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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

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Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.7

a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Six

This is the seventh chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Aaron went to Spencer's apartment and found him in a depressive state. Lots of cuddles and comfort ensued.

In This Chapter: Aaron and Spencer go to a museum with Jack, but it is definitely not a date. And Spencer's depression definitely does not get in the way.

TW: same as usual — as well as additional ones for a trigger scene and depictions of caring.

Word Count: 4.8k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

A poem begins in the lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. — Robert Frost

The day after Aaron had turned up at his flat, he’d rung Penelope who had not-so-guiltily confessed to sending him his way. He wasn’t upset though, quite the contrary. A kind, cuddly, caring Aaron showing up in the middle of a minor depressive episode was exactly what he needed, and the evening they’d spent together had burned its way onto the tissue of Spencer’s heart. It was one of the happiest moments he’d experienced in a long time, despite the weighty, persistent, downward tug on his mood.

He’s been over every day the team has been home in the two weeks since, Penelope taking over when he’s away, and as exhausting as Spencer has found human company in the past year, neither Aaron’s nor Penelope’s presence drains him in the way everyone else’s has. They accept his low mood, not blinking an eye when he doesn’t have the energy to respond to something they say or when he zones out and stares blankly at the wall for minutes at a time. He can’t even find it in him to care that both of them have seen him naked now.

Their company starts to chip away at the glacier of loneliness that had spread itself across his chest, inching its freezing border ever closer to the corners of his ribcage as he pulled away and watched everyone else do the same. Aaron and Penelope simply aren’t having it, and their determination to show him love and friendship and warmth is slowly but surely melting his isolation to a puddle on the floor, soon to dry out and be forgotten.

Penelope had come with him to his first psychiatrist appointment, though she’d sat in the waiting room this time, and it had been incredibly relieving to be able to properly let go of some of the heavy burden that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all this time. He’d kept him on the same antidepressants Dr Reese had prescribed him, and although he hadn’t felt a huge difference yet, Dr Parker was incredibly reassuring and he was trying not to assume defeat so early in the game.

He did feel slightly better, though, as he came out of the dip in his depression that had come on the day after his day out with Penelope. Once Aaron had noticed his mood brighten and his energy levels increase slightly — evidenced largely by Spencer not immediately falling asleep on the sofa when he comes back in from work — he’d suggested getting out of his apartment and doing something.

Spencer was apprehensive at first: the idea of willingly putting himself in a position of proximity with strangers and unpredictable circumstances made his skin crawl. But then Aaron had proposed a quiet trip with him and Jack to the Natural History Museum, maybe a walk in the park if the weather was nice. Spencer had found it hard to decline.

The last few weeks had only solidified Spencer’s feelings for Aaron further, intensified by both his persistence in being close to Spencer and his relentless kindness, and he had begun to feel something like real, genuine hope stirring on the surface of his soul.

He’d caught Aaron looking at him a few times when he thought he was asleep or zoned out, and the softness on his face felt reflective of Spencer’s own expression when he looks at Aaron. He couldn’t imagine him being so insistent on taking care of anyone else on the team, and since he’d left the BAU anyway, he had no obligation to be so dutifully kind.

Yet, he shows up before and after work every day the team is in Virginia, no matter how far out of the way Spencer’s apartment is, making sure he eats, showers, has clean clothes. Making sure he knows he’s loved. (Something whispers deep in his heart that maybe that love is the kind he’s dreamed of.)

On bad nights when he was still working at the BAU, he’d hug his knees to his chest and imagine Aaron curled up behind him telling him how much he loved him, telling him that it was going to be alright. He could never look the man in the eyes the next day at work, but that didn’t stop him. It worked better than anything else he tried and now it’s a reality he can’t pinch himself out of.

Truthfully, in the weeks between quitting the BAU and Penelope forcing Aaron and herself back into his life, he’d desperately missed his time in Aaron’s apartment, playing with Jack and pretending his life wasn’t splitting at the seams. The idea of spending a whole day with them — without the added baggage of trying to box up his increasingly untameable depression — was something he actually looked forward to. It’s a nice feeling; admittedly one he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Penelope comes over the morning of the outing.

(“I’m not about to let you flush this down the drain just because you end up having a tough morning,” she’d insisted when Spencer told her she doesn’t need to. “I’ll come over and force you out of bed and into a nice little outfit if I need to. You are going on that date with Hotch. Sorry: Aaron.”

“Shut up,” Spencer had said weakly. “It’s not a date.”

“Irrelevant,” she’d sniffed and levelled him with a glare he couldn’t argue with.)

He’s pretty sure that her insistent and relentless protectiveness and aid is part of her very focused mission to make up the last year to him. In fact, he’s almost certain, considering every time she sees him he’s bombarded with yet another apology and a small present for him. He’s not sure how to get through to her that he’s already forgiven her.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks as she walks into the living room to see Spencer curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him. He had actually made it to bed last night, but the only way he could pull himself out of bed this morning was to promise himself a few minutes on the sofa, exciting day ahead of him or not.

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he sighs, picking at a loose thread of his blanket.

“That’s okay,” Penelope says lightly, dumping her handbag on the armchair before breezing into the kitchen and setting the orchid she’s brought with her on the windowsill. He hopes she knows she’ll be the only person around responsible enough to water it. “We’ll find you something small. How does a little bowl of cornflakes sound?”

“Fine.”

She puts the coffee machine on before bringing him a bowl of cornflakes that is decidedly not little. He hates that her tactic works and he eats the whole thing. “Why do you always have to be right?” he grumbles as he polishes off the bowl and puts it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, baby genius,” she sighs exaggeratedly, sagging into her armchair. Spencer doesn’t know what he’d do without Penelope Garcia and her incessant dramatics. “It’s truly an affliction.”

“Mhm.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Penelope’s saved by the coffee machine beeping and she stalks into the kitchen to pour him a cup. He has no idea how early she wakes up to make it over to his house dressed to the nines with a full face of make-up on at eight am. He smiles fondly at her as he takes the proffered mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says brightly, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her own cup. “So, how are we feeling about our date today?”

