look on Leo’s face. God, he should’ve told him a long time ago. In response he just slowly nodded, hesitantly meeting wide eyes and hoping for the best.

Leo smiled, letting out a soft laugh. “Honey, I’ve loved you for months.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering up his courage, then reached out to grab Finn’s hand. “And I think I’m falling for you, too. Judging from the way Logan stares at you when you’re not looking, he feels the same.” Leo looked from Finn to Logan hopefully. “Right?”

Finn squeezed Leo’s hand, finally daring to hope. Maybe he could actually have this. His heart thundered in his chest, so loud that Logan and Leo were bound to hear it. “And how does he stare at me when I’m not looking?”

Leo’s eyes flicked over to Logan with a smile. “Take a look for yourself.”

Finn’s breath hitched as he looked over into evergreen eyes, bright and gazing at him the same way Finn had caught him staring at Leo so many times before. He laughed a little in relief, tracing Logan’s cheekbone with gentle fingers.

“I was a little worried we were never going to have this conversation. And I know we’ve got a lot to figure out, but...” He trailed off, a little in awe. What were the odds of this? Everything seemed to fall perfectly into place, like puzzle pieces. It wasn’t some huge revelation, though. There were no grand romantic gestures, no race against time, no frantic outburst. It was calm and gentle like the sun rising outside, casting everything in light pastels and golds.

Logan just laughed softly, scooting his chair back with a loud scraping noise and standing up. “Stop just sitting there and come here, I’ve been wanting to kiss you two for forever.”

Finn scrambled up from his seat and all but threw himself at Logan, nearly bowling him over as he kissed him enthusiastically, arms wrapped tightly around Logan’s waist. Leo smiled as he watched them. He loved their dynamic – the bickering and teasing like they’d known each other for years, and yet the head-over-heels way they looked at each other and held each other and kissed each other. They were so comfortable together, not shying away from anything it seemed. Leo couldn’t wait to see how their relationship grew and evolved over time. He couldn’t wait to see how all three of them would grow together. He stood too and joined Logan and Finn, pressing kisses to their cheeks, their jaws, their necks – anywhere he could reach.

Finn broke the kiss to press his forehead against Logan’s, eyes closed and smile a mile wide. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you at that farm.” His eyes turned to Leo next. He reached up and cupped Leo’s face in his hands. “And I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first bite of pie.”

“What, was the muffuletta not good enough for – mmph.” Leo’s teasing words got cut off by Finn’s lips on his. He sighed into the kiss, draping his arms over Finn’s freckled shoulders and angling his head to deepen the kiss. He could taste black coffee on Finn’s lips and had never loved the flavor more. There was another hand at his back, stroking over his spine. Logan. Leo leaned back into his hand before breaking away from Finn to look at Logan – the guy he’d been pining after for just shy of a year.

“How did I get so lucky?” He murmured, prompting Logan to lean up and kiss him, softly and heartbreakingly gentle. Leo kissed him with purpose, running his tongue against Logan’s bottom lip and causing his breath to hitch.

He thought back to his musings of the night before during his panic in his bedroom and laughed against Logan’s lips. The brunet made a questioning humming noise, so Leo leaned back just far enough to whisper, “Maybe I’m clairvoyant.”

Finn laughed, bewildered. “What?”

Leo just glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, smiled, and combed a finger through red tresses. Sleep-mussed hair, soft smiles, and rough morning voices. Sitting at the table together, nursing cups of coffee as the sun rose over a clean, white blanket of snow. Talking and laughing and sharing some coffee-flavored kisses. Those had been his thoughts last night. And here he was, suddenly getting all of those things.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” Leo said, looking down at his two with overflowing fondness as he thought of the future and hoped that those musings would come true, too.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #o'knutzy #frosted windowpanes

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lexosaurus · 4 years ago

Text

Everything Was White: Part 12

[see all chapters]

Read on: [ffn] / [ao3]

---

The alarm was blaring.

