#I’ve been having a headache over how a shattered glass version of the ‘I’m done saving you’ scene might pan out

[zorangezest]

HEY YOU. HEY YOU. STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND GET THE BLUCK BACK HERE RIGHT BLUCKING NOW

transformers one but it’s in the shattered glass universe so it’s basically just d-16 watching his three best friends descend into madness

had to redraw a few scenes

[jade-of-mourning]

theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.

theformat wrote,

[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]

"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

Hi,

Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do? 

Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.

Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that. 

See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower. 

You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower. 

At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.

See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.

Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"

We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…

I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.

The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?

At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.

I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship. 

I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.

This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.

It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.

It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…

In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.

So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".

Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen. 

I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool! 

He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.

Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.

I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.

It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped." 

When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."

The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression. 

I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.

Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.

[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.

Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.

Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it? 

We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.

Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.

It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept. 

In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?

My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.

I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.

Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.

Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!

So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.

After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road. 

On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.

They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?

The Vanity Label was born.

The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened? 

We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.

In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.

So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.

"Hello?" 

"We're releasing it on the website today." 

"Wow."

So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.

Without further ado...

"Dog Problems"

- Nate

[albion19]

Bonkai wip

So I’m going to post stuff that’s been in a folder for too long. It’s all unfinished and some posts will be longer than others. Enjoy!

Shadows and whispers follow her through the empty house, a house that she cannot stand to be in any longer. She is going to sell it and think about where to go next. Not Virginia but somewhere South. Maybe New Orleans…

No, that’s where Kai is.

Kai Parker. Her arch nemesis, not that he viewed her as such. She had locked him up in a Prison World, a looping cold day in February. Just after Valentine’s day. He liked to sing her sad love songs when she visited him…She should have killed him, as Ric wanted but he had answers. Elena remained asleep for months after Stefan died and in that time Kai had toyed with Bonnie, offering the answers to all her problems…

Lights flashed in the dark. Red, green, blue, white. Again and again. Music played, a song that had been playing for months on end, never abating. It was a form of torture and some nights in the silence of her empty room she thought she could hear it.  Kai was desiccated and she wondered as she forced the straw between his lips if he could hear Two Princes even unconscious. It likely followed him into his nightmares. She lowered the volume a little and tried not to let it show how much it annoyed her too.

He took some time to get his bearings as she squeezed the last of the blood into his mouth and stepped back. He lifted a woozy, pale face and groaned.

“No…turn – turn it off.”

“I’ll turn the sound down if you answer my question.”

He looked away from the jukebox and landed his unfocused eyes on her. She saw the moment he realised who she was, that she was real. He smiled and she could not help but feel a vindictive pride. He had boasted that Katherine would make them suffer but Bonnie had stopped her, had literally stopped hell in its tracks.

“…I take it back.”

“What?” she stepped closer as Kai shifted in his chair, the chains clinking. He looked more like his usual self-possessed self, his colour returning. Infuriating.

“You’re the baddest bitch.”

Bonnie looked down to hide her smirk, half in shadow but Kai saw and grinned. Bonnie looked back up with a stern face. “You don’t seem surprised. I thought you lost a bet?”

“I did because I thought you’d figure who was in the casket. Am I surprised you beat Katherine? No, I was counting on it,” he admitted and Bonnie narrowed her eyes. “I wanted hell gone, Cade or no Cade. I told Kathy that you were weak, that you were no threat so she’d leave you alone. I didn’t care that hell was in better hands, I never intended to go back there. She could burn forever for all I cared, though she’d likely try to drag me along with her when she realised I fucked her over. You sticking me in here was actually a good thing,” he mused, looking around the bar.

Bonnie smirked. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“Whatever. I’m just saying I never underestimated you Bonster.”

Bonnie nodded, looking at the ground and did not answer. He might be lying but he sounded sincere. She moved closer and caught his gaze, which was a bright blue in the spotlight. “Wake up Elena.”

“Oh is she still snoozing? Tried true love’s kiss? Damn I should have done that instead. Just to see Damon’s face when it doesn’t work.”

“Stop playing games. I died for a minute, I saw her in some limbo place but she’s still sleeping. You said if one of us died she would wake up.”

“Well, she did wake up for that minute you were dead. That limbo place is where I trapped her soul but she could have crossed over with you taking her place. You came back.”

Bonnie shook her head, remembering how Enzo had pushed her out of that dreamy world and back to the land of the living. Bonnie shook the empty blood bag at Kai.

“If you ever want free from those chains you have to tell me about the spell!”

“Sure but it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m the one that cast it, so I’m the only one that can undo it.”

“Then undo it.”

“You’ll let me out?” he asked, smirk on his mouth. He knew the answer to that.

“Of those chains, yes. You’ll be free to walk away and never hear that song again,” Bonnie said and Kai looked hatefully at the jukebox. He sighed, looking back at her.

“I said my death made the spell I put on Elena permanent. So if we reverse that, make me a shiny new living breathing witch again, she’ll wake.”

“Bring you back to life? Sure I’ll just get on that Lazarus.”

He stared fixedly, eyes drilling into hers. “Come on, you know what to do,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm.

“Sorry but the cure is off the table.”

“Pretty sure it’s all room temperature and housed in a soon to be rapidly ageing Salvatore.”

He grinned and Bonnie’s stomach plummeted. “If you drink the cure Damon will die.”

Kai pouted. “My heart bleeds for him Bon, truly, but that’s the condition. I can’t wake up Elena while I’m kinda-sorta dead. If Damon loves Elena then he should be willing to sacrifice everything for her, right? I find them utterly gross but that would even give me warm fuzzies.”

Bonnie threw up her hands. “You’re full of shit. If he does that he and Elena will never be together.”

“And if he doesn’t he’ll grow old without her. Or more likely die of liver failure in a year or two. So either way he’s screwed,” he tried hard not to grin and failed.

“Or I could die.”

The smile on Kai’s face dimmed and then vanished at her quiet, considering words. “No, you won’t. You die and this place collapses because you helped make it. You’d be letting me out. You can guess what’ll happen then.” His smirk returned but there was a dark desperation there. With the twins alive it was unlikely the prison would collapse, just become unstable.

Bonnie was lying, she would not risk her life to wake Elena. She had promised Enzo that she would live every moment of her life with no regrets and she was not going to break that promise.

“So you get the cure and Elena wakes?”

“The retro Gemini version of me destroys the binding agent for the spell and then Elena wakes, yes.”

“What’s the binding agent?”

“Damon,” he said and shrugged at her appalled face. “I didn’t know he was gonna become human and solve my heretic dilemma. I actually brought the cure with me from 1903 but someone burned my body. It was in my pocket the whole time.”

He stared at her in accusation and all Bonnie could do was gawp. After the wedding massacre she had gone back to the barn and set his headless body on fire. She had no clue he had the cure to vampirism. Bonnie cupped her face, shaking her head.

“You’re so exhausting. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Do a spell on me. I’m not lying. I’ll become human and wake Elena. Waking her will also break the link between you. For what it’s worth, I probably shouldn’t have done that. I was hurt,” he said with something like remorse, a winching thing.

“Bo fucking ho. I swear if you’re lying I will never come back. Do you get it? You’ll be alone forever.”

Kai’s eyes flashed with fear before he smiled gently. “Nah. We’re gonna grow old together Bon.”

*

He was right. Damon had trashed the mansion, gotten drunk for about a month and then agreed. He never deserved Elena, the one man who did was now dead and if Damon could make up for that sacrifice by giving Elena the chance to live her life then he would do it.

Kai had been grinning from ear to ear, though he did try at times to look sombre but that just pissed Damon off more. As Damon laid Elena down on the pool table Bonnie had switched off the jukebox, which made Kai a little teary eyed before he motioned at his chains.

“Can’t do this with my hands tied.”

With a strong feeling of dajavu Bonnie released Kai, who stretched for five minutes before getting off the stage. Then he picked up the chair he had been sitting in and threw it at the jukebox. He sighed as the glass shattered.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months. Okay, let’s do this.”

He drank Damon’s blood after giving a toast, which had been poured into a shot glass. He then asked them to take Elena’s hands. Bonnie sneered as Kai’s long, slim fingers laced through hers, while he took Damon’s wrist. He chanted, eyes closed and Bonnie watched as he wavered, his breathing becoming laboured as sweat dripped down his face. The cold snap she usually felt when touching a vampire started to fade, though with a heretic her magic recoiled at the wrongness of his nature. It was slowly replaced with the familiar warm vibration of a human witch. The magic within her became coaxed, sensing a power equal to her own but before she could delve into it Elena opened her eyes.

Kai stepped back, releasing them and gave Bonnie and Damon space as they cried and hugged a disorientated Elena. The crying became hard and he shied away, looking uncomfortable. Bonnie, after kissing her friend, quickly caught Kai as he left.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Outside? All that wailing and hair rending is giving me a headache. God, can you feel that?” he asked as they stepped out onto the empty street. Dusk light cast long shadows behind them as Kai dragged in a great lungful of air.

“Feel what?”

“Nature. All the little night creatures are waking up and there’s a smell of spring in the air. I’ve missed this.”

Bonnie gazed at him. Kai was awful, he was a killer and ruined so many lives. She never forgot he was a witch but that connection to nature that she felt in her bones was not something she associated with Kai.

“I never took you for a nature lover.”

“I’m a witch, it’s just instinctive. Fuck I hated being a heretic, the two natures did not get on at all. I had to really depend on siphoning my vampirism more than nature. It thought I was icky,” he sighed and leaned against the wall of the bar. He motioned behind them. “The looping of time in this world should slow his ageing a little but he’ll still die. Are you gonna stay here until then?”

Bonnie nodded. “I am…but they need space to say goodbye. You can’t be here to ruin that.”

Kai smirked. “Gonna chain me up again? Bonnie you’ve got this whole freaky side to you I never knew existed.”

“You wish.”

“Seriously, it’s hot,” he laughed, biting his lip and she turned away. He grabbed her arm and she hissed.

“Don’t touch me,” she shoved him back and he grinned, flicking his fingers at the necklace she wore.

“Vampire blood? Elmo’s?”

“Enzo!”

“That’s what I said. It looks like one of those life buoy thingies, you know for people who need saving?” his expression soured. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Yeah like I’ll take fashion advice from a guy literally stuck in the 90’s,” she pushed him away and turned as he laughed.

“Whatever, plaid’s eternal. You rocked that grunge look and I always look good no matter what.”

“Christ, I’m going. If I see you within five feet of me again I’ll set you on fire.”

She walked back into the bar, waiting with bated breath for him to follow but after a few minutes she looked back out to find a deserted street. He was gone.

*

After Damon died, Elena and Bonnie grieved. She had been content to let Kai rot. She had given him the cure and he could now walk around his prison world. It was a mercy. There was no way out without her, no one else knew he was there except for her inner circle of friends. As far as she was concerned the last time she ever saw him was at Damon’s death bed.

She should have known better.

*

A siphoner was a rare and dying breed. For all the name calling and shunning there was a lot of good that a witch with such an ability could do. The Original family had thought so and learning that the most powerful siphoner and previous coven leader was alive but trapped had done nothing but spur them into action.

The ascendant Bonnie kept tucked into her mattress had disappeared. Before going to bed at night she checked that spinning contraption and usually awoke most mornings with her fingers around it. It might have been her imagination but touching it caused her to sense Kai, to dream of him and that morning she woke with a very clear image:

Klaus Mikaelson treating Kai Parker to a gourmet meal on a lively New Orleans street.

He had stolen her blood and her prisoner.

*

She had turned up in New Orleans with only one purpose and that was to drag Kai Parker back into his cold February jail cell. Why the Mikealson’s wanted Kai could only be for nefarious purposes so she was likely doing the world a favour by thwarting their plans.

She had not counted on a little red headed girl meeting her at the bus station.

“Hi. My name’s Hope. I know why you’re here.”

Bonnie had smiled in bemusement, lowering her backpack. “You do?”

“You want Kai. He said you’d be coming,” she leaned forward and spoke quietly, cupping her mouth. “He never stops talking about you. Actually he never stops talking. He’s weird.”

Bonnie frowned at the girl as she offered her hand, looking around. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yeah but it’s okay, I know my way back. Just don’t tell my mom and dad okay?”

“…Okay,” Bonnie, feeling deeply bewildered, took Hope Mikaelson’s hand and stiffened. The nine year old girl was immensely powerful, a true prodigy and the daughter of the oldest vampire in the world. Hope explained how Kai came into her life as they walked through the quarter.

“I was sick. This thing, this monster was attacking kids, witches like me. It was draining us and nothing could stop it because it was too powerful. It wasn’t alive so it couldn’t be killed, it exists outside this world…” she shuddered as they waited at a crossing. Bonnie watched the crowd for any sign of an Original or Kai. The little girl looked up at her. “I dreamed of you, of the spinning key you keep under your pillow.”

“The ascendant?”

“Right. I didn’t really know what it was, I just knew that it opened the door to the person that could save us. Auntie Freya did a location spell and got the key from you.”

“And she let Kai out,” Bonnie stopped at a street corner, shaking her head. “It wasn’t anyone’s to steal.”

Guilt flashed over the girl’s face but then she lifted her chin. “It’s not stealing if you give it back. It’s borrowing.”

Bonnie smiled despite herself. “I suppose that makes sense. Can I have it back?” she offered her hand but Hope shook her head.

“Kai has it.”

“Of course he does. You know he was in there for a reason? He’s not a good person.”

“People say that about my dad but they’re wrong. Mostly. Kai thinks you’ll never forgive him but I told him he should wait and see.”

“He said that?”

“No, he doesn’t have to. He’s all messed up inside, his dreams are terrible,” she said and from the haunted look in her eyes Bonnie assumed the poor girl had got a glimpse of them. Kai had endured 18 years of isolation and then years being tortured in hell. He had suffered but it was easier to believe he felt nothing.

“He has nightmares about me?” she gave a small smirk.

“No, you’re the good ones but they kinda hurt the most. I try not to absorb what other people feel but I can’t help it sometimes. I’m like a sponge.”

Bonnie nodded, feeling pity. The girl was young but there was a weight to her and not just because of the family she was born into. In the distance she felt a vibration, a witch approaching.

“Why is Kai here? What did he do?”

“He siphoned the monster and trapped it into his prison dimension. He siphoned me and other kids, healing so many of us. We’d be dead without him.”

“And your family is grateful,” Bonnie sighed, watching as Klaus Mikaelson approached with a witch, an intense man she did not know.

“You should take that off,” Hope said suddenly and Bonnie looked down. The girl was staring at the blood necklace. Bonnie griped it and smiled.

“Why? Do you think it’s ugly too? Maybe I should get a new setting for it.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s like there’s something tied to it. It’s pulling so hard. Can’t you feel it?”

Bonnie did not have time to answer as Klaus appeared. He exhaled with relief at the sight of Hope, who ran into his arms. Behind them Kai stood, hands in his pockets and after a pause gave Bonnie a sheepish wave.