As much as Spencer does not appreciate her suggestive eyebrow waggling, he can’t help but smile at her antics. He also can’t help but blush. “It isn’t a date, Penelope, I’ve told you this.”

“Right, right,” she says drily. “I think I’d have an easier time believing you if you weren’t constantly sending one another heart eyes and weren’t clearly half in-love with one another already.”

Spencer decides it’s probably best to avoid mentioning that his feelings have definitely progressed past the ‘half in-love’ phase, and just looks down. “Jack will be there,” he points out instead, “and the Natural History Museum isn’t exactly a steamy date location, is it?”

“No, that’s exactly the point. It’s a Dr Spencer Reid date location.”

Spencer looks at her a little speechless for a moment. Unfortunately, she’s right. He’s privately thought about getting married in one of DC’s many museums, and science and history are two of the subjects even a casual acquaintance would know he’s fascinated by. Plus, it’s also something he’s bonded over with Jack.

All of that may be the case, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely cannot let himself consider this a date.

He’s already let himself fantasise enough about Aaron returning his feelings; not letting himself think of this as anything other than platonic is the only thing he can hang onto to protect his fragile heart. Getting his hopes up only to find out he’s wrong would crush him, and he can’t risk a devastation of such proportions right now. He’s barely getting out of bed in the morning as it is.

Penelope seems to catch on to his spiralling thought process and leans over to lay a hand on his knee. “Hey, I know it’s intimidating,” she says gently, “and you don’t have to think about it as a date if you don’t want to, especially if you’re apprehensive because he hasn’t said anything explicitly. I just don’t want you to doubt yourself. I promise you he has feelings for you, too, okay? You need to trust me on this one. That man is absolutely gone for you.”

Despite himself, he finds himself smiling at her as her words warm him from the inside out. Even if he knows he has to be careful with his heart, he can’t help the optimism his head conjures up at such a promise from someone he trusts with his life. “Okay,” he whispers shyly.

“Right,” she says, putting her half-empty coffee mug down on the table and gripping Spencer’s free hand to pull him up from his pathetic sprawl across the sofa. “Come on, you. Aaron won’t be long, let’s get you looking at least half-human.”

He only agrees because she lets him bring his own coffee mug with him to the bathroom. She’s a good friend.

Penelope slips out a few minutes before Aaron is set to arrive per Spencer’s request, and he sits nervously on the sofa, waiting for the doorbell to buzz. He’d chosen his favourite shirt and tie combo and gone with a lilac sweater under his smartest navy coat. He holds his scarf in his fidgeting fingers, ready to put it on once they get outside, but he still feels naked. Suddenly, everything that’s riding on this day out fills him with a sort of dread and he feels vulnerable, scared of all the endless ways this could go so wrong.

Before he can spiral properly though, his intercom buzzes and he rushes over to answer it, even though he knows who it is. He’s glad he does, because Jack’s voice crackles its way into the quiet of his apartment. “Spencer, Spencer, come out, we’re here,” he shouts excitedly, and even though Spencer winces at the feedback his high-pitched voice elicits, a fond smile still finds its way onto his face.

“I’m on my way down, buddy,” he says back, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, before patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet. He locks his door carefully and makes his way down to the front of his building. Apprehension balls in a pit in his stomach, but it loosens as soon as he approaches the pair waiting in the cold outside the front door.

Jack runs up to him and he crouches down to give him a big hug, wishing he had the strength and confidence to pick him up and twirl him around like he’s seen Aaron and Derek do so many times. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, though, an excited grin painted across his face as he pulls back from the hug.

“Hey,” Aaron says once Jack has let Spencer go and he stands back up straight. He presses a hand gently to the middle of Spencer’s back and the touch spreads warmth up to his shoulders as he watches the curve of Aaron’s smile. “How are you doing?”

“Rocky morning,” Spencer admits — he’s almost certain Penelope sends Aaron status reports, so lying is pointless. “Penelope helped.”

“She always does,” Aaron says warmly, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back while the other holds Jacks as they walk to the car parked a little way down the street. A little spark of excitement rushes through Spencer’s body as he briefly lets himself think about what casual passers-by might assume about the three of them. “You still up for the Natural History Museum?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, as brightly as he can, trying to ignore the pull of sorrow still weighing his gut down. “Are you looking forward to seeing the dinosaurs, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack shouts eagerly, letting go of Aaron’s hand to unzip his little puffer coat to reveal his long-sleeve t-shirt. A big, green t-rex stands out against the blue background, and Jack’s never looked prouder. “Dinosaur, see?”

“I do,” Spencer laughs. “It’s a great shirt, Jack.”

“Hey, let’s zip that coat back up, buddy, well done,” Aaron says gently and Jack does so obediently. “He insisted on wearing it,” he tells Spencer once Jack’s hand is back in his and he’s securely wrapped up. “He wanted to show you.”

They arrive at the car before Spencer can reply, and Aaron opens the passenger door for him to get in before strapping Jack into his car seat and setting him up with a few of his toys, including his favourite dinosaurs. It’s only a fifteen minute journey to the museum, and they pass the first half of it in a comfortable silence, but eventually, Spencer works up the courage to ask the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue the past two weeks.

“How’s work?” he asks, trying to be as innocuous as possible, though his awkward avoidance of Aaron’s eyes probably gives him away.

“It’s good.” He’s clearly treading carefully as he eyes Spencer for a brief moment before he returns his gaze to the road. “We’ve only had one major case since you left, and we muddled our way through it, got it solved. Everyone does miss you, though, Spencer. They really do.”

It’s a concept he still can’t really get his head around. He hasn’t been around for a year, not really, and they didn’t miss him then. It feels almost… convenient, to Spencer. Guilt is not remorse.

“Have you found my replacement yet?” Spencer surprises himself by not feeling any jealousy at the prospect of someone taking his position on the team. He’d long ago accepted how replaceable he is socially, and it’s not like the pool of talented, intelligent prospective agents is exactly small. He also has no desire to be around his old team; not as they were in the build-up to his resignation, not like that. He still has Aaron and Penelope, but he’s only just starting to trust that they’re not going anywhere.