Danny recognized the noise immediately. But his eyes were still slow to open, his arms were slow to turn off the offending sound, and his brain was slow to recognize that the white ceiling above him was just his bedroom ceiling.

His body was numb. Nothing felt real.

He grabbed his phone off his nightstand and unlocked it. The screen was too bright, but he didn’t care. He’d been through worse. What was a little eye strain to him, really?

There were text messages, but Danny ignored them. The government likely already read them first, so if they were important, Danny would probably have woken up back in his cell rather than his cozy bed.

Ghosts like Danny didn’t get to have comfort. He was unpredictable. Dangerous.

“You’re a feral beast.” Operative O’s deep voice rained down on him. “You need to be trained.”

Danny opened the Twitter app only to be faced with a crushing amount of notifications and his name on the top of the trending list.

He should have felt nervous. Anxiety should have gripped his stomach. But...it didn’t.

He felt nothing.

Numb.

He clicked on his name and scrolled through the tweets. As he suspected, that damn video of him at the PHP littered his screen.

Protests have begun to break out near the health clinic Phantom is attending. [image]

I don’t understand, why doesn’t he just fly into the building or something? Can he not fly?

Is phantom over?

It’s so gross how people feel the need to harass a teenager trying to recover from trauma.

imagine being a teen trying to get emergency mental help and then THAT walks into ur class

What the fuck did the government do to him?

He was numb.

Nobody knew what really happened in there, and Danny wanted so badly to keep it that way. And the worst part was, he thought that if he just forgot about it, tried to move past it, then it would all go away. And no one would ever know.

Except Vlad did find out. Somehow, Vlad had managed to get a hold of classified government files about Danny, and if what he had implied was true, then he had learned everything.

And if Vlad knew, then…

No. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Danny knew from the moment he’d stupidly revealed himself that his life was not his own anymore. He knew that he was going to be nothing but a government possession from that moment till the day he died.

He didn’t deserve to get upset over this.

He pulled up a blank tweet and started typing. His movements were robotic. Stilted. But one slip-up, just one reason for the public to get suspicious, and Danny knew that some seedy corner of the internet would pounce on the opportunity to dig deeper into Danny’s life than he was comfortable with.

Danny Phantom @dannyphantom Thank you everyone for the support. I’m back home with my family and am healing.

Before he could question what he was doing, his finger was already pressing send on the tweet. He watched as almost immediately, notifications popped up in his inbox.

But he didn’t open his notifications, he didn’t look at the replies. Instead, he closed the app and shut his phone off.

He didn’t care anymore.

Maddie knocked on the door and asked him a question, and he responded with the right answer for her to leave. He got up and started his new morning routine of sitting in the shower for ten minutes, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, and heading downstairs for breakfast before leaving for six hours of mandatory therapy.

He stared out the window, watching the morning traffic pass by him. He couldn’t remember if he shampooed his hair or if he just sat under the scalding water. But it was fine. He was just a government-issued robot now. Whatever.

There were people lining the highway when Danny pulled into the PHP center. They were shouting different things, holding different signs, their cameras armed and ready as soon as the GAV came into view. The police were there, making sure no one escaped into the parking lot, and there were therapists waiting outside.

They didn’t know. They had no idea what Danny had gone through, why he was there.

And it didn’t matter. Not to them, not to Danny, not to the police or the news stations filming the scene or to the government or Vlad or anyone else.

Danny wasn’t in charge of his life anymore.

He was only here because the government had decided he could stay free.

For now.

The therapists escorted him into the building. Danny felt hollow. Sick.

No, he was fine.

Maddie hugged him, told him to have a good day, that she’d be back to bring him to more therapy after, and Danny nodded. At least, he thought he remembered to nod. He might not have, though.

There was a window in the lobby. A white van was parked along the street.

The APC news van.

Jazz was right. Danny was just being paranoid about the white van outside of their house before. He was so stupid.