*

Kai was treated with respect and gratitude. He was offered a place in New Orleans, a fresh start and support from a community of witches who did not know of his past, only the heroic deeds of his present. He was the man who saved their children and defeated the monster. Those who did know of his past had let it lie undisturbed. He was in the company of sinners seeking absolution, one she thought Kai never asked for. Still, he stayed.

She had to leave, if only to stop the vindictive pull that wanted to topple his happy little world. The Prison World was now home to some eldritch nightmare from the dawn of time, a thing that Kai had lovingly dubbed Pennywise.

“You can have the ascendant back if you want? I heard you kept it under your pillow.”

“Yeah, no. I can imagine the sweet dreams.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes as she sat back, her belly full. They were sat on a balcony overlooking the quarter. Wisteria grew along the railing, framing them. It was romantic but her companion uninvited. She had just wanted a nice meal alone with a glass of wine before she left. She had been in the city for three days and tomorrow she was leaving. She had met Kai only briefly, just to hear his part in the tale. It all seemed to correlate with what Hope and Klaus told her. She had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with Kai and while he seemed committed to starting afresh he could not let her leave without seeing her one last time.

“So you’re going back to Mystic Falls?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but no. I’ve got this house I need to sell.”

“The one in Upstate New York?” he asked, taking a sip of wine. Bonnie narrowed her eyes.

“How do you know about that?”

“Oh, well when I got out of hell I kinda followed you for a few days.”

“Like a creeper.”

“Yes, like a creeper,” he smirked at her before growing serious. “When the bell rang and a door out of hell appeared I saw Mystic Falls…I saw you.”

“Me?”

“You were wearing jogging clothes. You were driving passed the Grill. I went for it and ended up in there. Just missed you,” he held his thumb and index finger apart.

Bonnie snorted. “So you could have suddenly appeared in my car? I would have crashed.”

“Surprise! Smoking suit and everything,” he laughed and sighed. “After that I went to your house. Saw you with him. Elmo,” his jaw clenched and his eyes flicked to the blood necklace. “That’s super creepy you know that?” he said and she rolled her eyes, preparing to leave.

“Says the stalker. You know if you put a foot out of line I can rip down everything you have?”

“I’m sure you think I deserve it, despite what I’ve done here,” he said with a muted smile as she got to her feet.

“They think you’re a hero but I know the truth. You don’t do shit for anyone unless you get something out of it.”

“Right, sure, believe what you want.”

“I will,” she put her purse over her shoulder, standing there. She should walk away but his eyes fixed on hers kept her still. “You saved those kids because the alternative was going back to the prison world. You’d do anything to avoid that.”

He sat back, food forgotten. “You’re right I would do anything to avoid that. Can you, who actually knows what it’s like, blame me?” he asked, jaw clenching as he leaned forward. “We both know if I wanted to I could have disappeared the moment they got me out. You know why I didn’t?”

“No.”

“You.”

“What do I have to do with this?”

“Everything. You remember the last thing Damon said to me before he died?” he asked suddenly, making her blink.

“…He said that it was possible. I didn’t understand what he meant.” Damon, old and grey, had looked between her and Kai before they had left him to die with Elena. He had made a grudging sort of peace with the Gemini witch.

“He thought I could be redeemed by doing good, that it was possible to be forgiven. He was a fucking idiot thinking I ever wanted his. He got that at the end.”

Bonnie stared at Kai’s intense eyes, noting the tension in his shoulders and arms before she scoffed. “You want my forgiveness? Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you played that trick on me?”

Kai looked aside, nostrils flaring, before glaring at her. “I’m not looking for another knife in the back. It wasn’t a trick then and it’s not now. You never gave me a chance,” his hard gaze softened into regret.

“I don’t owe you anything. You want to prove yourself? Do it but don’t look to me for a reward,” she stepped back and he growled in frustration, getting to his feet.

“I don’t care about goody points Bonnie. I’ve been given so many chances, I should be dead right now but I’m here. You could have killed me but instead you stuck me in a prison world.”

Bonnie spun around. “Because you were the only one who could wake Elena!”

“Which I did! My purpose to you was spent, right? You could have destroyed the ascendant after that, made it impossible for anyone to get me out…but you didn’t. You couldn’t.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“You hold onto things Bonnie, you can’t let go and for some messed up reason I’m one of those things.”

Bonnie laughed, fingers touching the blood pendant. “I keep this because I loved him. I kept the ascendant because I hate you. Actually I don’t even feel that because that would be a waste of energy. You mean nothing to me.”

He shook his head. “If that were true you’d have forgotten about it. Whatever you feel it’s not indifference. Take it from a former sociopath,” he gave a weak half smile but it faded. Bonnie said nothing for some time, just continued to stare at him until he looked aside.

“I want this to be clear okay? I don’t like you. At all. Stay here, start a new life and if you honestly want to turn over a new leaf then do it…but don’t expect me to care. I’m leaving. We’re strangers from this point on. You no longer exist.”

Kai gazed at her, a penetrating, drinking stare that made her heartbeat race before he smirked and sat back down at the table. He picked up his knife and fork and continued eating, looking at his plate. Bonnie stood still until he looked back up, his eyebrows rising.

“Oh you’re still here? Wait can you even see me? I don’t exist so you better go ignore me over there. You’re kinda ruining your super serious moment.”

“Screw you.”

“Oops, talking to a person who’s not really here, not a good sign.”

“Choke on your $100 fillet,” she grumbled as she finally walked away.

“By Bonnie. See you soon.”

[verdigrisprowl]

Dance Battle In Dancitron

We had a more clever name but I forgot it.

Prowl and Soundwave’s deployers try to heal Whirl of his sparkeater infection before it can totally take over him.

They don’t quite succeed.

(This actually happened like three weeks ago)

Soundwave

Rumble and the others are busy with the last of the preparations. Frenzy is double checking the speakers secured to the wall to make sure they wont shake off their mounts. Buzzsaw's tinkering with the last of the rewiring, while Laserbeak programs the systems to produce the cure. Rumble's got the job of shifting all the furniture out of the way while Ravage secures all the cubes and glasses behind the bar so they won't crash against each other and shatter. They all know just what the sound system Soundwave installed can really do when pushed, and it's not a pretty picture. It's not supposed to be. Wouldn't be part of his security measures if it was.

//This better work.//

\IT'S GONNA WORK.\

//You don't know that!// Rumble snapped, slamming down the couch he'd been toting. //Quit fraggin' around. Whirl could die!//

\YEAH, I DO - CAUSE IF IT DON'T, I'M GONNA DRILL A HOLE IN THE DOC'S HEAD.\

{{When them coming?}}

//I dunno. Soon, I hope. Can't fraggin' stand this waitin'...//

Prowl

When Prowl stepped through the bridge, he was surprised at how many of the deployers has turned out to help. He'd expected Rumble, possibly Frenzy, MAYBE Ravage to supervise any work that needed to be done. Buzzsaw was a surprise. Laserbeak was a bigger surprise.

But they were pleasant surprises, so he didn't let them slow him down. "Whirl's coming through after me. Don't panic, he looks bad, but so far he's still under his own control." Key words: so far. "How can I help set up?"

Soundwave

The only ones who didn't were the two still running the cameras and comms to watch for news of more multiversal protoform appearances - and don't think Zori didn't do his best to beg to be allowed to help. Whirl had been kind to him on many occasions. As for Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, well... Soundwave wasn't the only one who knew how to blackmail others into getting what he wanted done.

//Prowl!// Rumble ran over. Laserbeak just blew a raspberry before going back to work. //You been to the Boss' apartment, right? Seen them long fraggin' chains? I ain't had time to get any of 'em. Think ya could snag, like... three? Jus' pop 'em off. We'll fix 'em later.//

Whirl

At the tail end of Rumble’s directions, Whirl came through the bridge, drawing up behind Prowl’s holoform. He let go of his head and looked around in quick, darting little motions, taking in the scene with caution and a faint surprise. He, too, hadn’t expected to see so many deployers out in the open—not because he didn’t think they would help, but because he’d assumed they’d have gotten clear. Then again, this had all happened remarkably fast.

Each one of them was another reason to hold things together. Whirl hunched up, lowering his head again and trying to concentrate on staying present and in the moment. The four feelers were still writhing, and now the graspers at the ends were occasionally opening and closing or dragging across the floor like nails against a chalkboard.

“Still here,” he rasped, waving a claw, “where d’you need me?”

Prowl

"Bondage chains, got it." He closed the bridge behind Whirl, and said to both him and the general room, "Comm me if anything goes wrong."

His avatar shut off.

Soundwave

Rumble was in the middle of directing Whirl over to the speakers, trying not to look at or worry about the feelers poking out of his back - things like that looked fine coming off the Boss, but all kinds of wrong on Whirl - when Prowl blurted out the contents of Soundwave's apartment and made him choke on his own words. An even louder blat came from behind the DJ booth.

He dragged both hands down his face and groaned. Did he really have to give everyone those mental images?

Rumble shook his head and kept moving. //C'mon. Over here.// Primus, he wished he could offer something more comforting. A punch in the shoulder, even.

Whirl

Whirl followed, pausing only to give a soft, hissing short from his vents—a sound that might seem a little alarming at first, but it was something like a laugh. “Now I’ve gotta make it,” he said flatly. Talking helped. Talking made him focus. He had to keep talking. “Because I can’t let your Boss live that one down.”

Whirl grasped mentally for something else to say. “Headache’s... getting better,” he muttered, “hope that’s--” A good sign, he finished mentally. Outwardly, his vocalizer just cut off with a click. Whirl’s eye snapped open, and for a moment genuine fear lashed out of his tightly-wound field—but if he could feel fear, he was still him. Whirl was aware of a gradual, slowly-burgeoning rush of awareness, as if his senses were all kicking into overdrive. The myriad smells of Dancitron seemed richer, and the constant signals from his sonar felt as if they were creeping across every speck of dust and every slight scratch in the floor.

His feelers had stopped squirming. It felt a lot like that dreaded moment before one knew they were going to vomit: that horrible certainty was clenched in the back of his mind. Whirl backpedaled frantically, putting as much distance between himself and Rumble, and strangled glitchy, stuttery words from his vocalizer. “Rumble—get away. Get back!”

Soundwave

//Least I ain't the one said it this time,// he mumbled, just before everything went Wrong. That kind of emotion wasn't one he was accustomed to feeling coming off someone like Whirl, and for that reason, it wasted no time inspiring something similar in him as well. They all had Soundwave's memories of what he'd done the one time he was subjected to a similar illness. If Whirl was legitimately afraid at a time like this... //...Whirl? Are you--//

\HE'S GOIN',\ Frenzy screamed, charging his brother and scooping him up by the waist. \SCATTER!\

=Second floor! Seal the stairs!= Ravage bristled and leaped onto the bar, charging his weaponry. With Soundwave gone, he was now the first line of defense while the others escaped. =Go!=

They wasted no time doing precisely that, leaving him to snarl and hiss as he crept toward the door himself, optics never leaving Whirl for a moment. Where in the PIT was that damned cop? If he didn't answer this comm--

Prowl

That damned cop answered by immediately reappearing in the club. First pass of the room: everyone was gone but Whirl and Ravage, Ravage was in a combat position. "Sitrep! What happened?"

Second pass of the room: Prowl looked again at Whirl—and even he could tell from his body language that something was horribly wrong. "... Got it." A tiny space bridge opened at head height, and dropped a couple of chains that Prowl caught over one arm. He hadn't had time to unlatch a third.

He opened up a short-range comm to the whole club: «Somebody tell me what I need to do to blast the cure, and somebody else bridge the spark signal generator downstairs.» Prowl didn't know if this particular disease actually made the infected pursue sparks, but if it did then Prowl was the only one who wouldn't be targeted when he was the only one who could afford to be targeted. With a generator that could be adjusted to project multiple sparks, he was perfect bait.

Whirl

Whirl didn’t even look up as prowl returned. He was hunched over and trembling, once again clutching his head with both claws, but it wasn’t because of pain, this time. His thoughts were spiraling away, almost as if he were falling asleep, or passing out, but without the accompanying drowsiness. That blank absence of thought was devouring his mind, and the last, brief moment of lucidity that Whirl had left was spent in frantic horror and deep, spark-wrenching fear—

—and  then the fear was gone.

His claws snapped open and he released his head, straightening out of his hunched position. The shaking had stopped. Whirl turned, swiveling his helm about, and in the next instant his sonar kicked back in, this time so intense that it was an audible, shrill ululating noise, like a chorus of bugs singing softly. The reason for this would be clear as soon as his head swung around to face Ravage or Prowl: his optic was not visible. It didn’t seem to have burst, but somehow, there were only shadows under his helm.

Whirl’s feelers were also tap-tapping the floor questioning as he began to move. He looked directly at Ravage once, but, surprisingly, turned his head away. Not enough of a meal for a sparkeater of his size, apparently. Not worth pursuing unless he got desperate.

And, unless Prowl got that spark generator down there in a hurry, he would very quickly grow desperate.

((for reference re: the dancitron beat down, the noise whirl is making is basically this. Speed it to 2x and that's the noise!))

Soundwave

//Spark signal generator, got it. Chimera, get on it. Listen, mech, you gotta keep him here. We got 300 mechs livin' in them houses out back. He gets out 'n they're gonna be a fraggin' buffet! // Another tiny bridge popped open over the bar and deposited the generator at Ravage's paws. He batted it toward Prowl and leaped up into the bridge, clawing his way up the tunnel to safety.

There was a brief scuffle and the sound of muffled shouting behind the door of the stairwell, after which something thumped into it and screeched in fear. Of all the deployers to respond to Prowl's demands a moment later...

{{Button on Soundwave's booth,}} Laserbeak babbled, all her fake cuteness evaporated in the face of the current threat. {{It's purple. Has a 3 on it. I finished programming. You have to push it.}}

((a cybertronian version of something like this))

Prowl

«He's not going anywhere. Plan E is a dozen empty planets I can bridge him to if things go wrong.»

He scooped the projector up—conveniently putting himself between Whirl and the stairwell—gaze never wavering from Whirl. He scaled up his avatar to thirty-five feet, popped open his hood a crack, cranked up the generator up to some random number of spark signals—he didn't bother to check—dropped it into his chest, slammed the hood, and braced himself for an attack.

As he braced, his human avatar appeared behind the console in Soundwave's booth, also scaled up to twenty-five feet—he was going to have a hell of a headache after this—and searched desperately for—aha! Button! He slammed it.

Speaking of headaches—he should have turned off audio input. Both avatars slammed their hands over their audials/ears.

Whirl

The spark generator had the desired effect. Whirl’s attention snapped to the signal. He straightened. For a moment there was a dim glow, a flickering light: Whirl’s optic, but dramatically recessed, in a way that was wholly unnatural. It flickered once more and vanished again as Whirl crouched. Aside from the hum of his sonar, he was completely, utterly silent: no hissing or screeching, nothing.

In that same silence, he lunged for Prowl, tentacles whipcracking forward and grasping hungrily for the Cybertronian in front of him. He’d nearly made contact when the speakers blasted the air with sound so tremendous that it hit Whirl like a physical blow, stunning him and fouling his sonar, which faltered and died. For a moment he stumbled, stunned, but he rallied quickly, raising his head. His optic was visible again. It fixed itself on Prowl, who was still reeling with pain.