“I think so,” Aaron sighs heavily. “As long as her paperwork goes through, she’ll join the team later this week.”

Spencer nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Aaron reaches his right hand across the console and rests it on top of Spencer’s clasped hands, the warm reassuring weight of not just anyone’s touch but Aaron Hotchner’s turning his insides into a melted puddle as his heart beats faster. He hooks one of his fingers over Aaron’s, a silent message to keep his hand there, and he doesn’t worry about what to say next. Nothing needs to be said.

Spencer knows the Natural History Museum like the back of his hand, so he directs them to the best parking spot before taking the lead and walking them into the gorgeous, open foyer. Jack bounces excitedly between them, so Aaron lifts him onto his shoulders to reduce the likelihood of a disaster.

“It’s not too busy for a Sunday,” Spencer observes, half trying to calm himself down in such an unfamiliar environment, “so we should be able to see everything we want to. Jack, do you want to see the dinosaurs now or later?”

“Now!” he shouts loudly, wiggling as happiness floods his little body. Spencer smiles fondly at the pair, and a little more of the apprehension he’d felt at leaving the house melts away.

“Well how could I refuse that request?” he chuckles, leading them towards the dinosaur exhibit. His breath catches when he feels the back of Aaron’s hand brush the back of his, and in a moment of bold and brash insanity, he interlocks his pinky with Aaron’s. After the moment in the car, he feels such an action is warranted, but as soon as he does it, panic sets in.

Before he can retract his finger though, Aaron takes Spencer’s hand properly. The feeling of Aaron’s big hand gripping his own in a gentle but firm hold makes his stomach dip, and goosebumps find their way up his arms and down his side. He’s never felt safer than right in this moment — never mind the crowds of people they’re passing through; the insecurity of being outside his flat; the uncertainty of what could happen — never mind all of that, because his hand is in Aaron’s and Aaron keeps him safe. He doesn’t trust much anymore, but he will always trust Aaron.

Jack babbles eagerly the whole way to the dinosaur exhibit, repeating some of the facts Spencer had taught him in his previous visits to the Hotchner household in a “did you know?” format, leaving both Aaron and Spencer chuckling fondly, trying to encourage him as much as possible.

Spencer shows them around the exhibit, acting as their tiny group’s personal tour guide, and Jack couldn’t be happier, insisting on walking instead of being carried so he can press his face up as close as possible to the displays, his breath fogging up the glass as he leaves fingerprints all over the cases. They spend nearly an hour walking around the exhibit, playing with the interactive toys and examining each and every display in a close-up fashion.

Once they wrap up their dinosaur exploring, Spencer brings Jack to a bench and asks him what his favourite thing he learned is.

“Uhh,” Jack hums, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that reminds him so much of Aaron it’s almost uncanny, “oh! They were terrible and they were stupid!”

Spencer’s confused for a moment before laughing as he manages to decode what Jack is trying to say. “Dinosaur does translate to ‘terrible lizard’, well done,” he agrees, “and you’re right, they weren’t much smarter than reptiles these days. Good job, Jack!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and Jack doesn’t waste any time in slapping his palm to Spencer’s.

“Can we get ice cream?” he asks eagerly, widening his eyes in a plea as he looks at Aaron who's been observing the unravelling scene from the pillar next to the bench.

“Go on then,” Aaron concedes, grinning at his son’s uncontainable happiness as he wiggles around next to Spencer.

They head to the museum’s cafe and all order ice cream, taking a seat in the middle of the canteen.

“This reminds me of field trips back in school,” Spencer muses, gesturing to the surrounding noise with his spoon.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks while Jack picks distractedly at a scratch on the table, licking his ice cream cone happily.

“Before I was identified as a gifted student and sent years up the grade school ladder, I was a fairly normal kid in a fairly normal school. We went on a field trip to a museum in first grade, and I loved every minute of it. I got to impress all my friends by sharing all my memorised facts about space, and we ate our packed lunches in a canteen like this. My mum was still on her meds back then, and she’d cut all my ham sandwiches into dinosaur shapes.”

Aaron’s smiling at him as he talks, and he realises that it’s probably because it’s the most he’s had to say in weeks, much less something anecdotal and personal. Spencer realises belatedly that it’s the sort of thing one might share on a date, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m glad you have nice memories from your early childhood, Spencer,” he says, and his hand reaches across the table to find Spencer’s again. “It’s the least you deserve.”

He averts his eyes as he blushes, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention, and focuses on his ice cream for a few minutes before he’s cooled down a bit. “What about you?” he asks, meeting Aaron’s eyes again. “Any field trip memories?”

“I made out with my ninth grade girlfriend at the planetarium once,” he admits quietly, a mirthful chuckle finding its way into his voice.

“Maybe minutely better than dinosaur shaped sandwiches,” Spencer says, a little shyly.

“Ooh, dinosaur sandwiches!” Jack chimes in, suddenly aware of the conversation the adults are having. “Can I have some?”

Spencer’s phone vibrates just as Aaron goes to appease Jack’s enthusiasm for novelty shaped lunch food, and he pulls it out curiously. These days, the only people to text him are Aaron and Penelope, and Penelope had told him she was going out with a friend today.

Hey, pretty boy — Spencer’s heart sinks as he reads the first line of the message, tears immediately springing to his eyes — I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Hotch said something about personal stuff going on? Anyway, I thought I’d text you to tell you just how much we miss you at the BAU. Life isn’t the same without you, and it was hard to not even get a chance to say goodbye. Any chance we could meet up at some point? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, we can just go grab a coffee or something. D

Aaron must read something off in his face — it’s not exactly like he’s trying to hide it — and he immediately slides closer to him on the circular canteen bench. “Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says soothingly, “you’re alright. What’s going on?” He just slides the phone over to show Aaron the message, and he immediately gets it. “I know that must be overwhelming, and we’re in public which can’t be helping.” He glances over at Jack who’s looking worryingly at Spencer, clearly confused. “Why don’t we go back to our place? Jack and I will help you feel better, won’t we, buddy?”