Even if it wasn’t a news van, what would it matter? He didn’t control his life, what would he care if they finished him off in some back alley? What would it matter if they snuck him into their van and held him captive for the rest of his life in some damp containment cell?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Danny spaced out for the morning meeting. He couldn’t remember if he managed to read off his paper for the other teens. His voice wasn’t working today. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Everything was numb.

They had art therapy today, run by a tall, lanky man with sandy hair and a clean-shaven face. He told the group to paint what they were feeling today, to channel their emotions onto their blank sheets of paper.

But Danny felt nothing. He had nothing to give.

He must have stared at his paper for too long, because the therapist tried to talk to him, ask him if he was alright, if he was having trouble with the exercise.

Danny didn’t respond, instead choosing to pick up the green paint and squeeze some of it directly onto his paper, rules be damned. It was too dark, so he grabbed the white paint and smeared it into the green. The color still wasn’t right, but Danny didn’t know enough about art to make it right, so he just kept spreading green across his paper. A dash of yellow, then some white, more green.

Time was up. His paper was green.

“Good job, Danny. What do you think?” the therapist asked.

Danny stared at the paper, studying the streaks of yellow within the brush strokes. “It’s not the right shade of ectoplasm.”

The day continued with more emotion-managing lessons and group activities but Danny didn’t care and nobody could understand that. He was done with this, he was tired, it didn’t matter.

It was lunchtime, and Danny had no appetite. It felt like he had just eaten breakfast. His stomach was still full, but he had a sandwich sitting in front of him that he needed to eat or else they would tell his parents.

Danny held the sandwich between his fingers. It looked like sandpaper.

He didn’t want to eat it.

The therapist was looking at him. She was probably talking to him too, asking him questions about his day. But Danny ignored her. After all, didn’t he need to eat this lunch? How could he possibly eat and talk at the same time?

The teens were talking around him, but Danny blocked them all out too.

They were noisy.

It was like they weren’t even there.

Danny wasn’t human. He didn’t care.

But you do care.

He didn’t.

He was numb.

Eat up like a good little dog.

I’m not a dog.

Something inside him snapped, and he yanked on his cold core, channeling all his energy to his fingertips. His fingers tingled out of the tangible field, and the sandwich fell to the table.

“Whoa!” The blonde girl jumped, her eyes trained on Danny’s transparent skin.

“Danny?”

There was an audience. Danny had forgotten about them. His core faltered, and the power faded from his fingertips.

He should have felt embarrassed by this emotional display. He should have felt horrified that he’d allowed himself to act so inhuman and disgusting in front of these innocent bystanders.

But he was still numb.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was bored.”

“That was sick!” the brunette boy chimed in. “You can do that on command?”

“Usually.” Danny’s gaze flickered over to the therapist, who was giving him a strange look. He turned his attention back to the fallen sandwich.

Maybe he would get kicked out of the program for this. For being too dangerous. That would probably be for the better. Then he could go free into the world. No more schedule, no more therapy, no more dissecting his emotions or talking about his trauma.

Who cared about his trauma, anyway? Certainly not him.

“So you still have your ghost powers, then?” the blonde girl asked. “People were saying online that you lost them. The government took them or whatever.”

Danny brought his hand up to his face, willing his fingers to fade to invisibility. “They’re locked. But...I...they’re there. I’ll get them back.”

He would get them back. He needed them.

Especially now.

Which was how he found himself sitting quietly outside his mother’s door. Waiting. He should have knocked probably, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. He didn’t know why, he knew he should just go back to his room, go to sleep, stop bothering his parents about this, but he needed his core back.

His mom would understand. She was a ghost biology expert, right? She would get why he needed his core back now.

He raised his fist to knock, but he must have already knocked before because the door opened, revealing his mother dressed in teal pajamas on the other side.

“Danny?” She frowned, her brows pulling cautiously above her eyes. “What are you doing up, sweetie? Everything alright?”

“I, uh—” His voice was scratchy. He broke eye contact, staring down at his lap. “My—my core.”

“Something wrong?”

He licked his lips, his mouth dry. “I need it back.”