Whirl leaped again, the graspers on his tentacles latching onto the holoform’s legs and yanking him forward, knocking him flat on his back. His other two feelers arched forward and pushed against Prowl’s shoulders, holding him down while Whirl closed the final distance, landing with his legs on either side of Prowl. He didn’t immediately attack his prey, though, instead forcing his weight down through his tentacles while he arched his neck. A soft, gurgling, grinding noise rose from his throat, likely inaudible over the racket. His optic once more sank back and disappeared, and it was clear in that moment that Whirl had swallowed it.

Then his helmet shifted oddly. Four thin seams wound themselves down the length of his helm, widening, parting slowly. His head split open four different ways, peeling apart in an almost leisurely fashion, while teeth flexed from his plating like a cat’s unsheathed claws. Whirl drew back once more before he plunged forward, attempting to rip through the holoform’s chest with tearing, grasping motions of his gaping, toothy maw.

((from here))

Soundwave

After helping to cure another universe's Lost Light, Soundwave had slept for the better part of a whole day in a mysterious makeshift medbay, then fled to his apartment to continue recharging in a safer and more peaceful environment. He'd been unconscious since then - until now. Now, groggy and rested just enough to remember that he'd promised to send Prowl constant updates, he decided to honor that promise by comming Prowl while he sorted the mass of messages that'd piled up into things he probably needed to read as soon as possible and things that could wait until he'd had time to refuel and become properly alert to the world.

(txt): Status: Alive, intact.

Mostly. He wouldn't be sure until he had Frenzy scan him, but none of his diagnostic programs were returning any problems with his internals.

(txt): Lost light: cured. Soundwave apologizes; cure: concussive, Soundwave: exhausted. Accidental recharge. Intent: bridge home, compile report, resume protoform surveillance duty.

Prowl

Prowl had barely managed to turn down his audials when suddenly his feet were jerked out from under him. He crashed hard on his back, and barely managed to raise his hands in time to shield the upper half of his torso when Whirl pounced on him.

But he stopped.

He was pinning Prowl, but he wasn't moving. Prowl could see from two different angles that Whirl was just sitting on him. Had it worked? Had the cure finally cut through? Were his senses coming back to him?

And then he swallowed his own optic. Both of Prowl's jaws dropped in horror. When his head ripped apart—oh Primus, this really is going to kill Whirl—the avatar pinned under him screamed hoarsely, inaudible under the speaker roar.

Which was the exact moment Soundwave chose to comm.

Never had Prowl been so relieved and so terrified at the same time. Alive, intact—oh, thank Primus—but if he came home—

Prowl raised his arms over his chest, shielding the spark signal generator with them. Each time the gaping maw that used to be Whirl's head crunched down on the false metal, it crumpled and tore, only to immediately reform each time the sparkeater tried to adjust its bite pattern. « DON'T COME HOME!» His voice was barely audible over the roar of the unsuccessful cure. «DON'T COME HOME! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!»

Soundwave

There were two things Prowl had yet to learn about Soundwave, and they were: A) Soundwave thought turning other mechs' dead and hollowed heads into puppets was a fantastic pastime as long as Prowl was neither in the vicinity at the time nor in a position to hear about it, and, B) Soundwave could be granted eternal life and he would never, ever once look at an inbox filled with deployer messages flagged Maximum Urgency, hear chaos in the background, be ordered not to come home, and actually obey said demand.

He was opening and actually running through the bridge before Prowl finished repeating his first three words, spark lodged firmly in his throat and held tight by its inner jaws. There was a Vos on that ship, wasn't there? Did he find out? Had the DJD gone there to look for him? Was the music meant to drown out Tarn's voice? Please, Primus. He tried to keep his requests to a minimum these days, but if there was any mercy left in the world, let him not get there to find Prowl and his deployers in their filthy clutches.

What he saw on the other side could only be termed a relief in the same sense a mech who'd nearly died on a battlefield would feel upon being told he could manage to survive as a severed head  on a hoversled. Soundwave was not as brave as half of his deployers, and never would be, outside of isolated incidents centering around their immediate safety. He froze, staring at the scene, his tired brain module unable to process the sight in front of him and come up with anything more useful than the desire to rush toward Prowl - which was no good, as it also wouldn't let him move his legs to do it, suddenly deciding that now was the appropriate moment to listen to what Prowl had said.

Whirl

Whirl’s four jaws remained clamped in place on one of Prowl's arms, his teeth flexing inwards to get a better grip, and he shook his head back and forth, trying unsuccessfully to maul his way towards the generator. He tugged a few more times, frustrated, before he released Prowl and drew back. His neck arched oddly again, and Whirl’s helm sealed partially back up, just enough to extrude his optic out of his throat, casting a dim golden glow on his restlessly extending-and-contracting teeth. They scraped together like slithering, sharp fingertips as Whirl stared, puzzled, at the mech underneath him.

Then he started to dig with both claws in a motion reminiscent of a dog going after a bone: a furious, repetitive motion. Whirl could no longer think beyond the level of instinct, and he couldn’t, for the life of him, fathom why he couldn’t just crack this mech open to get to the good part. His jaws flared open again and he latched onto the holoform’s chest, twisting and scrabbling inelegantly for the spark he sensed just beyond his reach.

At around that time, a green glow alerted him that something unusual was happening out on the dance floor. Whirl raised his head, splayed jaws flexing partially closed as he extruded his optic once more. He could barely see, but he didn’t need perfect vision to register what was standing in front of him. Prey. The mech standing there was smaller, brighter inside, an easier kill, a better meal—hunger surged up through Whirl’s chest, cutting off the train of primitive thought. His tentacles released Prowl in a single, synchronous motion that flowed smoothly into a crouch, and a silent forward lunge towards Soundwave.

Prowl

This time, when Whirl paused and pulled back to look at him, Prowl was under no illusions that what looked at him was anything but a sparkeater. Prowl tried to keep his arms under its claws, but they were scraped aside and exposed his bumper. If the sparkeater chewed through him enough to get at the spark generator and destroy it, that was the end of Prowl's use as bait. He braced his hands, one against the sparkeater's chest and the other against one peeled open flap of its head, trying to hold it back just a little bit longer, and froze his avatar there so he could turn his attention to the other. Was there anything he could do with the cure? Could he turn the volume up, something??

A bridge opened. Prowl's focus snapped back into his main avatar, and he turned to face Soundwave simultaneously with the sparkeater. Oh, god no. Please no. Soundwave had just blasted a cure somewhere else, he was already exhausted— "RUN!"

When the sparkeater let go of Prowl, Prowl latched on, trying to fling his arms around its waist and jerk sideways to knock it off course. His main avatar switched to dead weight mode and his human avatar flickered off and back on in front of Soundwave, arms spread. It was a poor shield but if it bought Soundwave just a few seconds to get away—

Soundwave

Soundwave had seen and driven away all manner of Underworld monsters hunting near his home, but this? This was new. This wasn't just a hungry razor snake or a passing driller. This was a sparkeater, and he hadn't clapped optics on one since the massive hunt down below Cybertron's surface. Even the ones aboard the Lost Light had been locked away. And none of them - none of them - had looked like that. The sight of the grotesque, teeth-filled flower that had taken the place of Whirl's head latched onto Prowl's chest drove Soundwave back into the memory of Unicron's fangs lowering themselves over his own, chilling his spark as efficiently as if it'd been shoved into a cryo chamber.

Panic took the opportunity to seize him and shake him by the neck, whispering a half dozen other horrors into his audials. They went for the brightest, the strongest, the most sustaining. Soundwave's spark had been soaked in a Primal marinade, seasoned with fragments of six other mechs, and seared in the flames of battle with the Chaosbringer. If Rung was a nice steak dinner, Soundwave was a masterpiece cooked by a world-renowned chef at the peak of their skills. The thing that had been Whirl would die before it stopped coming after him. It would tear him open like paper and his last thoughts would be the feeling of its teeth scraping inside his frame and the sound of his deployers shrieking and dying in shared agony. He was doomed, they were doomed, and when it got outside and ran free--

Prowl's shout combined with barely audible frantic screaming from behind the stairwell door to break Soundwave out of his head and light his heels on fire. His own feelers shot toward the ceiling, punching into the panels and gripping tight; he jumped up to follow them, reeling himself upward, and dug his fingers in for added support. He had no idea if the sparkeater could transform, but if it could, that might give Prowl a few uninterrupted seconds to catch it. If not, he could at least remove himself from its reach.

Until his grip inevitably failed, that is. Prowl was right: Soundwave had recharged, but he was still too worn out to hold his own weight up for long.

Whirl

The sparkeater was far too focused on Soundwave to attempt to dodge, and Prowl’s desperate tackle hit home, dragging Whirl partway to a halt and nearly overbalancing him. The sparkeater shook himself, raising his head as Soundwave hauled himself out of harm's way. For a moment, he didn’t engage Prowl. He just stretched himself up, trying to track Soundwave’s progress. Prowl would feel a half-hearted burst of sonar hum briefly against his plating, but the riotous noise in the air kept it useless. If he sparkeater wanted to find Soundwave, he would need to look for him.

Whirl’s helm sealed up again, and since he was staring directly up a Soundwave, the other mech would witness the charming spectacle of Whirl regurgitating his own optic array out of his throat to try and get a visual on his prey. Once Soundwave was spotted, Whirl tilted his head and began to move, dragging Prowl’s avatar along. His body language was smooth, deliberate, wholly unlike Whirl’s usual birdlike jerkiness and rendered all the more alien and wrong by his bizarre anatomy. Whirl dragged them both a few steps forward, and swayed slightly from side to side as he crouched. He attempted to leap, but the weight on him was too much. He barely cleared the ground, tentacles snapping skyward and falling far short. Landing in a heap, the sparkeater was apparently finally annoyed enough to deal with his hanger-on directly, and he turned on Prowl with silent ferocity, latching onto his frame with all four of his tentacles and trying to pry him off and toss him away in one harsh, jerky movement.

He only succeeded in bowling them both over. The momentum sent the sparkeater tumbling in a fashion that might have been amusing in circumstances that were less abjectly horrifying, and though he remained completely silent, there was fury in Whirl’s body language when he pulled himself up again—and it evaporated when he suddenly stumbled. His legs shook in a way that suggested they might be about to give out on him, and he half-raised a claw, as if he were reaching for his head.

The leap-and-tumble has carried them further across the dance floor, and closer to the speakers.

The effect was noticeable, but transient. The sparkeater shook his head a few more times, and then the pause won by confusion was gone, and he was once again raising his half-split head to search the ceiling for Soundwave’s spark.

Prowl

Soundwave for Primussake that's NOT RUNNING. Open a bridge or something! How in the world is Prowl going to defend Soundwave and deal with Whirl at the same time? He needs to be in three places at once: at the DJ booth, in front of Soundwave, and grappling the sparkeater. He's barely handling two avatars as it is.

Still, he didn't let go of the sparkeater for a second, one arm plus chains tangled around its waist, the other arm wrapped around one of its shoulders. He was in too bad a position to wrestle it down and pin it; most of his hand-to-hand training encouraged disengaging, getting some distance, and moving back in when in a position this bad. That wasn't an option. If he did let go, it's only give the sparkeater a chance to lunge for Soundwave—and anyway, one of the chains had gotten tangled around the sparkeater's waist and leg. At least when they were tangled, the sparkeater couldn't advance. Now THINK, Prowl, new plan fast—none of the scenarios you ran calculations for accounted for having to protect Soundwave while you fought, you need something new! Maybe the situation was unsalvageable, maybe it was time to fall back to Plan E—

Despite Prowl's attempts to keep hold of the sparkeater, four coordinated tentacles and a tumble across the room was enough to shake him off, even tearing the tangled chain off his arm. He was getting to his feet before the gashes that the chain tore in his forearm had healed. Just in time to see Whirl stumble.

Prowl had seen the sparkeater stop to—whatever it was doing—recalibrate, maybe?—twice by now. This wasn't a recalibration. Something was throwing the sparkeater off. Prowl looked up at the speakers. They were vibrating so hard his HUD put a permanent trembling red outline around them. Okay. New plan. Plan H.

Prowl lunged at the sparkeater, wrapped his arms around him, and froze long enough to flicker his other avatar over and grab it from another angle. His avatars moving in jerking synchronized mirrored steps, Prowl pushed the sparkeater toward the speakers, ignoring the torn metal and bloody gashes it left in his avatar.

Even with his audials off, he could "hear" the speakers threatening to rattle apart his avatars. Cybertronian braced against the sparkeater and froze so human could take the extra chain, wrap it around one of the sparkeater's arms, and grab the chain tangled around its waist; human got behind the speaker, pulled the chains taut, and froze so Cybertronian could grab wildly at the tentacles, loop one around the sparkeater's other arm, and duck behind the speaker from the other direction to pull them taut.

Problem: he'd planned to transfers the chains and tentacles to the hands of one avatar so the other could return to the DJ booth, but he couldn't afford to let go with either. It was taking both of his avatars just to keep the chains from pulling out of his hands or the tentacles from wriggling free. Between bouncing his attention back and forth between avatars to constantly readjust his grips and the shaking of the speakers playing havoc with his HUD, he had no chance of turning on a third avatar. Okay. Plan H-2. A two-word text message to Soundwave: «DJ! VOLUME!»

Whirl

In those moments that he was free, the sparkeater had once again turned his attention upward. His initial reaction to Prowl’s avatars closing in on it was quite subdued. He shook his entire frame once, but he didn’t claw at the holoforms, or immediately turn on them. His optic remained pointed directly at Soundwave, at that spark that promised to fill the horrid raging hunger in his chest.

When they started to drag him away, though, he seemed to come to his senses somewhat. Whirl began to thrash in earnest, lashing out and focusing his wrath on the Cybertronian avatar. Rather than try and push him away, though, the sparkeater attacked, once again flaring his jaws and trying to latch onto Prowl’s chest. The sparkeater realized, too late, that it was being yanked into a trap, too focused on the sparks he could sense somewhere inside his closer prey; his unthinking, mindless hunger had given Prowl the precious few moments he’d needed to push Whirl up against the speaker.

At long last, he made a noise, though it was likely inaudible next to the all-encompassing, deafening roar that surrounded them: a high-pitched, shrieking keen of fury. He lashed out with his claws, his teeth, his tentacles, tearing into the implacable foe that was Prowl’s avatar before it locked his limbs down. The coordinated, unflinching determination effectively pinned Whirl in place against the speaker, and he arched, trying to bow his body away from the source of the sound. All attempt to attack stopped. The air itself shook violently, as if it were itself attacking the sparkeater. It felt as if it was shaking him apart, and now every ounce of the sparkeater’s ferocity was focused in getting away from it.

He was unable to immediately break Prowl’s hold, but Soundwave would have to act fast if he wanted to keep it that way.

Soundwave

Open a bridge? And let the damned creature break out to Primus-knows-where to eat Primus-knows-who!? Absolutely not! Soundwave stayed clasped to the ceiling, trying to ignore the numbness in his hands and claws as the speakers worked to shake him free.