Jack nods at that, pressing himself into Spencer’s side and wrapping his tiny arms around him. “Yeah, we make you feel better.” He reaches up and clumsily brushes a tear away from Spencer’s cheek before kissing it. It makes his heart warm that this is how Jack treats someone sad: he must be emulating the behaviour adults have shown him in these situations, and Jack only ever deserves the absolute best. Especially after losing his mom.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing himself closer to Aaron. Every time he’s upset he seems to lose his inhibitions around him, but he can’t help it. He needs the comfort only Aaron can provide, and after denying his starving heart the love and reassurance it's been begging for for so long, he can’t help but indulge himself now it’s finally an option.

They make their way back to the car and Spencer’s in such a haze of confusing emotion the only thing he can really ground himself in is Aaron’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jack gripping his hand on his other side, sending him worried looks. If he had the wherewithal to feel anything other than a deep sense of grief combined with rising panic he’d feel guilty for ruining such a nice day out, but as it stands he’s spared that particular brand of misery.

The drive back to Aaron’s is a little longer than the first journey of the day, but Spencer just clings to the hand Aaron offered him as soon as they got back in the car and tries desperately not to spin completely out of control and start hyperventilating in front of the five year old strapped into his car seat behind him.

Jack is asked to play in his room for a bit once they get home and he obeys, aware of — if not entirely comprehending — the tension in the air. As Spencer sits on the sofa waiting for Aaron to get back with a glass of water, the grief and panic clear a little. He hates himself for the relentless gravity of his depression: the way it pulls down even the brightest of days, the way he can physically feel his insides being sucked downwards into the blackhole of desolation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks gently as he sits next to Spencer on the couch, close enough that their arms are touching. Self-loathing is the only thing preventing him from leaning into his comfort like he did at the museum, like he did in the car. Instead he pulls away and curls himself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa. When Spencer doesn’t reply, Aaron takes a risk. “Do you think you might be so upset because somewhere, deep down, you want to see Derek too?”

He snaps his head up at that, surprised Aaron would say something so blunt and, as much as Spencer doesn’t want to admit it, truthful. After a good few moments of contemplative and patient silence, his thoughts are ordered enough to voice them. “I miss them all,” he admits quietly. “I desperately want to see Derek. But the Derek I left hurt me so much I wouldn’t know where to even start in trying to reconnect with him.”

Aaron nods in understanding from his spot in the middle of the sofa. Spencer longs for this pit of self-loathing to melt away so he can feel confident enough to crawl back across the cushions and share Aaron’s personal space again.

“That makes a lot of sense, Spencer,” he says, resting a gentle hand on his ankle, and it’s such a casual, intimate touch he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He settles on not moving even an inch, lest Aaron pull his hand away. “For what it’s worth, the others have started to piece together why you left. I know they’re all regretting how everything played out, and everyone on the team misses you sorely.”

Spencer ponders that for a moment. He doesn’t know how it makes him feel: it’s nice to be missed, and a sick sort of vindication flourishes in the less savoury side of him at the idea of the others realising the crippling, world-changing pain he’s been in for the last year, right under their noses.

He misses so much about the others, but that’s not new: he’s missed JJ’s hugs and Derek’s teasing and Emily’s friendship for close to a year now. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen next to Derek and Emily’s private bantering, sharing an inside joke he didn’t understand towards the end of his career at the BAU had cut deep, reminding him just how achingly alone he was.

“I don’t know where to start,” he says hopelessly, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Tears spring to his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks relentlessly, as though the second he’d let one fall, they toppled down his face like river water desperate to escape, unsure of when the dam will close again.

Aaron scoots himself over to Spencer’s end of the sofa like he can’t help himself, and this time he lets himself fold into Aaron’s warm embrace. He cries as quietly as possible, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sob helplessly. He can hear himself; he knows he sounds like a broken, defeated man, but he simply doesn’t have the power to care.

As his sobs start to dry out, he sees that Aaron is crying, too. He’d noticed his wet eyes the last few times he’d cried in his presence as well, and he has no idea how to feel about it. If Aaron is seriously going to cry every time he does, though, then he’d better strap in.

“Why don’t you have a nap?” he suggests, wiping a tear from the sensitive skin under Spencer’s eye so tenderly it makes his heart clench. “Then afterwards, we can think of a way to go about this. Maybe we could start with a short text back. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, and lets Aaron help him get into a comfortable position on the sofa. A warm, soft throw is draped over him and Aaron half closes the living room blind, but the day is dark and grey enough already anyway. As he’s falling off to sleep, a hot water bottle is tucked under the blanket and he instinctively curls up against the warmth, but he knows that the real comforting soporific is the man reading quietly in the armchair next to him.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer looks forward to waking up.

Chapter Eight

Rereading Penelope in this chapter when I came to edit it made me want to take a second to recognise all of the unofficial carers out there <3 I've been a carer for both my mum and my grandmother at various times in my childhood and teens, and it's tough going. If you're looking after a friend or a family member, please remember how amazing and wonderful you are, and also remember that it's okay if it's too much, and it's okay if you need to cry or scream or break down. You are still just as brilliant no matter your emotional reaction to what is an exceptionally difficult situation to find yourself in. I love you, and I'm always here to talk to you about this (or anything that comes up in this fic!) <3

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @kuolonsyoja

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mothmansfriend · 5 years ago

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when i’m sad oh god i’m sad (pt. 2)

link to pt. 1

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning), suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

There are a number of places that are simply uncomfortable to sleep. Barely sitting up and using the chairs provided by the previous tenants as a pillow is certainly one of them. It takes Remus a moment to identify what woke him up as there's another round of knocking on his door and he doesn’t want to respond. It’s bright out,the sun is blocked from his figure by the curtains covering most of the windows. He hears Roman’s muffled voice as the locked doorknob jiggles, “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is”.

Their footsteps move away and Virgil speaks, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that-” his voice fades as they enter the kitchen.