“Sweetheart,” she said in a patient tone. “We talked about this.”

“No. you talked.”

She sighed. “Danny, it’s nearly eleven. Can’t this wait till morning?”

“No. No. I need it.”

“I told you, hun, your core and body need time to heal properly first before we make any drastic changes to your physiology. Just give it a few more weeks, alright?”

“Weeks?” Danny’s voice rose in alarm.

“I promise it’ll be all worth it.”

Static rang in his ears, and a steel claw clutched at his stomach.

His mom didn’t understand. Why would she? She was human. Humans would never get it. She didn’t understand.

“No, I can’t…”

“Danny, you need to trust me. Your body needs to rest.”

“You don’t understand.”

She regarded him for a moment before opening her door fully. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk, then. You can tell me why this is so important to you.”

Danny peered inside the door, at the surprisingly average-looking bedroom before him. He could go in, tell his mother just how wrong he felt cut off from his core, how he was being blackmailed by Vlad, how there was a distinct record of every detail of what the Guys in White had done to him, how he had never felt so defenseless, so vulnerable in his life.

But he wouldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. There was no way he could put it all into words. He was a ghost, she was a human. He couldn’t explain this to her.

Skulker and Vlad may have forced his revelation, but they gave him more secrets than he could ever have dreamt of handling.

Danny turned away. “It’s fine. Good night.”

“Hun…”

“Night, Mom.”

There was a tense silence before Maddie finally relented. “I love you, Danny.”

“You too,” he said reflexively. The words tasted sour on his tongue.

She didn’t understand. If she truly loved him, she would give him his core back right now, but she didn’t.

No, he was just being paranoid. This was just his Obsession talking. He didn’t need his core, he was just as much human as he was ghost. So what if he had to be a little more human for the next few weeks? Isn’t that what he’d always wanted?

To just be a regular human?

Maybe that was what his mother wanted. Maybe that was why she was postponing removing the chip. Maybe she was too afraid to see her son as a monster. A ghost.

But that was crazy. She loved him.

She was telling the truth.

His parents accepted him.

---

“You seem quiet today.”

Danny leaned back against the sofa, his arms crossed and his eyes looking anywhere but at the blonde figure sitting before him. The stress ball sat untouched on the table next to him.

He didn’t feel like doing therapy today. He didn’t want to talk.

His mom was human, his therapist was human. No one was going to get it.

“What’s on your mind, Danny?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He was fine. There was nothing to talk about. Even if there were things to talk about—and there weren’t, this was all just his Obsession going haywire—it wouldn’t matter anyway because he was defenseless and the government was going to kidnap him again. It was only a matter of time.

“You finished your first week with the PHP group today, right? How has that been going?”

“Fine.”

“Can you tell me about some of the activities you’ve been doing?”

“I don’t know.”

She sat there for a moment, as if giving him time to elaborate. But Danny wasn’t going to elaborate. He didn’t feel like talking today.

He looked out the window. The leaves had changed color, the ripe greens fading to yellows, oranges, and reds. In another few weeks, the ground would be littered with fallen leaves.

Summer had barely just begun when he was dragged from his house, drugged, and locked away. And yet, even though his entire world had come to a halt, time still moved on.

The clatter of the therapist’s clipboard falling on a side table jolted Danny out of his musing. He flinched, his eyes snapping over to see the therapist rising from her chair.

She stretched her arms behind her back and walked over to the closet. “You know what? It’s been a long day. Wanna play a game?”

“Um...are we allowed to do that?”

“I don’t see why not.” She grabbed a box out of the closet and placed it down in the center of the room.

Danny peered at it in confusion. “Jenga? Of—of all the games out there, you’re really gonna make me...make me get on the floor for Jenga?”

“Oh, come on, it’s fun.”

“You must throw some wild parties,” he remarked, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he slid off the couch and slowly scooched himself towards the middle of the room. As long as he didn’t have to explain why he was two seconds away from ripping his own core out of his chest, he would go along with whatever game she threw at him.