He had no way of watching Prowl battle to push the sparkeater toward the speakers. The unpleasant feeling of pins and static had started traveling up his arms and feelers, making it difficult to tell just how tight his grip really was; he couldn't look away from them for more than a couple of seconds at a time or it started coming loose. His spines were of no use either. They'd been thoroughly overpowered by the strut-rattling vibrations shaking everything in the club and could only tell him what he already knew: much more of this and he'd pass out again, becoming an easy meal for the beast down below.

An unexpected text message popped up inside Soundwave's visor, crowded by internal alerts and building integrity alarms. He didn't waste a second, using his knowledge of his home to his advantage; both legs swung up to hook him into the nearest section of lighting truss by his ankles, freeing his arms and feelers at the cost of some height. He ripped the punctured ceiling panels loose with a sharp yank and twist, then threw them at the horrible shape over by the speakers as his world turned upside-down, hoping to batter the thing that'd stolen Whirl's body senseless and buy both Prowl and himself a few more precious seconds.

His feelers continued their arc, latching onto the DJ booth and scrabbling over the board in a desperate search for the volume controls - he never looked at the damn thing from this angle! - and upon finding it, shut his optics and twisted the dial as far as it would go - far, far beyond the recommended levels for normal use and deep into weaponization territory, just shy of becoming deadly to the average Cybertronian.

Nothing not bolted to the floor stayed upright. Even the stationary furniture rattled and shook, ripping up from the floor a millimeter at a time. Lighting structures swayed like tinfoil in a tornado and snapped, crashing to the ground. Glasses, bottles, and cubes shattered in their cabinets, as did the beautiful red front doors. Dance floor panels and lighting strips cracked. Stretched and strained wires popped and sparked, and the speakers themselves began to tear free of their braces, trembling and edging forward with Whirl still attached on the other side, threatening to tip over and crush him beneath their weight.

It would continue until it simply couldn't anymore, one speaker blowing with a majestic boom and fizzing out into static. Soundwave managed to turn the dial back down to 0 just in time to pass out, dangling upside down in mid-air from a half-collapsed truss, feelers limp on the floor.

Prowl

He was shaking so hard, the colors on his avatar weren't lining up right. Or was that his optics glitching? The noise felt like a physical roar that hurt as much as any sonic attack on his real body would have, and if Prowl hadn't been able to freeze his avatars, he would have long ago lost his ability to hold onto the sparkeater's restraints.

But even avatars had their limits. When the speaker blew out, they broke apart, dissolving into pixels.

His mind snapped back into his metal body, and he sat up with a shout. The sudden absence of pain and stimulation sucked at his senses like a vacuum; his HUD popped up an error message alerting him to the unexpected lack of error messages. He shook his head to clear it—how long had he been gone? six second? too long—and turned his Cybertronian avatar back on.

Nothing was shaking. He turned his audials back on, tripped over his dropped spark signal generator, and stumbled out from behind the speaker.

Everyone was down. "Soundwave? Whirl?" Sorry, Whirl—Prowl's aware that you're technically the patient, but his first priority is amica. He flickers to Soundwave's side and checks to make sure his chest is still in one piece.

Whirl

The same shattering crescendo of sound that tore through Dancitron tore through the sparkeater, rendering him instantly insensate. All he could do was sag in his bonds, head hanging, all struggling ceased. When the speaker gave out at last in a furious burst of shrapnel and dying sound, it sent Whirl hurtling forward away from it, crashing to the floor and coming to a stop somewhere in the rubble. He, too, had been knocked unconscious. Between Soundwave and Whirl, it was anyone’s guess who would wake first.

He didn’t respond to Prowl’s first call, but a few moments afterwards his crumpled form finally started to stir. The tentacles moved first, sliding sluggishly over one another to weakly pry off the debris that had landed directly on top of him. One of the feelers had been blasted clean off, and lay looped over the remains of some tables like a particularly ghoulish garland, dripping blood on the dance floor. Trembling with effort, Whirl began to push himself up, but his exhausted and disease-ravaged body had nothing left to give. He flopped back to the ground, as harmless and undignified as a beached fish.

He vented hard once, twice. “I’m here,” he managed to croak out. Whirl pushed again, trying to get his legs underneath him, but only managed to topple awkwardly sideways. He gave up. Whirl had landed facing Prowl and Soundwave this time, and decided that would be good enough. His optic seemed to be more or less in the right place at the moment, but it definitely looked askew in a way that suggested it wasn’t fully settled properly in his head. It didn’t, at present, seem to be in four pieces, but the internal structures under his helm were probably a shambles. “I’m me.”

It took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. Was Soundwave hanging upside-down? The full extent of the wreckage around him was very  slowly penetrating the fog of confusion. The last few minutes were a blur in his mind, all strange, formless memories and remembrances of sharp sensations. As he stared, he realized that Soundwave wasn’t moving. Whirl genuinely didn’t know if he’d—when he wasn’t in control of himself, had he...?

Despite how often Whirl liked to remind everyone that he cared about absolutely nothing, and despite the healthy amount of hatred he truly possessed for the world around him, the thought that he might have killed Soundwave, a mech who had been among the first handful of mecha from various dimensions to treat him decently, simply because he thought Whirl deserved it, was deeply distressing. On top of that, if Soundwave had perished, his deployers...

“Is he okay?” he rasped, optic flicking from Prowl to Soundwave.

Prowl

Prowl's gaze shot over to the stirring sparkeater, and he stared at him, unmoving, waiting to see what he'd do next. If he made even one false move, Prowl didn't have a choice—he'd have to open a bridge under him and dump him on a barren planet. He couldn't afford to do otherwise. Prowl was in no condition to keep fighting, the speakers were out, and Soundwave was unconscious. They could leave Whirl to his own devices and come back for him later, once they had a plan. It had—ha—it had worked for Kup...

Whirl spoke. Prowl's shoulders sagged with relief. "Good. You're back." Wearily, he returned his gaze to Soundwave—and then did a double-take at Whirl. "You vomited your eye back up." Well, that was a good sign, wasn't it?

He looked back down and Soundwave. "I think so. His chest is all in one piece. He was already exhausted, he probably just fainted." Probably. All the same, he sent a ping to Frenzy—come back down and be a medic.

"... How are you?" Prowl looked dead at Whirl and said, without the slightest trace of humor, "I expect you have a splitting headache."

Soundwave

The stairwell door slid partway open, jammed, and got shoved the rest of the way open by a pair of small but powerful blue hands. Frenzy wobbled off the stairwell and into the open floor, covered in dents, dings, and paint scrapes. It looked as though all the deployers shared that new appearance, and it'd only take a moment's serious thought to figure out why: they'd still been down in the stairs when the final blast of noise started and turned them all into the helpless beads inside a rattle.

Buzzsaw slid off the top of the minicon pile, tried to hover, and went straight into the ground with a sickly groan, skidding a few feet before lightly bumping his head against the base of an overturned game table.

\I'M GETTIN' TO YOU THIRD,\ Frenzy mumbled, which meant keeping his voice to the raised level of someone who was getting angry instead of his usual scream. \HOLD YOUR WINGS.\

He made it over to Soundwave with only a few more stumbles and a single whoop of surprise as his foot sank through a cracked panel in the dance floor, took his visor off, and held it in front of a vent. It fogged, and he couldn't see anything else wrong on the surface level, so he shrugged and punched Soundwave in one big, flat shoulder. \WAKE! UP!\ he hollered, blasting Soundwave's audios with such noise he might as well have been one of the speakers.

Soundwave responded by popping online with a sudden flash of biolights and instinctively snatching Frenzy up in a feeler, holding him high off the ground and squeezing.

\BOSS! BOSS, LEMME - OOF - LEMME GO! IT'S ME! NOTHIN'S WRONG!\ Frenzy shouted, flailing. \LOOK! LOOK, PROWL'S HERE, 'N WHIRL'S FINE! SEE? UGH, PRIMUS, QUIT SQUEEZIN'!\

Soundwave promptly let him go and tried to twist around to see the other two before remembering that he'd tangled himself up in the truss. It took him a moment to regain enough coordination to get himself loose and standing up right again. He then decided that sitting was much, much easier and parked himself on a broken chair that'd fallen on its side.

[[Prowl?]] Prowl was a holoform. Right. He moved to rub his optics, meaning to clear away whatever was interfering with his vision, only to realize there was a neat spiderweb of cracks and touching the glass would probably make it crumble into pieces like the contents of the bar. [[Hm. ... Whirl. Is Whirl all right?]]

Whirl

“I what my what now?” Whirl asked, blinking slowly. “I’m all right. Be up in a second.” Whirl would, in fact, do no such thing; he wasn’t going to be walking for the rest of that day, and much of the next. Aside from the general fallout that accompanied a virulent sparkeater infection, Whirl needed time to recover from the cure. Prowl was right, though. His head was hurting quite badly.

“Yeah,” he went on, slowly, unsure, “I’ve…” Whirl raised his his head and felt the interior shift in a strange and horrifying way, as if everything inside of it had become untethered. “Something’s definitely  wrong with my head,” he said flatly.

Under normal circumstances that specific situation would probably have upset Whirl significantly, but he was too physically and emotionally drained to even react. He’d passed through the point where he could be any more distressed, and instead just felt calm in a detached way. Honestly, it was a relief.

Seeing all of the minicons intact (if a little battered for the experience) was also a relief. Whirl snorted through his vents at Frenzy’s particular method of treating Soundwave's condition, as well as the accompanying aftermath when his carrier very suddenly woke up. He stirred again, trying to force himself up, pushing against the floor with one claw and his remaining tentacles while his free claw held his helm steady. Maybe he could get to a chair—the realization that he still had tentacles finally snapped through Whirl’s thoughts and he jerked, so startled that he dropped himself and flopped onto the floor again.

Whirl decided that neither the chair nor his dignity were worth it. He just shifted enough so that he could pillow the side of his head on a chunk of rubble, to rest it and watch the others at the same time. He curled one of the feelers out in front of him, examining the viciously serrated length and the grasper at the end. Snip-snip. Bizarre. Would they have to be removed…? “I’m here,” he said, straightening the feeler and waving it to Soundwave. The other mech’s aborted reach for his own visor hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I can close my eye, if you want.”

Whether or not his lack of delicacy had more to do with the fact that he was barely hanging onto coherence or more to do with Whirl just being Whirl was unclear. The statement was so out of context that Soundwave might not have even known what he was talking about. “Either way, I’m fine.”

Prowl

When Soundwave seized Frenzy, Prowl half-raised his arms and froze, no quite sure how or whether to intervene. Thankfully, the situation resolved itself before he had to decide. He followed Soundwave up when he stood, and sort of awkwardly continued standing nearby when Soundwave sat again. Sorry, Soundwave, your amica's hovering.

Prowl asked Frenzy, "Do you need help with Whirl? Or the others? I don't have much first aid training, but I can... fetch things. And take directions." As eager as he was to continue hovering around Soundwave, he knew that wasn't the most productive thing he could be doing.

And if nothing else, he could provide information that the other two probably were in no fit state to give. "Whirl's head peeled open. In four pieces. Like..." Prowl tried to pantomime the way it opened up with his hands, and completely and utterly failed to demonstrate anything close to comprehensible. "And he swallowed and spat up his optic a few times. So, you probably. Want to start there."

Soundwave

Of all the things Soundwave minds about the current situation, having his amica hovering nearby is not one of them. If anything, he's thankful for it, as evidenced by the brief curl and squeeze of a feeler around one of Prowl's ankles.

Frenzy squinted at Prowl's hands and scratched his head. Did the noise knock Prowl loopy? How could Whirl's head peel open into four pieces? It didn't have any seams to make that possible. And where would his optic go? ...Oh. Into his throat. All right, that was, uh - it sounded fake, but okay. If that was what Prowl said, that was probably what'd happened. Somehow.

\HERE,\ he said, pulling a medical scanner out of his forearm compartment and tossing it to Prowl. \GO SCAN THE OTHERS, FRONT 'N BACK. BIG GREEN BUTTON. THEN JUS' LOOK FOR BIG RED LINES 'N SPOTS 'N STUFF ON THEM PICTURES IT DOES. MEANS SCRAP AIN'T RIGHT INSIDE.\ He wasn't so worried about the outsides. That could be worked on later.

//Get outta my way!// Rumble snapped at Ravage and Chimera, pushing past them to get onto the main floor. His visor was gone, probably sitting in pieces on the stairs, and for some reason he had one red optic and one blue one. //Whirl! Where's -- Whirl?//

He got there before Frenzy, sliding the last few feet on his knees to avoid the feelers. He grabbed for one of Whirl's arms to hug it to himself. To the Pit with everyone watching; he wasn't gonna let dignity and his reputation as a tough bot get in the way of his relief. Anyway, the Boss had no room to talk, and neither did his brother.

//PRIMUS' YAWNIN' AFT SEAMS, MECH, I thought you was gonna DIE!// He clutched the arm tighter. A nervous laugh escaped his vocalizer. Bad jokes in times of stress was one of his better known coping mechanisms. //Listen - I know I ain't so good with words if I ain't writin' 'em down, so maybe you dunno I already missed ya real bad, but you ain't gotta go that far to find out.//

Frenzy pretended to gag as he crouched nearby to peer at Whirl's head.

Rumble straightened up and decked him.

Soundwave just sighed.

Whirl

Whirl watched Prowl’s hands, as well, and honestly, it left him with more questions than answers. He decided he just wasn’t going to worry about it. Let it be a problem for the doctors—that was their job, right? They could deal with any head-unfolding and optic-swallowing fallout that may or may not remain. On the heels of that thought, Rumble forced his way into the room, and was at Whirl’s side almost before Whirl could even greet him. He slowly raised his head as Rumble grabbed his arm, and listened to him with a wide, attentive optic.

Even hazy though his thoughts were, Whirl could very clearly remember the moment when he’d called Rumble up in the isolation ward, and the feeling hearing the determination in his voice had sparked. He’d known Rumble for years by that point. Objectively he knew that Rumble wouldn’t have made advances or promises if he didn’t intend to back them up, but knowing something as a fact and having that fact presented to you in reality could often be two very different things. It felt very different, there in the moment.

Before Whirl could say anything reflecting this, though, Rumble was punching his brother. Somehow, that made everything seem more normal. Whirl made a soft, staticky sound, almost like a chuckle. “We’ve had the worst damn luck with this,” he said. They hadn’t even had a chance to really be anything yet, between one disaster and another. All Rumble really had to say for this stage of their relationship was how much stress it had probably put him through, and still he’d been there. Was here. That was significant. Whirl wouldn’t be able to explain exactly how, but he knew it, all the same.

Gently, he tugged his arm free. Frenzy would have to wait to examine Whirl’s helm, because he shifted and stretched his neck to rest the side of his head against Rumble’s chest. He wasn’t coordinated enough to properly nuzzle, but the effort was there, and he was content enough to be close, for the moment. The close part was what mattered. “Thanks, Rumble. I’m not going anywhere, mech. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Which was followed, after a moment, by a quick, “Frenzy, your boss’s sound speakers just liquified basically all of me so don’t you dare give me guff about this right now.”