Remus can barely pick himself off the floor before his phone lit up with a notification.

the shittier twin: You good? LMK when you’re coming home, Virgil is lowkey freaking out (received: 10:14)

He stares at the words willing his brain to focus as he decides, maybe he should reply.

He sends a photo of a fat pigeon he took outside a club him and D got kicked out of a few weeks ago. It would be clear that the picture was taken at a different time, but does get message of ‘I’m alive’ across. Which is about as much as Remus is willing to communicate to people that haven’t even tried to contact him before now. How sad is it that his twin brother didn’t even check on him until six days later. Or maybe he should be asking if it’s sad that after four days Roman still hasn’t noticed that he’s home, or that it took Roman six to even ask? Remus spends all this time in the theatre and in the arts studio, and still Roman was the only one to ask, though at the request of someone who wants to get mad at him. He considers if maybe that he is a bad person, and that isn’t something he normally would care about, but if he weren’t then people might have checked on him. He usually hangs out with D almost everyday and he swears he’s never been gone more than maybe four days. But no one else seems concerned at all.

He considers reasons why this might be and gets stuck on Roman’s comment that he hasn’t been gone that long, and the implications then of him being gone longer. Things that don’t really make sense, but he knows losing your train of thought and getting distracted is a part of ADHD, but maybe, this is much more concerning. How does he know that he’s only ever been gone so long, maybe those lapses are more than a few minutes of zoning out. Which leads to, does Remus know who he is during these lapses? The contrast between the two prince twins have always been clear in their behaviour, Roman who follows every word their parents whisper in his ear. The boy grew up to be an actor after years of who takes any command without thought at that chance to be on top, and revelled in praise. It’s the cowards way of survival, are you really living if you’re not you? He knows Roman wasn’t quite loving that, but he still complied. Remus has always known exactly who he is and who he always will be. But the uncertainty of who he is in those spaces that seem to be taking up more and more space, maybe he;s been following someones script too?

He’s constantly changing his mind and forgetting where he is, are his feelings his? If everything the thought he knew about himself is slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass than how does he make it stop?

—

Virgil slides into the recently empty chair next to Roman the second Patton gets up to ask the waitress for another round of coffee, he steals one of Roman’s sausages and speaks, “By the way, I’m catching a ride to your place with you and D”.

Roman squawks at the sausage thief, “Why? I already told you Remus isn’t home!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know, just humour me. I went to talk to Joan before we left and Thomas said Remus texted to apologize for missing practice, he’s never done that before! I just wanna come check, you can make fun of me later or whatever.”

“Fine, whatever, I know you’d just show up anyway. I don’t think him texting Thomas means anything though, even if it is weird.”

“Well we can agree to disagree then.”

—

The entry to the apartment the Prince twins share with D was just as full of banter as expected. D and Roman irritating Virgil without effort but Virgil matching that with his own comebacks and determination to check on Remus. “Alright, Emo Knightmare, let’s go knock on his cave door so I can know you again, that he isn’t home” Roman drops his bag next to the couch and heads down the shared hallway of D, Remus, and the storage closet. D walks past him with comments of a essay due tomorrow and disappears. Roman walks down and knocks on the door sternly once maintaining eye contact with Virgil knowing there will not be a response. Virgil follows him and he knocks again after a moment and jiggles the knocked door handle. “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is.” Roman turns and leads them back out into the living room towards the kitchen.

Virgil pauses for a moment watching the door before he follows, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that he actually texted to apologize for not showing up today. You know when Remus is out he never remembers to charge his phone, it just seems weird.”

Roman exhales and wordlessly pulls out his phone shooting off a text to his twin before pulling some leftovers out of the fridge to offer to Virgil despite the fact they had eaten not long ago. Virgil accepts and he puts it on two plates for the microwave. Roman’s phone vibrates on the counter with a text. The emo leans over to read and snorts, “Wait, is Remus’s name actually ‘the shittier twin’ in your phone? He just send a picture of what appears to be an obese pigeon, that doesn’t answer my question at all!”

Roman shrugs, “Of course it is, and yeah that sounds about right, it’s like he’s trying to communicate through hieroglyphics, he’s just telling us he’s fine.”

Virgil’s dark eyes examine Roman’s face for any reflection that he’s just trying to make him stop bothering him with his concern, but when he sees nothing he drops his defensiveness, “Yeah, okay, he’s your brother, he’s kind of like a cat I guess. He always comes home right?”

The microwave beeps and Roman slides the extra plate in front of Virgil, “Exactly, he’s just like this, I’ll text you when he comes back. You don’t need to worry about it, Virge.”

Virgil shoots him a small smile before taking his plate to the couch closely followed by the oldest Prince twin as they settle down with Netflix until they need to leave for their respective classes.

—

Roman blearily wipes his eyes as he wakes up in his dark room and rolls over to check the time. 2:34am wake up and bathroom break time. He briefly considers just rolling over and waiting four or five hours until he needs to get up for class, but decides there’s just a higher chance of getting a restless sleep the rest of the night. The hockey captain rolls out of bed standing in his room shirtless and only wearing a random pair of soft sleep pants and stumbles out of his room, crossing the living room and entry way he’s about to try the handle of the dark bathroom door when it opens to reveal a tall dark figure.

Roman jumps back with an admittedly embarrassing squawk before recognizing the dark figure to be a freshly showered, exhausted, and almost weak looking Remus. The two stood in silence for a moment, Remus not even reacting to the sight of his brother. Roman awkwardly laughed for a moment, “Holy shit, Remus! I didn't even realize you were home.”

Remus stares emptily, moving to walk away without replying, Roman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Are you like, uh, okay? You kind of look like shit”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as suddenly Remus’s face hardens into a snarl, “Oh fuck you, Roman.” His voice cracks halfway through but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the venom in his voice, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Christ! If you’re going to be an asshole then nevermind, I just wanted to check up on you. You know, like a concerned brother just might do?” Roman fires back suddenly feeling defensive. The tone of voice Remus uses almost sounds scared to him but he doesn’t have the energy to pry at Remus in the hallway less than 6 feet from D’s door at 2:30am.