The therapist carefully tipped the box upside down, sliding the lid up to reveal a tower of multi-colored wooden tiles jigsawed together.

“So here’s our marvelous tower,” she said. “You can reach that alright?”

“Yeah.”

“So normal Jenga rules. We switch off trying to remove a piece without causing the tower to collapse. Except, for this game, after you remove a piece, you’re going to pick a card from this stack—” She pointed to a deck of large cards set up next to the Jenga tower. “—and then answer the question on the card that’s the same color. So if I take a purple tile out, I’ll answer the purple question on the card. Got it?”

Danny glanced between the cards and his therapist’s eager face. He was fairly certain Jenga never involved a set of cards before.

Maybe he’d forgotten the rules. It wouldn’t have been the first time his brain had betrayed him. “Am I being quizzed?”

“Don’t worry.” She pushed up the sleeves of her blue cardigan. “They’re just basic therapy questions. Nothing too bad.”

No. This was a trick, wasn’t it? To get him to talk?

He wasn’t going to fall for it. “I thought we weren’t—weren’t doing that...today.”

“The questions aren’t too deep. Honestly, I mostly just use this game as an icebreaker for new clients. But Jenga’s pretty fun all the same.”

He must have still looked too suspicious, because she threw him an easy smile and went, “Here, I’ll go first.” She carefully nudged a green tile out of the stack and drew a card. “Okay, so the green question on here says, ‘Describe yourself in three words.’ Well, I’d say I’m kind, I think I’m rather nerdy, and I’m a bit of a cat lady.”

That...wasn’t so bad. Maybe this would be an easy game.

He doubted any of the questions asked him about his core. Maybe he could loosen up a bit, go along with this icebreaker game, if only for an hour before sinking back into his internal panic.

“Cat lady?” he tried.

She chuckled. “I’m surprised that’s never come up! I have two at home.”

Right, his therapist had a life outside of therapy. Outside of his problems.

But it wasn’t like he knew her name. At this point, it was just too embarrassing to ask. Maybe she had told him that she had cats, and he just couldn’t remember. Maybe he would forget it again tomorrow.

Whatever. It was fine. He couldn’t care about things he didn’t remember. “Uh…” Danny pushed a purple tile out of the tower. “So I just pick up a—um, a card?”

“Yup, and read the purple question.”

Danny looked down at his card and rolled his eyes. “Oh, figures. ‘If you had superpowers, what would they be?’ Well, I’m dead. Does being dead count?”

She laughed, her voice light and airy. “Of all the questions, huh? Okay, let’s modify this a bit. If you could only keep one of your powers, which would you take?”

“Probably intangibility,” Danny said, his lack of hesitation surprising him.

“Oh? Why?”

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Where the chip was. “It’s the most useful, isn’t it? I can just...you know...I have no physical stuff in my way. I can just phase through any—anything I need. Or—no. Almost anything.”

Not shields. Those could still trap him.

Thankfully, she didn’t try to pry further, just offering him a kind nod and a “that makes sense” before pushing out another Jenga tile. “Blue! Alright, my question is, ‘What is your favorite feature about yourself?’ Hmm...that’s a bit tough, isn’t it? But I think my favorite thing about myself is my hair. When I was a teen, I used to straighten my hair, but then when I got to college, I stopped doing that and just let it be. Now I quite like my curly hair. Okay, your turn!”

“Okay.” Danny leaned over and pushed a red tile out of the tower. “Okay...my quest—question is…‘What is your biggest hope for your future?’ Oh...”

He did want to be an astronaut. But that was before, when he was still human. And then he was caught between thousands of volts of ecto-electricity and that future vanished right before his eyes.

What did he want to do with his life? What did he hope would happen?

He wanted his core back. He couldn’t let himself be so vulnerable for much longer. His chest felt like it was tearing itself apart, he needed to—

Breathe. And answer the question.

What did he hope for his future?

“I don’t know. My future’s kinda...ruined, isn’t it?”

“Try to think on a smaller scale.”