Prowl

Oh—they were being sappy. Sappy in front of other people. Just—out there, for everybody to see. Right, okay, time to go scan people. Scanning and not looking over at Whirl. They could at least pretend to have a little privacy.

He started on Soundwave, then Buzzsaw—Frenzy had said he was third—and then whichever minicons looked like they most needed it and/or were inclined to start insisting they needed it.

Soundwave

Sappy in front of other people? So complained the mech who'd been orbiting Soundwave like an unusually large moon for a few minutes there.

Prowl would find that Soundwave had a few plates out of alignment, but nothing much worse than that, seeing as he was actually designed to give off such noise himself. (He would also see a number of mysteries cleared up, such as how it was Soundwave could knock back all those cubes and what it looked like inside those ironing board arms of his, and get a solid look at all the mods and drives crammed tight into Soundwave's backpack. Soundwave had told the truth.)

Buzzsaw was in worse shape. Several delicate struts on the left side had been cracked or snapped and would need fixing, and one wing tip on the right had broken clean off. Laserbeak was mostly a case of heavy denting due to Rumble having her pinned to the wall with his hands when the shaking started. Zori was fine, if shaken senseless, but Ravage had a kinked tail feeler and a melted hole in one shoulder where the little scorpion's tail had accidentally poked him in the ruckus, and Chimera hadn't reactivated yet because one of their pieces had gone missing. (It'd soon be found when Ravage scratched at something irritating stuck between his hip weaponry and his flank.)

But back to the mech who'd recently suffered from a far worse malady.

Frenzy sat up with a groan and rubbed his cheek with the heel of his palm, glowering at his brother. \AFT.\ There was a patient to attend to, though, so he just turned back to Whirl instead of launching straight into a fight. \YEAH, YEAH. NO GUFF. TOTAL GUFFLESSNESS. ANTI-GUFFERY. JUS' QUIT SNUGGLIN' UP ON THE BLUE BLUNDER A SEC 'N LEMME SEE YER FRAGGIN' HEAD. HEARD SOMETHIN' RATTLIN' IN THERE. MIGHT BE YOU GOTTA LET SOMEBODY GET IN THERE 'N FIX IT.\

Rumble stared at him. Really? Gonna just talk about cracking his head open like that?

Frenzy shrugged. What? He knows, but it's the medical truth.

\...FEELERS'RE PRETTY WICKED, THOUGH. YOU OUGHTA KEEP 'EM. WORKS FOR THE BOSS.\

Whirl

“I refuse to quit snuggling,” Whirl rasped, pointing a feeler at Frenzy, “and if someone’s going to… to get in there and fix it it’s going to be after I’m knocked the hell out. So if you’ve got the sedatives for it, go on, but otherwise, I guess…” he sighed. “Better go back to the hospital.”

He hadn’t moved, true to his word, still resting the side of his head against Rumble’s chest. His optic closed tiredly. Honestly, it wouldn’t take many sedatives to knock him out, but if someone wanted to get him back to the hospital, he would need to be bridged or carried. “I mean… they’re useful. I guess.” His remaining tentacles curled, and Whirl followed the shape of them with his sonar. The claws at the end clicked. He could imagine the utility of having extra pairs of graspers would be, honestly, especially with delicate work, but… “Can’t transform with these ones, though. Write me up a report on why feelers would be useful for a helicopter and I’ll consider it, doc.”

He opened his eye again, at length. “...sorry for trashing the place. By the way. I mean obviously I didn’t blow it all up, but…” But it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for him. Whirl genuinely liked Dancitron. He actually hoped it wasn’t destroyed for good.

Prowl

Sure, but he hadn't physically touched Soundwave or said nice things to him, and that made all the difference.

Prowl dutifully checked over each of the minicons, pinging the results to Frenzy. For lack of a better diagnosis, he described Chimera's condition as  «Mildly not alive (?)» and, after a moment with the scanner lowered and looking over Chimera with his own optics, added, «(one piece missing)».

He crouched a bit behind Frenzy, ready to take more orders as needed. "And I apologize for my part in trashing the place." A life had been saved and that was always more important, but it didn't mean he couldn't apologize for the collateral damage anyway. "I can help with repairs in the evenings. I'm—rather experienced with that, by now."

Soundwave

\OKAY, OKAY.\ Frenzy briefly considered the question of sedatives. Whirl probably wouldn't count being punched unconscious, and anyway, punching was his brother's specialty, not his. He was more of a kicking and stabbing kind of mech. \WE'LL GET YA CARRIED TO NEW PRAXUS. THERE'S ENOUGH OF US AIN'T TOO BEAT UP. OH, UH, HEY - YOU AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' AGAINST RATCHETS, RIGHT?\ He figured Whirl didn't. Autobot, and all that.

[[Do not worry about the building,]] Soundwave cut in. [[You are not the first to trash it.]] He hummed, then, thinking. [[This is the most thorough job, but that is more his and Prowl's doing than yours.]]

Frenzy pointed Prowl back to Buzzsaw while Ravage dropped the previously missing piece into Chimera's side. \GET LIFTIN', CAP'N. HE AIN'T FLYIN' INTO THE HOSPITAL BY HISSELF LIKE THAT.\

\RUMBLE, GET WHIRL'S SHOULDERS. I GOT HIS FEET. RAVAGE, QUIT BOPPIN' CHIMERA'S FACE 'N GET OVER HERE. YOU GOTTA GET THAT HOLE FIXED.\

[[He'll take the help when you can give it, Prowl. Thank you for offering.]]

Prowl

"Wouldn't it be...?" Better for Prowl to carry the mech his size, and one of the deployers to carry Buzzsaw? Oh, well. "Never mind."

He carefully picked up Buzzsaw—"tell me if I need to adjust anything"—and supported him half with his hands and half on his hood. Ready to go.

Soundwave

\Y'KNOW HOW BIG THEM WINGS ARE? NUH-UH. YOU CARRY.\

Whirl

Whirl drew back at last, attempting to push himself up from the floor in a way that would make it a little easier for the twins to carry him. Attempt was indeed the proper word, because all he ended up doing was wriggling somewhat unhelpfully at first. Eventually, he managed to roll onto his back. “Right. Well This isn’t the least dignified thing I’ve ever done,” he said dryly. He had been carried to a hospital before, after all. It was more or less how he’d gotten on the Lost Light.

At least then he’d been unconscious.

The best he’d be able to do to make the twins’ jobs easier was try and support himself with his feelers. At least they were good for something, at the moment. “Well,” he croaked, “it’s been fun.” He tipped his head back, trying to ignore the way his head was shifting on the inside as he gave the interior of Dancitron one last, long look. “But I think I’m all danced out, for tonight.”

Soundwave

There, you see? Already learning how to use the feelers for his benefit. And he wanted Frenzy to write up a whole report. Tsk.

{{No adjustments.}} Buzzsaw let his wings relax out of their usual flight hold, trying not to flinch at the sound of things grating inside. He muttered something to himself before piping up with {{A strong drink, however...}}

[[No drinks. You know that.]] Soundwave pushed himself up onto his feet to give Whirl a small - very small, lest he wobble and fall over - bow, then look for a decently clean place to open a bridge. Upon spotting one, he ripped the portal open and trudged over to it to make sure everyone got through all right. [[Yes. It is safe to say we brought the house down.]]

Prowl

"I don't even like dancing," Prowl grumbled, trudging toward the bridge.

He wondered if Soundwave's room had been rattled up. Probably, unless the second floor was structurally separated from the first and had much better earthquake protection. Possible but implausible. Which made for the second time that Prowl had destroyed Soundwave's room. Well, at least he had his apartment—

Prowl stopped just short of the bridge. "... Where were you recharging? Before you came back here. Did they let you stay on the Lost Light?"

Soundwave

Oh, yes, the second and third floors would be a wreck as well. Not quite as bad as the first, but not in a perfect state, either. Soundwave didn't want to know how many of Buzzsaw's sculptures or Zori's delicate string maps had been ruined.

But it was to help Whirl, and in the process, Rumble. No real complaints there.

[[The Lost Light mechs dragged him into an unidentifiable room. He bridged away during a brief period of wakefulness and collapsed on his apartment berth. He was there until he came online and messaged you. Why?]]

Prowl

"You were in your—? I was in your apartment. To get the— Did I not see you??"

Had Prowl looked toward the berth?

Soundwave

[[Hm. So you were what woke him up.]] He shook his helm. [[You would know if you had, wouldn't you?]]

May Prowl never question Soundwave's ability to go unnoticed when he wishes it again. You'd think all the times he stayed behind on the Lost Light during other mechs' important conversations would have taught Prowl that much.

Prowl

But he was UNCONSCIOUS. On his BERTH. Which is where you expect to find unconscious mechs.

Prowl shook his head, muttering, "This is why I'm not a field agent."

Soundwave

[[That is what you have him for,]] Soundwave replied, gently. [[Go on. Make sure everyone arrives safely and is treated well. He'll... find somewhere to sleep. Again.]]

Prowl

Huff. Was Soundwave his personal agent, now? "Head back to the apartment when you can. And I apologize for waking you."

An affectionate ping, and he headed through the bridge with Buzzsaw.

[facets-and-rainbows]

Blue Exorcist: Spy Game - Yukio in Wonderland (part 2)

More of this insanity, now in glorious technicolor English. Every time you see a name that looks different from usual, it’s because it’s a feminine version.

[Part 1 is here]

Part 2

“We’ve got plans to go hang out with Ryuko and the gals, don’t you remember?”

“Who’s Ryuko?!”

“Koneko is out doing something for the sutra club, but once that’s done we’re gonna have a girls’ day out.”

“Can…can guys even come to a girls’ day out?”

“Seriously, what are you talking about? You’re acting really weird.”

Rin dragged her little “sister,” who was still acting suspiciously, to True Cross Academy’s new girls’ dorms.

  “Huh? Yuki-chan-sensei’s been acting weird? Like how?”

The girl whose room they were in, Ren Shima, was talking with a piece of sweet-looking rock candy in her mouth.

She had light pink, curly twin tails and rosy cheeks. Overall she was cute like a porcelain doll…except that she seemed perfectly content lying on a bed that was absolutely covered with dirty laundry, fashion magazines, half-eaten snacks, and home workout gadgets.

The hardest part to accept was her outfit, which consisted of just a T-shirt, a pair of boy’s boxers, and, for some inscrutable reason, fuzzy leg warmers. With fashion sense like that, it was hard to tell if she was hot or cold, or male or female, or what.

“I dunno, all of her’s weird. The whole pitcher.”

“Pretty sure you meant to say ‘picture’ there, Ni…Nee-san.”

“Right there! See? What’s with the ‘Ni-nee-san?’ Why’s it start with ni?”

“That is kinda weird. And you’re not talking like the usual Yuki-chan-sensei…You kinda sound like a boy.”

Ren agreed with Rin’s prompt criticism. Despite her flippant attitude, she was actually pretty sharp.

Annoyed, Yukio fired back, “You’re the weird one here, Shima-ku… I mean Shima-san.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“There’s so much I want to say, but for now, just stop dressing like you were robbed by bandits on the way here.”

“Hahaha, you really are acting weird.” Ren snickered. “Bandits? Seriously? That’s funny.”

“Hey, Ren. Knock it off,” came a voice scolding her friend. “Sensei’s been busy with all sorts of stuff lately. She’s probably just tired.”

The concerned voice belonged to Ryuko Suguro.

She was tall, slender, and attractive, with the same bold two-tone hair as the male version, and for some reason she was wearing a maroon tracksuit with “Class 3B – Suguro” written on the front. There was also some embroidering that looked like the name of a middle school, so maybe it was an old tracksuit that she was wearing around the dorm.

She had a few rubber bands on her wrist, which gave her a certain down-to-earth quality…okay, it mostly made her look like a middle-aged woman.

“You should get a little more rest.”

“Thank you, Suguro…san. By the way, if it’s not too much of a bother, I’d like to ask…Why are you wearing a middle school tracksuit?”

Yukio was expecting an answer like “all my other clothes are still in the wash,” but Ryuko nonchalantly replied:

“Oh, this? Well, it still fits fine and it’d be a waste to get rid of it, obviously. Plus it’s comfortable.”

“It’s not like anyone’s gonna see it, right? Comfort first,” Ren agreed, yawning lazily. “You know Ren-chan can go a week without a shower if she’s not meeting any boys.”

“Okay, a week is way too long,” Ryuko scolded.

Obviously. Yukio agreed wholeheartedly in his mind.

“Though I’m totally fine going a couple days without washing my hair.”

Huh? Yukio glanced over at Ryuko, but she seemed completely calm. What’s she saying?

Weren’t girls supposed to be the ones who knew all about different brands of shampoo, and were late to things because they were doing their hair in the morning? Weren’t they supposed to exchange cute candy-like bath bombs as gifts, and take hot baths for their health, and maybe even try making handmade soaps sometimes?

Was that all just an illusion in the minds of men? Just a dream?

Is this the reality? Is…Is Shiemi-san like this too?

Yukio was stunned. His sister asked, “What’s wrong, Yukiko? You’re making a really weird face.” She laughed innocently. “Hahaha, you look ugly like that.”

Yukio wasn’t even at liberty to respond to her thoughtless comment. He tried to pull himself together.

Calm down. These guys…well, these girls? They were boys originally. They don’t count! That has to be it!

Surely normal girls showered and washed their hair every day, and sometimes went all-out doing their hair in the morning, and wore cute clothes even around the house, and kept their rooms clean.

Surely they weren’t like this, hanging out in dirty rooms wearing strange outfits, having lively conversations about gross topics. No way.

As Yukio was repeating that to himself, his sister said,

“Man, it’s hot in here though.”

She set up camp in front of the old electric fan, and started flapping her skirt up and down.

“Ah, nice and cool. I think I’m coming back to life.”

Shocked, Yukio grabbed her hand to make her stop.

“Don’t you have any shame?!”

“What’s gotten into you, Yukiko? You’re overreacting. It’s fine, I’ve got shorts on underneath. Everyone does this kind of thing at all-girls schools and stuff.”

“That’s not the problem!” Yukio yelled at his sister, another of his dreams about girls shattered. Just then—

“Sorry I’m late,” said a husky voice as the door opened. “It went on longer zan I sought it would.”

“Oh, Koneko, you finally made it.”

Miwa-kun?

The other inhabitant of the room, Koneko Miwa, had returned.

Yukio instantly thought of what Konekomaru had looked like dressed as a girl—but what appeared was…

A drop-dead gorgeous woman with a tall, well-proportioned, glamorous body like a model’s, and beautiful blonde hair that went down to her waist. She could have been a Hollywood actress.

“Wh-Who are you?!”

“I’m Koneko Miwa…Is somesing wrong, Yukiko-sensei?” Koneko asked in a slight accent, her face clouded with confusion.

Well, I sure didn’t expect this…

Is she…half-foreign?

The only thing about her that seemed like Konekomaru was the glasses.

Yukio fell to his knees on the floor.

Just what is going on here?

What could have happened to him and everyone else?

As Yukio was nursing a headache, his sister cheerfully said:

“Welp, since Koneko’s back, should we get going?”