“You don’t get to play any kind of concerned brother role right now! You don’t just get to decide to be concerned one day, it’s all about appearances with you, I dont fuck with that!” Remus’s voice raises as he gets more and more riled up, his voice sounds like shit as if he hasn’t used it in days, “Tell me when you think I got home, Princey, huh? You don't know shit about me and it’s time you stopped asking like you do.” He steps towards Roman edging back down the hallway to the living room.

“Why am I supposed to know when you got home?” Roman fires back, “You’re an adult! You’ve taken care of yourself fine for years, I’m not your parent I don’t need to know where you are twenty-four-fucking-seven!”

Vaguely, Roman hears D’s bedroom door open and feels brief regret that was smashed by Remus shoving him backwards. “You don’t need to know! But, did you ever think to wonder? Did you ever once care enough to ask? No! I don’t remember ever being gone more than three or four days.”

Roman recoils for a second in confusion but counters standing his ground, “What does that fucking mean? You own a calendar, a phone, you should know your average in the last year has been like five to seven days, you can’t blame me that you decide to go on a bender every 6 months or less. Can’t you ever grow up?”

“It means I don’t know where I was for two to four of those days at least! You self absorbed prick! Fuck!” Remus crumples for a second, his facial expression looks so, lost. He violently grabs and tugs on his still damp hair. He stands back up face guarded once again. “I know I never go out without a plan, I have paid some fucking terrible prices for that that you never need to know about. But, you’re telling me that I was out there and I don’t remember it? And no one thought to mention anything to me? And you’re asking if I’m ‘okay’? Fuck that, fuck you. I’m going back to my room, and ideally I’ll fucking rot and die before I have to look at you again,” Remus seethes before turning and slamming his door without waiting for a response.

Roman sags at his brothers exiting remarks, making tentative eye contact with D who waits in the dark hallway. “I don’t know what to do,” Roman says quietly.

D moves towards him moving them to the couch offering a comforting touch to the remaining twin, “Roman, I cannot tell you that I have any idea about what just happened. But, it seems like he just wants you to be there for him, in his own weird displays of affection he does love you and I think maybe he’s scared sometimes that you don’t care for him, and he lashes out. But right now, you need to go back to sleep so you can go to your boring nine am lecture, and I’ll try to spend time with him tomorrow. Sound good?”

Roman examines D, letting himself feel vulnerable for a moment but trusts that D knows what to do. He’s known the twins since high school, if anyone knew it would be him. “Thank you, D” Roman whispers, leaning into the little affection for a moment before he stands up and moves them back down the hallway.

Roman goes to the bathroom as originally planned but thinks about the things his younger brother had said. How much is he missing? What does it mean for Remus to simply not remember days at a time? Is it because of drinking too much or something else?

As Roman tucks himself back into bed, preparing himself for the restless sleep he had been trying to avoid. His mind wanders, and he can’t help but think that maybe he should be questioning blood stains on Remus’s carpet a little more.

#sanders sides angst #sanders sides #remus sanders #hockey au #university au #creativitwins #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus prince #roman prince #virgil fosc #bipolar disorder

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ameftowriter · 5 years ago

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5738 A.D. 4,1 (UPDATED) (Dr. Stone fanfic)

From here: https://ameftowriter.tumblr.com/post/188742703889/5738-ad-41-dr-stone-fanfic

This is the updated version of the fic above. After watching Episode 22 I had to change this a bit and edited it better to make sure it flowed smoothly. Also I may plan on putting more chapters but I’ll have to see to that later.

Anyway, I love Episode 22 so much and it touched my heart so! I have two more fics incoming that I posted along with this, so that will be incoming soon.

Ao3 | ffnet

Part 1 (This!) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 ???

Gen still has a hard time taking everything in. Was it really the year 5739? The mentalist just couldn’t wrap his head around it. On top of it all, those statues. So many statues.

They were people, turned to stone.

He realized that something terrible has happened and it affected every human being on earth.

He was affected too, considering the position he woke up from. The last thing he remembered was that he had just finished his act. Hearing the cheers and applause from a delighted audience, that's when everything went dark.

And the next thing he knew was a bright light, and faced an open ocean.

He wondered if this was a prank, he’s seen a lot of celebrity prank shows, to be a victim of that disgusted him. He was a mentalist, being subjected to a prank like this defies his very image. He grumbled at the thought of it as he stood up from his position.

That is until he heard a deep commanding voice from the background.

“Welcome to the year 5739 AD”

He felt cold sweat drip off his currently naked body. He turned to recognize the man who broke him out of the dark stone prison. It was Shishio Tsukasa… the strongest primate high schooler.

He heard him say something about making a choice. That him and those statues behind him were selectively chosen for his new world…

Gen looked up and just could not believe what he saw...

He was then given some clothes to wear, made by their resident tailor named Yuzuriha. He didn’t know who she was, but was grateful for her.

It was… clothes he supposes. It was a tunic of sorts that reached up to his knees. Made of animal skin. He wanted to ask for a T-Shirt and Jeans. Then again… if it really was year 5739, and everyone was petrified…

He nearly stumbled on a statue lying around. He gained back his footing and turned to see what tripped him. His eyes widened to see that it was his manager.

Memories of the man flooded his head. When he first started, he would try to use him, booking his shows back to back, expecting him to nearly give up his own education, family life, and his private life for his acts. He tried to milk so much money from him, Gen was sure it was borderline illegal. But eventually, he found a weakness to the man and he became an easy target for Gen’s manipulation. Sometimes he used him as a guinea pig for any new acts he had thought of. He nearly had him prance around the streets naked once as a form of revenge.

But if it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t have become this popular and famous…

He wouldn’t have had the money to…

Tsukasa shattered the manager’s head beneath his feet.

Gen nearly jumped back at the sudden destruction in front of him.

“I apologize for startling you.” Tsukasa spoke up, “I remember this man once, he was your manager yes?”

Gen could only nod.