“I…” Danny ran a hand through his hair. He wanted his core back, he wanted to be Phantom, he wanted to protect Amity Park. But he couldn’t say that. It made him sound too ghostly. Too inhuman.

Humans didn’t have these kinds of otherworldly desires. She would think he was a freak if he told her. She wouldn’t know how to react.

“I want to finish PT.”

“That’s a good goal to have.”

“Your turn.”

Humming, she nudged a tile out of the Jenga tower and flipped over a card. “Okay, my question is, ‘What is something you were worried about when you were younger?’ Let me think…oh, here’s one. When I was young, my older sister moved out to live with her boyfriend. It was really scary because I had never lived without her, but we kept in touch and everything turned out okay.”

“I haven’t either. Lived away from Jazz I mean. Like—like for real. But she’s going to college next—next semester. I think she, uh...deferred a semester.”

“And you know, it’s common to feel worried about a sibling moving out. Periods of transition in life can be the most stressful for us, but it’s important to recognize that things will be okay.”

Danny looked down at the carpet. “I guess.”

Some days it felt like Jazz was the only one truly on his side. He was a lab rat, too well known and too hated to ever have a future, forever condemned to a vicious cycle of evading people like the Guys in White and Vlad for the rest of his life. Jazz was leaving him in a few months, his friends would follow in a few years, and in the end, Danny would be alone.

But he was fine with that. He’d accepted it. It was just his life now, there was nothing to say about it.

“It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

“Yup! Go right ahead.”

Danny removed another tile. “‘How do you think others view you and why?’” He paused, throwing the therapist a bitter look. “This is rigged.”

“Not rigged, that’s just a very lucky pick.”

“Lucky to who?” Danny groaned.

What was with the universe finding new ways to torment him?

“Humor me,” the therapist said patiently.

Danny glared at his card, tapping his fingers against the edge. It wasn’t like the public opinion of him was exactly a secret, but it still hurt. Constantly. Like some scab he kept telling himself to ignore, but ignoring it was impossible because the public would never leave him alone.

“Not good,” Danny muttered. “People hate me.”

“Being in the public eye is very stressful for anyone, but to be unique in your way adds on an entirely different layer. People are afraid of the things they don’t understand, and that makes them forget that at the end of the day, you’re still a person.”

“Yeah.” Danny’s eyes were trained on the colorful tower before him, which was starting to blur as the prickling behind his eyes increased. He ducked his head and blinked, hoping to save face before it was too late.

“That doesn’t mean everyone feels this way, though. But sometimes it can feel that way to you because the ones who are the most afraid, the most hateful, are the loudest voices in the crowd. But remember, Danny, you won that court case for a reason. You have more people on your side than you think.”

“I won it for now, you mean. I don’t...I don’t think…” His voice failed, and he pressed his fingernails into his palms. He took a few shaky breaths. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Danny. Why don’t we talk about the case for a minute?”

Tucker’s words echoed in his head, how it was televised. How millions of people all around the globe probably tuned in for it, or watched streams online, each person with their own opinion of him.

But he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“No,” he said. “Can we—can we just continue the game?”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it, then that’s okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Alright.” She pushed a block out of the tower. “So...alright, my question is, ‘What memory do you treasure the most?’ To that, I think fishing with my dad as a child. He was a big support for me when I was growing up, and I really valued our times fishing together as important bonding moments for us.”

Danny nodded politely, trying his best to not appear like he was counting down the seconds until therapy was over.

He could feel his emotions building inside him, threatening to topple the carefully constructed dam guarding his secrets. This was such a simple game, these were such simple questions, so why did he feel like he was failing?

He pushed out a Jenga tile—a red tile—from the tower and grabbed a card, scanning the questions until he found the red one.

What are you afraid of?

The words echoed back to him, and he pushed the card away. He didn’t want to look at it, he didn’t want to read those words or hear her voice because saying the question would mean he would have to talk and he only agreed to this stupid game to get out of talking.