And in the next instant—

“Hold on a sec!” “Uhh…Ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes.”

Ryuko and Ren’s voices overlapped.

Before they even got a response, they were already running around trying to get ready.

Why didn’t they do this in all the time they had before? Why were they just hanging around chatting when they weren’t even ready to leave?

Yukio stared at them in disbelief. Pretty soon, ten minutes were gone in a flurry of whining about lost combs and lost socks and stains on a favorite bag. And then…

“Five more minutes.” “Gimme ten minutes. Ten minutes.” “Just five minutes.” “Six minutes!” “I just need four minutes!” “Three minutes!”

…time kept getting added on endlessly.

What is this? Why didn’t they just say how much time they really needed from the start? Why announce it bit by bit? I can understand this coming from Shima-kun, but what happened to the serious, detail-oriented, order-loving Suguro-kun?

Yukio was getting annoyed, but his sister and Koneko next to him seemed like they were used to this. They didn’t seem especially bothered, and didn’t try to hurry things up.

“Hey, Koneko, did you know about the Happy Buffoon over at True Cross Sweets House?”

“I do! But not ‘Buffoon.’ ‘Buffet.’ True Cross Sweets House even ’as pancakes on zeir buffet menu. It’s so popular!”

“Sure is. So I was thinking, how about we go today after we’re done shopping?”

“Oh! Zat would be wonderful!”

“Right? Right? They’ve got a chocolate fountain and everything, you know? I’ve gotta try that with some marshmallows.”

“Tee hee hee. Zat sounds like fun.”

They just kept up the excited girl talk (?).

In the end, they were only able to leave after waiting on Ryuko and Ren for an hour and a half…

[Part 3]

[illuminating-dragons]

Nesting (4/?): Profoundly

Summary:  The lead up to a wedding isn't always peaceful, but people come together in the end.

Read it on AO3

           Sam grimaced as he heard another dish hit the kitchen wall. “You’d think with two grooms we’d avoid the wedding crazies.”

           “It’s your idjit brother,” Bobby grumbled, turning the page of an old ledger. “He can’t shut up to save his damn life.”

           Dean and Cas’ wedding was in a week, and it was turning into an enormous headache for anyone within three hundred miles of the Bunker. It wasn’t the guest list, it wasn’t the food, it wasn’t even the damn venue.

           It was the grooms themselves.

           Since returning from Hell, Sam had witnessed Dean and Cas arguing only a handful of times. They were quick and intense, years of a profound bond soothing the worst of the anger. But ever since Jody and Donna’s wedding six months ago, ever since Hannah asked innocently when they would get married…

           “What are we up to?” Sarah asked.

           “Seventy four arguments,” Sam reported. “Since the start of July.”

           Sarah groaned and hit her head off the desk.

           He heard Cas’ raised voice now. Great. That meant a longer argument. Sam dearly wished that either Ben or Gabriel were here—they could knock sense into the couple better than anyone—but both were away from the Bunker.

           Bobby glared at Sam. “It’s your turn.”

           “It is not, it’s Charlie’s!”

           “She and Anna are in Moondor,” Sarah reminded him. “Come on, Sam. I’ve got to finish the playlist anyways.”

           Sam knew there was no point protesting. He got up and went down the hall towards the kitchen. His brothers’ voices were lower now, but no less intense. Hoping he wasn’t going to have to pull them apart (again), Sam froze in his tracks when their voices rose again.

           “I swear, Cas, it feels like you don’t want to get married at all!”

           “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean, of course I do!”

           “Then why do you keep picking at me?! Everything I suggest you shoot down!”

           “You aren’t asking for enough!”

           “What the fuck does that MEAN?!” Another crash. “I’m asking for what I want, Cas. It’s one fucking day of our lives, it doesn’t have to be perfect!”

           “Nothing in your life has ever been perfect!”

           The silence was louder than the crashes.

           “What do you mean?” Dean’s voice was terribly quiet.

           “You’ve been dragged around your entire life,” Cas replied. “You’ve rarely had an opportunity to make choices, and they haven’t been good ones. I want to make sure you can choose whatever you want, Dean.”

           “I am choosing what I want, Cas,” Dean said. His voice was much gentler now. “I love all of the ideas we’ve come up with, and the ones I picked out are the ones I think are the best. It’s not the French Riviera, but it’s what I know. It’s what I want. I don’t want our wedding to be something completely out of my experience. It’s about us, about our life, our family…” There was another pause. “But that’s not really what you’re worried about, is it baby? You think I might not have chosen right when I picked you.”

           “The thought had crossed my mind.” Cas’ voice was thready.

           Sam risked stepping closer, close enough that he could see the kitchen. Dean and Cas were standing amid a bunch of shattered glass and china, and Cas had his head bowed.

           “You are the Righteous Man,” Cas said. “You were made by Heaven itself to fight Hell, and you defied them both. You are better than anyone dreamed you would be. You could have anyone.”

           “I want you.” Dean stepped forward and took Cas’ face in his hands. “Castiel, I want you. You are the Saviour of the Righteous Man. You were built to love God, and you chose to love me…to love me too. I love you, Cas. You’re perfect as far as I’m concerned. And if anyone thinks different—that might actually be a good thing. I get you all to myself.”

           Cas laughed, but it was more of a sob, and Sam realized it was time to leave. He retreated to give them some privacy, but not before he saw Dean enfold Cas in his arms.

           There were no more arguments that day, or the next five days. Which was good, because Charlie’s dress went missing, Kevin came down with the flu and they found out about a shifter in Topeka, running around in the guise of the dead (they’d been grave digging).

           But by the day before the wedding, the shifter had been taken out by Samandriel, Kevin was healed after he actually admitted he was sick, and Charlie’s dress had been rescued from the trunk of the Impala. A vigorous washing got the smell of gunpowder out.

           Most of the wedding guests were already there. Every ‘claimed’ bedroom was full, people chattering with excitement and finding “my damn pantyhose!” “You don’t need that shit!” “It’s the pair Gabriel made that doesn’t rip!” “…I’ll help you look.”

           Dean and Cas sat in the middle of the chaos, told sternly not to help at all. Ben stood guard proudly, arms folded. He was taking his best man job seriously.

           (Not all the arguments in the last six months had been between the grooms-to-be).

           At last the kerfuffle died down, and the bachelor party began.

           Cas had vehemently protested against this idea, and even Dean didn’t see the need. “I don’t want to be hungover on our wedding day, and besides, I am not taking my kid to a strip club.”

           “Indeed not,” Cas agreed. “I don’t want you dead on our wedding day.”

           With Ben as best man, however, Dean agreed to try a party, so long as Ben planned it. Ben had enlisted the groomsmen and groomsgals to help plan bits and pieces, but the twelve-year-old had kept most of the details close to his chest. Only Gabriel seemed to know the whole story, but he’d barely been in the Bunker in the last month.

           Which Sam thought, given the chaos, was really a smart thing.

           The first part of the party was a buffet. Everyone got their favourite foods, and they ate picnic style in the main room, curled up on cushions and bean bag chairs Gabriel had snapped up. Sam stole a few of Sarah’s grapes—to make up for it, he fed her the last of his strawberries. Dean and Cas were arguing playfully over which burgers were best, and the conversation rose and fell as everyone digested.

           Then there was pie. Lots of different kinds, and Benny beamed with pride as everyone ate up. “Told you it was better than that magic food, Tricky,” he drawled.

           Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Listen, Ex-Fangs, you just got your sweet tooth back. Give it some time to adjust.”

           Benny rolled his eyes and bared his completely normal teeth. “Sure thing, sugar.”      

           Once the last bites had been scraped off the plates, Gabriel clapped his hands. “Alright, listen up everyone.” He turned to Ben. “Want to explain your idea for entertainment tonight, kiddo?”

           Ben shuffled nervously. “Okay.” At Gabriel’s encouraging nod, he dashed out of the room.

           “What’s he doing?” Dean asked.

           “Patience, Dean-o. All will be revealed.”

           Ben returned with a wrapped package and a strange looking video camera. It looked like a camera from the eighties had a baby with a telescope.

           “What’s that, son?” Dean raised his eyebrows as Ben sat down in front of him and Cas.

           “Well, I thought it would be nice to talk about memories from when you were younger—not just with each other, but with other people in our family. And that’s easier when you’ve got some visual aids, so…”

           Dean opened the package carefully. It was a photo album.

           “What—we didn’t—we don’t have all that many pictures, buddy.” Dean said gently. “You don’t need this big a—” He opened the album and fell silent.

           “Dean?” Sam asked. He scooted so he could see the pages, and his jaw dropped.

           Every page was crowded with pictures of him and Dean, and Bobby, and Ellen and Jo and Cas and Ash…Sam spotted pictures in college, and pictures with Pastor Jim, pictures with random hunters and survivors…

           “Ben suggested this and I thought it was a great idea,” Gabriel explained. “I went back and took all the pictures that were ever taken of the two of you and anyone you call family and stuck ‘em in. I’m working on the rest of you, but I thought the newlyweds would go first.”

           Dean leaned over and hugged Gabriel and Ben tightly. He was shaking. “You have no idea how much this means,” he said, voice thick.

           “It was no trouble,” Gabriel assured him. “Just promise me you’ll keep taking pictures. That album’s not going to fill itself!”

           Dean laughed. “Promise.” He picked up the strange camera. “Is that what this is for? I’ve never seen one like this.”

           “Nope.” Gabriel snapped, and suddenly everyone had popcorn and candy on their laps and they were all facing a screen hovering just in front of the staircase. “That is a memory projector, patent pending. Kali helped me make it.”

           “A memory projector?”

           Gabriel snapped again, and the camera flew out of Dean’s hands to hover just behind them. “Ben asked me about home movies. I know you guys didn’t make too many, so I made some.”

           Sam blinked. “How?”

           “Short version is I followed you around in the past whenever you did something mildly interesting and ‘filmed’ it. I’ve got some memories of Cas from when he was a fledgling too.”

           Both Cas and Dean’s eyes were wide.

           “And don’t you worry, Cassie,” Gabriel added. “Bal and Anna gave me some more…recent ones.”

           Cas groaned. Dean took his hand. “Come on babe, it’ll be fun. It’s a great idea, Ben. And thanks for your help, Gabriel.”

           “Like I said, it was nothing. Now let’s get this film festival going.” Gabriel paused for effect. “I call it ‘The Profound Bond’.”

           “Balthazar!” Cas tried to launch himself at his brother. “You weren’t supposed to repeat that!”

           But it wasn’t nothing, Sam realized as a clip of him and Dean as small children started to play. Time travelling was difficult for angels, even archangels; and now a tiny version of Cas popped up too. Gabriel had somehow managed to convert his own memories of his fledgling’s true forms to tiny children who looked like their current vessels. And he’d done it all in time for a wedding, refusing to take credit for the immense amount of effort.

           And Sam watched Cas lean his head on Gabriel’s shoulder for a minute, and Dean smile over Cas’ head, and knew that the to-be-weds knew it too.

           It was late when they stopped watching videos (the one where Sam was chased by a goose at a petting zoo, forcing Dean to rescue him by dragging him on top of the Impala’s hood got an annoying amount of laughs), and Sam carried a sleeping Sarah to their room. He crawled in next to her and cradled her in his arms, and for a moment dared to dream of maybe someday…maybe someday they would have a wedding eve. They weren’t ready for that yet—he wasn’t ready for that yet—but for the first time the idea seemed possible. A future with her.

           And with that thought, Sam fell asleep.

           He woke to a gentle touch to his shoulder. Confused, he looked up and gasped, yanking Sarah closer.

           His mother stood over him. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

           Sam shifted as Sarah stirred. “No problem,” he whispered. “Are you all here?”

           Mary nodded. “We came as soon as we could. We thought you could all use a hand first thing in the morning.”

           Sarah was awake now. “Hi Mary,” she said sleepily. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

           “What about Dean?” Sam asked.

           “JO GET OUT WHAT THE FUCK?!”

           The outraged shout rang through the Bunker.

           “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SPEND THE NIGHT WITH YOUR GROOM, EITHER!”

           “FUCK THAT!”

           “Who thought Jo was a good idea?” Sam muttered. Sarah giggled.

           Mary’s eyes danced. “No one.”

           And with that, Destiel’s wedding day began properly.

[an-anaemic-pen]

Project Phoenix Chapter 5

The Alternative

The Manifestation || The Power Play || The Green-Eyed Fly || The Middle of The Night

Summary: Kate’s a normal teenage Midgardian girl; except there’s a Loki in her attic, and now S.H.I.E.L.D.’s after her, and also, she has powers. Apparently, she’s meant to save the world. She just wanted to finish school and maybe fall in love—at least she’s accomplishing one of those.

Relationships: Gen, F/M (Loki/Original Female Character)

Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage if you squint bit—nothing occurs while characters are underage, Sexual Content)

Mood: Wolf King (Orchestral), Battlecry

Kate woke up to the sun shining through her curtains. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, looking at her clock. It was almost 9 o’clock.

She glanced over at her door, which was still shut. "Loki?"

There was no reply. Not even through her thoughts.

Kate blinked. "Well, that’s slightly alarming." She got up, covering Jake back up and putting on her glasses. "Loki?" she whispered again.

Still, there was no sign of the God of Mischief.

Kate ran through everything she had learned in the night as she fixed her hair and washed her face. While she rinsed the soap off, she felt something land on her back and coil around her waist. She froze and reached for her towel, not finding it. She rubbed her eyes, opening them and wiping water off of her face. A snake was coiled around her like a belt, its beady eyes staring at her. "Give me my towel," she said through gritted teeth.

The snake’s tongue flickered in and out of its mouth before it pointing its head down at the space behind the toilet. There sat Kate towel.

"Really?" she grumbled and pulled the snake off of her, staring at it. "What was the point of that?"

To annoy you, the thought whispered through her head.

Kate glared and bent down, picking up her towel and ‘accidentally’ dropping the snake into the toilet. She cringed as the dirty water splashed up on her neck, but soon got over it as she watched Loki writhe in the generally-unclean waters as a snake. Get me out of here, you awful child! he screamed in her brain.

"Fine, fine," Kate sighed. She casually reached down into the toilet and pulled Loki out, immediately dropping him into the tub. "Would you like a shower, Sire?" she asked, washing her hands.

He turned back into the cinematic version of himself magically. He was dripping wet and wore a glare with the fury of all of Asgard. "Never in my life have I felt so vile, you rampallian!"

"Not even when you are covered in blood?" Kate asked earnestly.

His voice sounded threatening. "That would be the blood of my enemies, mortal. One can’t possibly be disgusted when all who defy him are dead."

Was she one of his enemies?

He immediately began to unclothe himself, dropping the clothes onto the tile floor as if it were nothing. Kate’s sleepy head kicked into high-gear and she mentally scrambled. She ripped the curtains shut moments before his pants were off. Loki laughed and she was thankful for the fabric protecting him from seeing her fully-flushed face and her from getting much too personal with him. Overnight, something had changed. She had known him for a little over 12 hours, and yet she felt what she could only describe as a bond. It was like two friends who were meant to travel their lives with arms interlocked had finally met.