“He tried to charm me to having you and I do more shows together, he treated us as if were freaks in a carnival. I simply cannot stand adults like that…”

It didn’t take a mentalist to know that every word he spoke dripped of hatred and loathing. Gen looked at the remains of the destroyed statue, and felt his stomach churn.

He hated his manager yes, but…

For someone to just mercilessly destroy that…

They had arrived at the Empire of Might as Tsukasa had called it. Gen could only look at it with awe as he saw various forms of treehouses and caves formed from the mountain. But most of all, he saw that almost every man and even women around him were muscular and looked like they would be able to carry him like he was a feather.

Then Gen met the said tailor, Yuzuriha, and the big oaf that he was pretty sure was her boyfriend, Taiju.

They were friendly and chipper. Gen was surprised to see this. After all it's been about 4000 years and everything around them is gone. For them to act this way.

Well… he wouldn't verbalize it without any sort of evidence. But to him it seemed to be just an act.

He wondered why.

Gen thanked her for the clothes. But wonders if he could ask her for something more… sophisticated. Something that suits his style.

Tsukasa agreed, he saw Gen as a valuable member of the Empire, but he also needed him for a mission.

Yuzuriha agreed to do it without any questions asked.

Gen missed paper and pencil or any kind of writing instruments. But it seemed that the girl understood his directions nonetheless.

Now, he’s curious as to why they're acting this way.

While they waited for his new outfit, Tsukasa then began explaining to him his goals. Goals of creating a new and better world without the adults who tainted it. Gen listened to him intently, and felt himself get pulled into Tsukasa’s ideals. He knew what he meant and fully understood his words and reasonings. After all, he made a living using and exploiting the naivete and idiocy of the adults that ruled the earth. He knew and understood the pain and suffering Tsukasa has mentioned. He had experienced it himself as young as he was. And yet the scene of his manager being crushed underneath Tsukasa’s feet kept playing over and over his head….

Sometimes Gen wondered if that's what kept him from being swayed by Tsukasa's words…

But at this moment he was afraid. Very afraid for his life. He was reborn into this "Stone World" and was spared from a fate worse than death. To even show any resistance to Tsukasa or any of his people would equal his untimely demise.

So he as it was many years ago, put on his mask and showed his agreement to the man's ideals and goals. Even showed support and gave suggestions on who to pick and revive. The mentalist was a master of weaving words into the most believable of sentences, right down to the inflection of his syllables.

Tsukasa was pleased. And that was good enough for him.

That night, Gen just could not sleep. He tossed and turned endlessly as he made the effort to close his eyes and forced his body to sleep. He thought of everything he could remember on how to go to sleep, but that failed him too.

It was strange to him. He remembered during his performance that he was so exhausted that he could collapse the moment he let his body relax. Yet when Tsukasa broke him out of the stone prison that he felt so energized that he could run a marathon and not feel winded. And he certainly still feels that way. He wonders if being asleep for so long had made him catch up to his lost sleep. All nineteen years worth of it.

Well, he did the math and technically he is now 3739 years old…

If there was any kind of sleepiness in him at that moment, Gen had completely lost it.

3720 years… is a really, really long time…

Yuzuriha finished his new outfit the next day, he was very grateful for her. Especially after hearing the fact that she spent all night with it. Gen felt a bit bad for her, until he heard her voice crack just a little…

Gen did not have supersonic hearing, but as a mentalist, he taught himself to pay attention to people’s subtle noises. He wondered if Yuzuriha was lying to him.

He tried the new outfit on, and it fits him just right. He was definitely impressed with her.

Later, Tsukasa began explaining to him about a certain “miracle fluid” that had broken him out of the petrified state. And that it was located in a special cave. Which was also dubbed, Cave of Miracles.

A miracle fluid that undid the petrification? He couldn't believe that it was even possible. That peaked his interest, not that he would show it.

As Tsukasa brought him to a cave and along a few other muscular men with him. It seemed that he wanted to show respect to nature's bounty and sorts. It was something that lost his interest, and it fell into deaf ears. Thanks to that distraction though, Gen had tripped over a giant root, but he quickly gained footing and held himself against a tree near the cave. He brushed his fingers against a tree without realizing it.

He felt something odd.

He knew tree bark was rough and could hurt depending on the tree, but even so, this sensation felt weird to him. To him it was like… like… Something was engraved into the tree.

He moved his hand away and saw a carving into the tree he held on.

A.D. 5738 4, 1

“Fifty-seven, thirty-eight… Four, One…” Gen read the engraving. “5738, 4, 1…”

It was like everything he had known right now had changed.

His thoughts came back to when Tsukasa told him the current year. He wondered so many things that day, that even today he was still trying to take it all in. He wondered how… how would Tsukasa be able to determine the current year. From what he saw of the strongest primate high schooler, he was more than just a muscleheaded idiot. He had strength, he had skill, he had smarts.

But even so that did not give him a proper answer as to how and why he knew the current date.

Does Tsukasa even know this engraving?!

Was it even really the year 5739?

But this engraving shows it. 5738… It’s been a year since the engraving was written in the tree. April 1st… How did the writer knew of the exact date even…

“5738… April 1st…” Gen repeated himself, “H-How…. How did… How could someone…?”

“No…” Gen gathered his thoughts, “Someone… someone must have carved this after breaking out… They had to. But… How would… would they know the exact date…”

“Is it even possible…?!”

He read again the crude kanji and the numbers written on the tree. It was clearly there. It wasn't some sort of hallucination… It was actually written there…

The mentalist's heart swelled with hope.

“This… this is…” Gen shuddered in excitement at the realization of someone like that ever existed, and broke out first, and to do this, “This is too antastic-fay! Whoever did this… Must be…”

Then his thoughts were interrupted by Tsukasa calling him to the cave.

Gen quickly dashed inside. To see Tsukasa standing in front of a pile of… bat guano. Gen’s nose scrunched up at the awful smell and saw yellow liquid dripping down from the cave’s ceiling, to a clay bowl.