There was so much he was afraid of that he had no right to be afraid of. Because he deserved this. Getting revealed was his fault, he was being reckless. He deserved all of it.

The experiments with the Guys in White. The pain, the way his skin was torn apart. How they threw him in a vat of ectoplasm the next day to heal, and how the ectoplasm entering his lungs made him feel like he was drowning because even though ghosts didn’t need to breathe, he still used those organs reflexively as Phantom. But he was in too much pain and his brain was too hazy to fight back. He could only sink into the darkness.

The red bag. The way it tasted, smelled, how it haunted him every day and how he revisited those moments every night in his dreams. How he would wake up each day and the drawer on his nightstand would be shimmering in the morning sun, as if tempting him to open it up, grab the bottle inside, let it help just for one day. It can take the edge off, he can be functional. Who cares if he’s cheating? It’s just for a day...

The public. The people. Their judgments, their words. How he was, on a molecular level, so vastly different from them. How he could never be the same. He would never have a normal life, he could never have a normal job, a normal family, normal friendships, ever again. There would always be something there, something alien between them.

Even between him and his best friends. There was just something... different ever since the portal accident. It had brought them closer together, sure, but in other ways it had also driven an invisible wedge between them. Because Danny would always have his powers, he would always be a half ghost, and there would always be things now that Sam and Tucker would never understand.

How much would change now? Now that he was in the public eye, now that he’d gone through government torture? Now that his brain didn’t work the same?

And his core. His humanity. Why were his parents so apprehensive about it?

What are you afraid of?

Why wouldn’t his parents let him down into the lab? What were they hiding? They said his core was damaged, but it had been months since he was ripped open. His surgical damage had healed, his broken bones were back to normal, and even though his nerve endings in his chest and spine were still fried, they had been slowly mending themselves too.

Ectoplasm healed faster than human physiology. His core should have been fine by now.

What was the truth?

“They accept me,” Danny said automatically.

“Who does?”

Who accepted him?

Sam and Tucker did.

His family…

Did they?

“I don’t know.”

“You have people in your corner, Danny. Your parents, your sister, your close friends. They all care about you. We’re all here for you, even if those loud voices in the public tell you otherwise.”

But if they cared...

“Then why won’t they let me have my core back?”

“Your core?”

“My powers. My ghostliness. Ectoplasm.” Danny let his eyes flair to emphasize his point.

If his therapist was scared of his otherworldly display, she didn’t show it. Instead, she continued to look at him with her neutral expression, free of the judgment he’d come to expect from people since the accident.

And for some reason he couldn’t explain, that irritated him.

“You mean the inhibitor chip?” she asked.

“Yes. They told me it was because my core...it was damaged but—but it doesn’t make sense! It doesn’t...”

“Have you talked to them about this?”

Of course he had. They kept repeating that his core was damaged. And they were probably right—for a time, at the very least. But that was months ago.

Why hadn’t they scanned his core recently? Shouldn’t they be happy to learn it was healed? Shouldn’t that make them relieved?

What were they afraid of?

What are you afraid of?

“Do you think it would be helpful if I talked to your mother about this?” asked the therapist. “As a way to introduce the topic? She likely doesn’t know how much it’s bothering you.”

But that didn’t make sense either because Danny brought his core up every day. His parents knew how much it was bothering him. They had to have known, right?

So why were they doing this to him?

What were they hiding?

What are you afraid of?

---

Danny tried to remember a time where walking from his living room to his kitchen didn’t require a list of steps to be taken beforehand—a time where he could just get up and walk. But those memories were far too distant now.

And besides, this was his reality now. A reality where something as simple as walking made his head spin.

He shouldn’t dwell on the memories of how easy it used to be for him, he shouldn’t have snapped at Jazz for getting a cup of water for him because he knew the glasses were too high to reach from his wheelchair, he shouldn’t allow this irrational anger to overtake him every time the creeping anxiety of his future as Amity Park’s ghost hero came into question.

He just needed to focus on where he was now. Curled up on his couch avoiding his parents.