Kate was ripped from her thoughts as Loki spoke, annoyance clear in his voice. "How does that water start on this device?"

"Hold on, let me make sure there’s no other water running first." Kate stuck her head out of the door. "Mom! Can I get a shower?!"

There were a few moments of silence. "I guess!"

"Ok, thanks!" Kate turned back around. "Gimme a second." She left the bathroom and pulled a couple of towels and a washcloth from the linen closet. She came back inside of the bathroom and hung the larger navy towel on the rack, closing the toilet and putting the still-folded, smaller pink towel on the lid as a seat. She threw the washcloth inside and sighed. "Okay, the dial on the left is for hot water and the dial on the right is cold water. You don’t need to mess with the middle dial. Just turn the dials until the water is to your pleasing. Also, warning: you’ll only get about 20 minutes of showering if you use just hot water."

"Child, I am a Frost Giant. I do not care about cold," his voice echoed the slightest bit, his condescending tone biting her. Kate didn’t like it, but sometimes words got to her. Over years of never being good enough compared to her siblings and being the "gifted" idiot who got C’s and B’s in her honors classes that were two grades above her actual freshman-ship, and yet being told to work harder despite her fatigue, it had thickened her skin. And yet the words of strangers hurt most.

Kate shook her head. She needed to stay out of her mind.

The water started, and the slightest bit of steam filled the room. "Save some water for me, I’ll need to wet my hair when you’re done." Kate picked up her phone and began mindlessly swiping through various social media as she always did in the morning.

She wanted to question as to how she got to the position of sitting, waiting for a "god" to finish cleansing himself of toilet bowl water, which she had dropped him in. Where did he come from? Why did he need her help? Why did he care about her of all people?

She had to admit, he was most certainly Asgardian, with the magic and the muscle she had seen while he had casually derobed. Was it commonplace on Asgard or something? Kate doubted it had been a joke (she assumed his rage would prevent him from teasing), but he was the God of Mischief.

Time was moving too fast. She already had a connection, and she didn’t like it. When he said he could make her someone, a little spark had flown from the dead embers of her hope of happiness. Recognition was something she never received, but being someone—having her name in shining lights, even if only for a moment, that would mean the world to her.

Kate felt something brush against her thoughts. It felt like a feather against sandpaper, dainty and soft, almost unnoticed, but Kate had noticed it, and she instantly thought of cows & cows & cows again, and a thud from behind the shower curtain told her Loki had been caught.

She held the barrier at the front of her forehead, thinking towards the back of her mind and multitasking between the trains of two thought. Why won’t he just leave me alone?

The sudden urge to cry swept over her. Why had a simple thought of wanting to be alone triggered waterworks? She blinked a few times, swallowing back the tears. He must be doing something to her brain. Her emotions were never this fragile.

The headache that had begun to form spiked as Loki forced his way past her barrier of cows, pushing it back and squeezing her brain until she was forced to break. Do not shut me out, illr kveisu-nagli! It was a yell, despite having no actual volume.

Kate’s mind receded in pure confusion. She did not necessarily block Loki out, she merely curled herself into a small corner. If he went near her, he could not pry her face from her bent knees and wrapped arms. Yet, she was ripped free of her safe-haven. She was a washcloth, and Loki was wringing out any privacy she still felt she had.

Do not shut me out, he said again. This time, it was quieter, calmer—maybe even sweeter.

Kate’s face crumpled in pain and anger. Her chin quivered, but she refused to believe she was on the verge of tears. Why not? I don’t know you! Tears dripped out of her eyes and fell down her cheeks. She buried her face in her knees. She hated wet anger, it always made her feel weak for crying when she was angry. You turned up and scared me! You hurt me! Then you expect to say sorry, which you didn’t even do might I add, then have me just forgive you?

You committed suicide!

All she could hear was her now-racing heart. It was as if a song had ended on an audio program, and the lines showing the beats and noise just cut off for the straight line of silence. Dull, pure silence. Her tears ceased and she wiped them away with her sleeve. They were gone as fast as they had come. What? She imagined herself, maybe a little prettier and a little less flat, facing Loki, who was thankfully still clothed, standing in a grassy field. His breath was quick in anger and her eyes were empty and red.

I’ve gone back in time five times now. Each time other than the first, I’m here for a few years, and I go along with you through your life. In the last two timelines, you committed suicide at age 17.

The only word to exit her imaginary mouth was: Why?

The first two timelines, your powers surfaced in front of cameras, and S.H.I.E.L.D took you captive. I don’t know what happens when they have you, you stay in a locked room that not even I can break into. Eventually, you reemerged a new person. You were like the winter soldier, reprogrammed to act as they wanted you to. You went on to be on part of the television program for S.H.I.E.L.D agents. You and I met one day by chance, during one of your missions Thor was visiting is wretched mortal girlfriend, and he insisted I come along. He practically dragged me with him and while the two of us were out in some cafe, a terrorist attack occurred. Of course, the bomb did no harm to me, but a concrete pillar was going to fall on me. I would have been marginally unaffected, but you ran at us and tackled us both anyway. We landed on the floor and you froze the pillar moments before it would have hit us. Then, you shattered into dust. You saved not only us, but four other civilians.

Why’d you go back in time?

Thor ended up forcing me into a date. Even when I asked to go back via Bifröst, Heimdall didn’t allow me to return. The Agent named Coulson got you to agree somehow, and Thor and Jane joined us on a “double date” in an attempt to make things less awkward. It didn’t work since all they really did was make out like some common folk, and the only thing we seemed to have in common was our mutual complaining about them. Apparently, you thought I was funny. S.H.I.E.L.D arrived to pick you up, you couldn’t stay out for too long unsupervised apparently, and just as you were about to leave, you kissed me.

Seriously? I made the first move?

Well, I certainly wasn’t going to kiss you, especially with how bad you were at it.

Hey!

Well, it true. You were horrid.

In her mind, she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. Her hip stuck out as she shifted her weight. Says the one who screwed a horse.

That makes you worse than a stallion.

Kate’s lips pursed. She couldn’t think of a comeback. No u, she thought, her mental words even saying ‘u’ rather than ‘you.’ Before Loki could question her, she continued. By the way, are you showering and talking to me here at the same time? Cause all my focus is here and I’m just sitting still.

She wanted to tune out and focus on the outside world, but she was worried as to where Loki would mentally pry without her permission. Yes, she was a mainly-clean good child of God, but her brain made some very... odd images while she dreamt whether she wanted them or not. Besides, she had her secrets like every other person.

Yes, girl, I’m above you in all ways, remember?

Kate stuck her tongue out at the shower curtain, switching back to her conversation too quickly for him to have found anything within her memories. Look, why don’t we have a Q and A? I’ll ask a question, you answer it, with no off-topic conversation? There’s too much I don’t know.

I don’t see as to why not. If anything, it will keep you from running your mouth.

Kate mentally snarled. He was the only person she had ever met that could match her snark. Question one: why do you need my help? Aren’t you like the most powerful sorcerer?

In all the Nine Realms.

Then why do you need my help?

Loki’s shifted his weight hesitantly. Kate sighed, causing a breeze to blow through the field in her mind and lift his hair the slightest bit.

You assume it to be a physical need.

What’s that supposed to mean?

The thing I need your help with is not physical. It is not a goal that can be reached from killing certain being or destroying a certain item. It is internal.

Well, then stop avoiding it and explain what it is.

Very well. Magically, Loki waved his hand and summoned a device, most likely Asgardian, that presented a main, thick line, with two branches at the end. More lines began to branch off to create a weird sideways tree of sorts. He pointed at the main line, which was red. This is the original timeline, where you and I first met.

Mentally, Kate walked up to the device. Her eyes flickered around. I’m assuming the other lines are different timelines?

Correct, mortal, I colored it in the order of your Midgardian rainbow, so you hopefully know which timeline is which.

Kate smiled. Honestly, that was really thoughtful of him. People didn’t usually go out of their way to make her life easier. In fact, she was the one bending over backwards just to account for people’s needs. That was the joy of having a mental disorder that came and went, while others’ were always around. Are we the purple line?

Well, I don’t recall there being a color after purple, is there?

I was just making sure. Kate carefully lifted her hand up, touching the red line where it abruptly ended.

She felt like she was falling while her feet were planted on the ground. Cold electricity zipped through her, and she opened her eyes. She was no longer surrounded by her bathroom, and the sound of the shower was a thing of the past.

Surrounding her was heat. She had never felt so hot before, it was like she was burning from the inside out as the smoke filled her lungs. She coughed and tried to move, but found herself unable.

Black hair fell into her field of vision. That was wrong.

Kate blinked as she ran as fast as she could away from the fire. “Loki!” She heard the tell-tale sound of Thor call Loki’s name and she spun. He spun his hammer and flew into the air, grabbed her across the chest, and flew away from the lava consuming the place she was in–wherever that was.

Thor narrowly carried her out of the building, the giant golden doors melting moments after her escape. Her mouth opened without her intent and words exited her throat. “Where is Kate?”

Her voice was low and hoarse.

“She was with Frigga in the gardens.”

She nodded and began navigating the burning ruins as best as she could. The fire had not yet spread to this part of the golden castle but it most certainly would. She only had a few moments.

She climbed up a balcony and was running across the marble and around furniture when she saw it out of the corner of her eyes. Someone was freezing the lava, or at least attempting to, in order to allow the people to escape across the Bifröst and to most likely Earth, where safety lay.

Kate stopped and jumped off the balcony and ran towards the Bifröst. As she grew closer, she saw herself, older, yelling at the Asgardians to “get their asses into high gear unless they want to die a fiery death of pain and suffering.”

“I am your reckoning, Asgardians!” A voice boomed above her head.

Kate’s eyes went wide as a giant sword of fire and magma swept across the land. How she–well, Loki–had escaped the castle was a miracle, but getting everyone out would be even more of one.

An entire wave of lava the size of one of the now-melted doors was frozen in place, the rock rapidly cooling in an arc. It was only useful to an extent, however, as the lava heated the rock below it and melted the ice. It began to drip as Kate continued to freeze it. Icy sweat dripped down her forehead as she gritted her teeth. If this giant wave broke, no matter how slow the lava moved, people would meet their demise.

From the aerial angle, Kate could see a giant crack break through one of the top layers. She narrowly avoided a burning tree and reached herself. She tackled herself and narrowly saved her from a giant chunk of ice that would have fallen on top of both of them. Lava spilled from the hole and cracks echoed through the thick ice.

“Loki! Get them out!” the Kate below her barked.

The crowd was beginning to thin into safety, some people escaping on spaceships most likely from the castle.

“No unless you’re coming with me!” she said, scrambling off of herself to get away from the hot lava. It burned her even from the distance they were at.

Kate wanted to puke. It sounded like something from a dystopian novel where the world was coming to an end.

Oh, wait.

Kate was ripped from her thoughts as herself kicked her in the gut and pushed her towards the people fleeing. “If I come with you, that flaming sword is going to kill all of us! Stop being selfish and go!”

There were tears in the eyes of the women in front of her, and her own vision was a little blurry.

“Go!”

Kate turned and ran off. Her throat felt thick. She reached the people and helped lead everyone into the Bifröst and ships. Once everyone was safe, she turned to get herself. Where was she?

Her eyes flickered across the fiery world that used to be her home. A small dot was running from the sword of magma, no, running along it.

What the Hel was she doing?

“Thor!” she called, her hair flying in her face and getting caught in the sweat on her forehead. Thor ran off the ship, following Kate’s gaze until he found her target.

Thor spun his hammer, flying off into the air to get her to safety. In the distance, Kate saw herself running along and jumping to and from the rocks that weren’t burning. The humid air was being sucked into her hands and transformed into ice on her fingertips, allowing her safe travel through the heat.

The sword swung through the air and just as Thor was about to catch Kate, a fiery hand slapped her like a mere fly.

Squish.

The hand of magma rose. Kate was gone.

Pain spiked through her chest, and her chin shook. She didn’t know whether the tears were from the pain in her chest or the immediate and strong sensation of loss in her heart. It was like Jake had just died and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She was completely powerless and so… small. The feeling was going to consume her, just as the giant wave of lava above her head would have if not for Thor, who scooped her up and took her through the Bifröst too fast for her to resist.

Kate opened her eyes to find tears streaming down her cheeks. She could barely breathe through the snot clogging her nose and throat. She hiccuped and sniffled, wiping away the salty droplets from her chin. She stared at the wall in front of her. What was she supposed to say?

Kate decided his name would be good enough and whispered: “Loki?”

[nyxysabyss]

LEVEL HORIZON; YEAR ONE.30 3/3; Reparation

CHAPTER 12!

Some people care too much. I think that’s called love. ~Winnie the Pooh

When Shouyou’s eyes drift open through the wisps of a headache, he blinks at the early morning sunlight that drifts through the large front room window. All he can see is a wrinkled shirt before he notices the blankets beneath him, a cat’s warmth at his back, and gradually, it dawns on him: he’s still alive, so Kageyama must also still be alive.

The steady rise and fall of the warm chest beneath his hand reassures him. He slowly blinks once more and notes a weight across the back of his neck, before sluggishly glancing up at his leveler.

Kageyama must have woken sometime during the night, because he’s rolled onto his back. The color has returned somewhat to his face, but it’s still drawn and pale. The pressure on his neck is, in fact, Kageyama’s hand, and Shouyou can’t keep the swell of nostalgic fondness from his gut. A dark object on Kageyama’s shirt beside his thumb catches his gaze and he frowns slightly, his hand sliding toward it. His fingers close around it, light and scratchy, and as he focuses on it, his gut drops and his head rises with dread.

His eyes land on Kageyama’s wings and Shouyou abruptly wants to weep, because nearly all of his feathers look like the scruffy fried one in his hand, many of them already having dropped from the featherbeds to scatter loosely around them.

The weight on his neck disappears and a heavy sigh escapes Kageyama, making Shouyou freeze. When he finally looks up at his leveler, Kageyama’s hand is on his forehead, his cobalt eyes fixed firmly back on him with tired focus. Shouyou wants to fidget so badly, and he knows he’s staring wide-eyed at the black-haired crow, but he can’t help it.

He doesn’t know what to expect. The last time they’d spoken, they’d been locked in an argument and attempting to kill each other via leveler bond. Kageyama blinks lethargically and Shouyou caves to his nervous tension, his jaw working to begin what he just knows will be a useless string of babble.

“Kageyama, I—”

“Water.” He cuts him off with a scratchiness that’s not unlike sandstone. Shouyou blinks before jerking upright.

“Right.” He says, scrambling to fulfill his leveler’s request. He nearly collides with Noya who’s already holding out a glass.

“Yaku says six of these in the next three hours.” He announces and Shouyou’s jaw drops.

“Six?” The small crow nods.

“You didn’t see the number of times he heaved yesterday and he sweat buckets. He’ll need that and more.” Noya says bluntly and Shouyou automatically reaches out to take the glass from him. When he turns back, Daichi is already helping Kageyama sit up, the motion dislodging more crisped feathers. It takes Kageyama a solid ten minutes to finish the glass of water, and Shouyou watches him in nervous silence the whole time, his hands clasped in his lap. When his leveler finally passes the empty glass off, the redhead looks down at his hands.

“Ano...”

“I’d like a bath. I feel gross.” Kageyama says to Daichi, and Shouyou bites his lip and glances up at him feeling very much ignored. Their former unit leader simply nods.

“Shimizu and Hitoka already have one set up. Be sure to thank them.” Kageyama nods as Daichi helps him to his feet… and it becomes very apparent how weak the black-haired setter is.

He can barely stand on his own without bracing himself against Daichi, the simple act of balancing under his own power draining what little color he’s regained from his face. And Shouyou’s pulse stutters as more feathers drop from his disheveled wings. Tanaka slides into place on Kageyama’s other side to help support him and Shouyou jumps at a light touch on his shoulder. Suga pushes another glass of water into his hands without a word and gently pushes him forward after the other three crows.

He can’t help but feel awful as he stares down at the cup in his hands, the water’s reflection rippling with each uncertain step he takes. Kageyama hasn’t hardly acknowledged him and Shouyou is positive he’s still angry. It makes his stomach twist uncomfortably until he’s sure he’s going to hurl. Like before a Volley match only several times worse. Another scorched feather drifts by him and he pauses for a long moment.

Slowly, he turns and stares down the hallway they’ve just come through, his heart fracturing at the trail Kageyama is leaving behind. He’s losing so many of them that Shouyou is sure he won’t have any left by the end of the day. The sound of the bath door opening makes him jump and he hurries after the other three.

“Would you like us to leave?” Daichi asks and Shouyou wishes he hadn’t, because Daichi’s given Kageyama the perfect opportunity to banish him from the room.

“Please.” The other boy says simply.

Shouyou’s gut sinks, his shoulders hunching as his eyes hit the floor. He isn’t sure what he expected; he’d rendered his leveler unconscious, he should probably be thankful Kageyama hasn’t tried to kill him. He sets the glass within easy reach of the setter and turns to follow the other two back out, sincerely struggling to keep the burning sensation behind his eyes from spilling over.

But he doesn’t get more than a step away before one of Kageyama’s larger hands closes on his arm. It doesn’t bear the usual bracing strength, but it freezes him on the spot and his head snaps up to look at the avian heir.

“You will stay.” Kageyama says in a flat voice, his cobalt eyes dully fixed on the wall.

So Shouyou stays.

Kageyama makes a sour face at the lukewarm water in the basin, but doesn’t complain as Shouyou helps settle him in. His leveler has yet to look him in the eye since he’d initially woken and he can’t decide if that’s a bad thing. It’s awkward and the redhead has no idea what to do with himself in the building silence, but he will stay no matter how uncomfortable, because Kageyama told him to.

His fingers itch with nerves and he absently picks up a washcloth and tentatively runs it over one of Kageyama’s shoulders. His leveler doesn’t balk and he takes it as consent… or at the very least, indifference. The contact eases his tension just a bit and his movements grow more sure; the cloth dips into the water and across his shoulder again, then down his arm and across his back.

“Hinata.” The sound of his name from his leveler makes him flinch and his hand jerks back.

Shouyou can hear it in his voice; Kageyama is done. He isn’t sure what he’s all done with, but he knows he is tired and he is through. Everything has failed, so Kageyama is resorting to bared words with all the forward precision of a scalpel but all the searing pain of a blunted blade. And Shouyou cringes because he knows his heart will probably sob before his leveler is finished, but he dares not interrupt.

Kageyama’s face turns toward him slightly, but his weathered gaze still doesn’t seek him out. Shouyou can feel himself holding his breath, afraid of what the other boy will say.

“You never ask about my nightmares, so I never ask about yours,” he begins quietly, his voice an even flat tone and Shouyou’s chest constricts with dread, “but… in mine, I’m always waking up under an oak tree, frantically wondering where you are. I’m always stumbling across a crumpled shattered wing, blood flecked across crushed feathers and red against the grass. I’m always running out of daylight to see by, and I’m always seeing blood tinted water. And always, I’m racked with the sense that I won’t make it there in time like I did before.”

“Kageyama, stop!” Shouyou begs, scrambling to prevent him from speaking another word. He doesn’t know if he can take this brutally honest and forthcoming version of his leveler; Kageyama didn’t do confessions and his voluntarily voicing something they both avoid somehow feels inherently wrong.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He says quickly.

Kageyama’s admission prods the limits of his own emotional endurance— and he doesn’t think he could return the favor and tell him what he dreams of. He doesn’t think he could ever tell Kageyama that one of his nightmares all but played out verbatim yesterday and the remnants of it still linger now.

“I think I do, because you need to know.” His leveler says emotionlessly and Shouyou shakes his head.

“I do know, Kageyama.” He reassures, earnestly trying to keep him from continuing. Unfortunately, luck has fled him today.

“I don’t think you do. I can’t just let you go. It’s not just that I don’t want to, or that I hate it, or that it makes me nervous— it’s that I physically can’t. I’ve tried, Shouyou. I’ve reminded myself of the consequences, know I’ll pay for it later, but it makes no difference. I’ve told myself that I won’t care, that I’ll leave it alone, or that it will be fine, but it’s always a lie. There is no fiber of my being that is alright with even a remote possibility that you might be in danger and I’m not there. There’s no part of me that will ever be okay with that.”

Shouyou’s mouth has dropped. Never mind the fact that Kageyama’s probably said more in that one breath than Shouyou can remember in the last several centuries, the redhead is left mentally spinning at his leveler’s blunt revelation.

“Kageyama, I—”

“I know you need people, I get that you have to have interaction and variety. I know that the same thing day in and day out will make you crazy. But this isn’t the solution...it can’t be, because I can’t do it. I can’t stand the thought that you might need help and I won’t be there.” He says, his brow creasing between his eyes, as if it’s something he’d never intended to feel let alone admit but he’s resolved. And Shouyou can’t stand that uncertain look, is instantly trying to reassure him with his next breath.

“You’ll always be there. Sheru Bay really isn’t that far, you can cover a league in—”

“And I’m telling you I can’t do it. It will only take one passing sentry to notice you and everything goes to hell.” He says, his voice still flat and… resigned. Shouyou lets out a heavy breath and tentatively raises the cloth to resume his task of assisting Kageyama with his bath.

“I’m not helpless, Tobio. I think I can hide from one sentry.” He says softly.

He already wore a cloak to conceal the feathers that would give away the fact that he’d been grounded; it was part of the original plan to help keep him less recognizable. With the mantle, it was possible to pass himself off as something other than avian. And he could handle himself in a brawl, that incident at the fish shop last year notwithstanding. He’d had all the same combat training as Kageyama and the others.

But the way Kageyama’s head tilts is a dead giveaway that he just rolled his eyes. Shouyou frowns slightly; his leveler obviously thinks he’s said something stupid.

“They won’t have to see you to notice you, idiot, all they’d have to do is hear you.” Kageyama murmurs. It’s still devoid of most emotion, but Shouyou can hear an echo of annoyance and he reaches for it like a lifeline.

“Pfft, yeah right.” He says with a skeptical huff, a corner of his mouth twitching. Kageyama’s cobalt eyes finally flicker his way and he catches his breath.

“I’m serious. You have one of the clearest voices I’ve ever heard. It has a pure sound that carries and I doubt anyone in my father’s military would forget it.” He says and Shouyou’s face is abruptly heating, because the way he says it with the tips of his ears flushing— Shouyou’s sure that this is something Kageyama somehow finds appealing.

“Eh… I don’t think—”

“Besides... if it gets back to the rookery that we’re in Sheru Bay, they will trace us back here and it won’t be just you and me and our unit under fire; it will be the cats, the owls, the girls, and Yamaguchi and the blond bastard—- everyone. If my father decides to bring a whole battalion of sentry units after us, I doubt even all of us together could stop them.

“You know my father, Shouyou— his track record with cats isn’t good, a unit that’s committed treason by desertion won’t fare much better, and skies only know what he’d do if he got his hands on owls. You and I might survive if he doesn’t haul off and eliminate you at the outset, and our outlook wouldn’t be bright in any case. No matter how I spin it, I can’t see that going down without at least a few casualties.” Kageyama’s royal blue eyes tiredly focus on the wall again with a dark frown. “Everyone already assumes the risk of being connected to us; I don’t think we have the right to ask them to shoulder more when it could get them all killed.”

Shouyou blinks as the conversation gains back all of its weight once more, and glances down at his hands.

He’s always known the things Kageyama says… but he’s not sure he’s ever really thought about them. Kageyama’s primary reason for not wanting him to leave the beach house might be personal, but he’d also assessed the potential impacts of Shouyou’s choices with regards to the others— which was more than he’d done. He’d been so desperate to get out and do something that wasn’t the same thing he’d done for the last year, that he’d never considered the peril for everyone else. Kageyama is doing the same thing now that he’d done at the rookery— trying to keep them all safe.

“You’re right.” He says softly. “They already place everything on the line as it is.”

Kageyama shifts a wing stiffly, bending it around in front of himself to absently examine the ragged feathers, his brow creasing in thought. The redhead allows himself to do what he’s been avoiding since coming to the bath and really looks at his leveler’s wings. His lungs burn and he swallows hard.

The once beautifully pristine wings sag with fatigue, the feathers crisp and brittle where they once flexed with smooth recoil. Kageyama is missing a mass of primaries and secondaries, creating a choppy outline where they are already gone. The ones that remain are so tattered, they look as if they’d been drug under a whetstone, the delicate vane fibers that line their shafts separated and kinked. It looks like Kageyama got way too close to an open bonfire with the melted appearance of the down near the wing beds, the covert feathering no longer lying sleekly against them. Instead, the small plumes stick out haphazardly, refusing to fall into any semblance of alignment and creating something of a pinecone effect. Kageyama’s spectacular wings, from his shoulders to the spread of the pinions… have been reduced to twisted remnants of frayed and frazzled feathers. Shouyou blinks as his vision threatens to water over.

“Ano… what do you think we should do?” Shouyou asks, hating the silence. One of Kageyama’s hands lifts to brush lightly across the disarrayed black quills, his frown deepening slightly.

“Not this again. And find another way… one that keeps us both sane.” He says quietly. His fingers close around one crisp feather that gives to the pressure far too easily; it’s on the verge of falling out as well.

“Do you have any ideas?” Shouyou asks, feeling helpless to fix the tension that has yet to disappear between them.

“Nothing realistic yet.” He murmurs and tugs the shabby feather free. The action makes Shouyou flinch violently.

“Kageyama, what—”

His leveler deftly pulls another and the redhead’s calm abandons him.

“Tobio, don’t!” He yelps, a hand latching onto his arm, but his leveler shakes him off.

“They’re all going to fall out anyway.” He says and reaches for another. Shouyou doesn’t have a reason for his blinding panic.

“No!” He barks anxiously, reaching out like lightning and slapping the menacing hand hard enough that it smacks into the water with a splash.

It takes a moment for his thoughts to catch up with his actions and he sucks in a sharp breath and yanks both hands back to his chest in horror. Kageyama’s head slowly rolls in his direction, his gaze flat in a look that Shouyou can’t read.

“S-sorry.” He whispers, terrified of having made things that much worse. Gods know, him hitting Kageyama now can’t possibly have made anything better. His gaze drops and his shoulders hunch in around him.

“Sorry.” He murmurs again, his gaze blurring and he blinks. “It’s my fault we’re so broken, huh? I… I’ve really messed things up, haven’t I. I’m sorry, Kageyama.”

There’s a quiet slosh and then a fierce grip closes on his shirt and yanks. He collides with Kageyama with a gasp, his shirt instantly sticking to wet skin as his leveler cages him into an uncompromising embrace. As the water soaks into the material, the avian heir’s hold tightens even more, trapping his arms between them.

“I don’t care how broken we are or how we got here. We’ve gotten through everything else, we’ll make it through this.” Shouyou’s breath catches.

“Do you still want me to go?” He whispers. If it’s possible, the redhead thinks Kageyama’s grip cinches a little more.

“Only if you think you’ll still be invincible.” He says, his voice sounding scratchy. “But that’s not what I want.” Shouyou hiccups, a silent sob rising through him.

“Me neither.” He rasps.

Kageyama doesn’t let him go.

He’s half soaked from his leveler catching him up mid-bath, and he’s choked with tears, but he’s grateful to any deity in existence that Kageyama still wants him to stay beside him. A long thumb rubs up one of the ridges on Shouyou’s back, his leveler quiet for several long moments. Shouyou takes the chance to try and collar his emotions again, so that when Kageyama does release him, he’ll be able to meet his gaze fully. His leveler lets out a sigh that puts him on alert.

“Shouyou… I’m going to pull the dead feathers.” He murmurs against his back and the redhead tenses.

“Don’t. Please don’t pull them.”

“The new ones grow in slower if I don’t. If I leave them in, it will take longer before I can fly again.” Shouyou jars.

“That’s not true.” He says shakily. Kageyama’s hand comes up against the back of his head.

“It is. I’ve been through this enough times by now to know. I’d be hard pressed to get off the ground already and they’ll only keep dropping. If I pull them, they’ll start coming in again in about a week from now. In the meantime, I’ll get to experience what you go through every day being confined to the ground.”

“I don’t want you confined to the ground. Besides, if you pull them all, your wings will be bald!” He whines and he hears a slight huff of amusement.

“I’m already confined to the ground so that’s a moot point. And just so you know,” He murmurs and Shouyou feels a burning pinch in his back.

Kageyama finally loosens his hold and leans back, raising a scruffy feather in front of him. The hint of a smirk creases a corner of his mouth.

“I won’t be the only bald one. You’re losing yours this time, too.”

Level Pair ; Chapter 1;  Chapter 11; Chapter 13

A/N: This one is pretty close to it's original rough write. While I think Hinata would cave in a fight first, I imagine that Kageyama, when pushed to his limit, would be the more drastic personality swing.

Apologies for the late update... I was obligated to engage in human interaction and went for dinner with a friend. Thank you all for sticking with me, you are amazing. Have a stellar evening, guys!

[fannishcodex]

#HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE PERFECTLY SUMMED UP HOW I’VE BEEN SPINNING THIS AU IN MY HEAD#I’ve been having a headache over how a shattered glass version of the ‘I’m done saving you’ scene might pan out#neither of them acquire the matrix in this universe#optimus doesn’t become a true prime he takes alpha trion’s cog and essentially pulls a sentinel prime#megatron meanwhile retreats with the high guard and flees iacon#so their storylines are consistent with the canon but it’s the villains who win#maybe d-16 still accidentally shoots orion but deliberately lets him go?#because he’s seen what a tyrant his partner has become#and he knows the safest path forward for iacon#is without him#is that in line with his character’s morals though??? Cus he’s always insistent that everyone can be saved??#I DON’T KNOW.#I DON’T KNOW. HELP ME OUT HERE GUYS#LETS MAKE THIS AU TOGETHER#shattered glass#transformers one

transformers one but it’s in the shattered glass universe so it’s basically just d-16 watching his three best friends descend into madness

had to redraw a few scenes