Everything felt wrong this morning when he woke up. For a moment, he had managed to convince himself that he was just being paranoid. That it was just his damaged nerve endings freaking out as normal. That once he took his medication, his problems would go away.

But they didn’t. He still felt wrong. His chest still felt wrong.

It was manifesting in other ways too. He couldn’t walk as long today at PT. His physical therapist told him it was just a bad day and that his body was probably just tired from his busy week. But Danny knew that wasn’t right.

It had nothing to do with him being tired. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t anxious.

His core was the problem. His parents were the problem.

He tried asking about his core again on the way home from PT, using conversation techniques he went over with his therapist at the end of their last appointment, but Maddie just brushed him off. Said they would talk about it later.

But then later came and...she didn’t.

Danny tried asking his father, but he brushed Danny off too. Said Danny needed to focus on healing first.

But how was he supposed to heal when he was missing half of himself?

He felt wrong. So wrong. His body was too bound by gravity, it was too empty, it wasn’t listening to him.

He pressed his palms into his forehead. His hands were clammy. Shaking. Speckles of cold touched them—or was that his tears? Was he crying?

No.

He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way?

The government had him in a cage. They tormented him in ways he would rather die than live through again. But then it ended, and he was freed. He was allowed to go home, he could live his life as a legal person again.

Except, he wasn’t free. Not at all. He was still trapped here in Amity, in his house, in his body. He had no control. Not over what he ate, when he slept, where he went, what he could say, what he could think.

Half of him was still locked up tight with no hope of escape.

His water glass was empty. It would have been too embarrassing to ask someone to help him, but he was so thirsty and dehydrated and he just really needed this to work. He needed his body to respond to him. For one moment, please, just let his body respond.

Gripping the water cup in one hand and his walker in the other, he tried to stand, to walk over to the kitchen sink. But balancing everything was so difficult, his body was still fatigued from PT, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to do it but he just needed to try.

But he couldn’t do it in the end. The cup slipped out of his hand and tumbled onto the carpet, thankfully saved from shattering on impact by some last shred of luck the universe decided to pity him with.

And now Danny too was on the floor because he couldn’t bend down to pick the cup back up like a normal person, and he didn’t want to call for help, and he couldn’t use any of his powers, and he felt so trapped. So helpless. So vulnerable.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was too stubborn and he was too useless.

A tear splattered against his hand, and he gripped the floor, his body trembling.

“Stop crying. Stop it.” he hissed.

He was weak.

Plasmius, once nearly his equal, had so severely overpowered him the other night. It was embarrassing. On the hierarchy of ghosts, where was he now? At the bottom with the blob ghosts?

But those ghosts could still fly. They could still turn intangible. Things that Danny couldn’t even do.

Hell, he was so weak that even the Box Ghost could defeat him now.

“Stop crying.”

He crawled back to the couch, the thought of getting water abandoned on the floor along with the last semblance of his dignity. Another tear fell from his cheek, and he desperately tried to ignore it, ignore his dry throat, ignore the pain in his chest, ignore his core and the Y-scar on his body and his new place in the ghost hierarchy as lower than dirt, ignore everything. Just focus on getting back to the couch. Shut down, go numb.

He was fine, he was okay.

He just needed to push through this. Just toughen up, quit whining. Life wasn’t fair. So what if he was now just a regular human? Hadn’t he been human for the first fourteen years of his life? He needed to suck it up.

Dragging himself back onto the safety of the couch cushions, he pulled one of Jazz’s throw blankets around his body and pressed a pillow into his face.

Never in his life had he been so tempted to scream, to curse, to finally let the last brick fall and allow hell to break loose. But his parents were in the basement, Jazz was upstairs, and he was fine.

He was fine.

---

Huge thank you to tumblr user and writer @imekitty for proofreading this chapter. She’s amazing and I owe her my life.

And as always, thanks for reading!

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#danny phantom #everything was white #chapter 12 #my writing #fanfiction #phiccs #danny has A Bad Time

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