He quickly deduced it as a so called “miracle fluid” that Tsukasa had mentioned. But when he read Tsukasa’s expression and listened to his voice, he felt there was more… than just that fluid…

That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about that engraving.

5738 A.D. April 1.

He wondered who could even do that. In that darkness. For almost 4000 years, calculated the year, month and date. The exact date?! He wondered why would the person even bother to calculate. When normally you'd think of surviving first.

He thought of possibilities. He knew you can tell how old a tree is by cutting it and counting the number of rings… But that would have been a gigantic tree. He considered the number of natural disasters that could have destroyed it way before the next millenia… So he scratched out that idea. He thought maybe some sort of machine that could tell the time had survived, but he hasn’t seen a sign of any kind of civilization, let alone a machine that could tell the time. His thoughts wandered of any kind of sci-fi theory he’s seen. But just like before, he saw nothing…

Nothing from the year 2019.

Gen curled up onto his sheets. It has hit him again, the realization that there was nothing left from the year he knew. No buildings, no cars… no cola even…

He felt the sudden urge for a bottle.

As he realized he couldn’t sleep once again, he stepped outside of his living quarters and saw the stars in the sky. It was numerous, more than he could ever count.

Count…

That's when he thought of something… a completely ar-fetched-fay possibility...

Yes, there was no machine or anything that could tell the time, but the fact remained that time still moved forward, no matter what…

It was something insane. Something that no human being should be able to do, but it was possible…

He had heard rumours of a kid who counted the exact seconds within a month, and he had counted it exactly.

“To count the passing seconds…” Gen thought to himself, “To do that during all that time in the darkness…”

Many feelings he suddenly felt for this mystery counter. Excitement, pity, delight, fear... In order to do that, he would have had to remain conscious all that time… Gen eventually felt nothing and his mind went completely blank after a while. When Tsukasa revived him, he thought everything before was just a dream… a long 3720 year dream…

Gen gritted his teeth, he was nervous, he was scared, he was so lost in this new world, but to even think that there was a person like that, a human being that could do such a thing...

He had to find them… he had to find the person who could have done this feat… He had to know. He had to know this person. He had to pick him apart and understand his own way of thinking. He had to analyze everything about him. He had to know how and why would he do such a ridiculous yet logical thing.

He hadn't felt this eager in knowing a person he hasn't even met.

The rest of that night spent thinking about this person. He smiled at the thought of someone else being this unique.

It was like… to him it was like getting excited over a book he had heard only good reviews about.

Yes, he was skeptical, but the thought of someone like this.

It got him excited.

The next day, the third day, Tsukasa called for him after his meal.

He was called to be given a mission…

“Those dusty old fossils who used to be in power…” Tsukasa began as he led Gen to a path in the forest, it was a bit further from the Empire, “Are even less necessary in this natural world of stone…”

Gen didn’t hear a hint of hesitation from those words. In fact to him Tsukasa spoke of his ideals in such great confidence and conviction, that the mentalist felt a bit swayed by those. Especially when he said…

“But I see a massive amount of potential in you… Gen.”

Gen felt himself snap out of that trance. He knew Tsukasa had a lot of natural charisma, but even he as a master of minds, felt like he was grabbed instantly and quickly, as if he got there by himself. He cursed himself mentally, as he remembered how Tsukasa crushed the statue of his manager, again. And all of the other pieces of statues he has seen scattered everywhere, crushed with his bare hands or by his men.

“There’s something I need you for…” Gen’s attention was grabbed again as Tsukasa cleared some branches to reveal a treehouse, made by… concrete? He wondered. “And your skills as a mentalist will be invaluable…”

Gen saw on the side a few empty jars, crude makeshift spears… he was surprised that even the ladder that leads up to the treehouse was still sturdy. To him it looked like it was all abandoned.

But that wasn't where they went, rather, Tsukasa led him to a hut near the tree house. It had a worn out sign that said, “Laboratory”.

Tsukasa led him inside and the mentalist saw broken clay pots everywhere. He watched his step, as he moved in closer to see more and more broken pieces scattered everywhere. To him it was an obvious sign that whoever lived here scrambled to take everything and left. To the untrained eye that is.

Gen saw this was too intentional. It was too much of a mess for him. He thought maybe a scuffle, but that would have caused those shelves to fall apart. To him, it is as if the previous occupants just intentionally took those jars and smashed them.

“Follow them for me.” Tsukasa gave him his mission, as it also confirms Gen's deductions. “And get inside of their minds… Perhaps I'm being overly cautious, but I want you to track down this man Senku and tell me if he’s dead or hiding out somewhere…”

Senku…

That is the name of the person he was tasked to look for.

‘Senku…’ Gen thought to himself. He tried to think of anyone he knew by that name, none came to mind.

So he asked, “Who is Senku?”

“He, was the first of us to revive…” Tsukasa replied.

‘First? Don’t tell me…’

“He used his knowledge of science to create a formula to undo the petrification.” he continued as Gen took in this invaluable information, “That’s how he revived me…”

Gen couldn’t hide his surprise anymore.

‘This Senku person… revived Tsukasa? He created a formula to undo the petrification?’ The pieces started to fall into place...

“This man…” Tsukasa continued as Gen felt the man’s voice grew bitter, “His only desire is to revive everyone, no matter who they were…”

‘What? He… what? He wants to revive… everyone…?!'

“He’ll bring back the same people who ruined our world.... And they’ll make weapons…” Gen felt every word laced with pure hatred, as he still tried to take in everything.

“He was the most intelligent man alive, and that’s why I killed him myself…”

He saw Tsukasa’s eyes narrowed as he finished his sentence.

'He killed him…' Gen held back even his own expressions, 'He killed this Senku…'

When he first met Tsukasa in this new world, he was kind, considerate, gentle to everyone in the Empire and even to the animals. He would ensure that every part of every animal killed was put to use, even the organs. For Gen to hear him say that. For Tsukasa to kill another human being… he got even more scared of him.

Gen started to doubt himself. He wondered if there really was someone who could take down the Strongest Primate High Schooler. To kill the "smartest" man alive, as he called this Senku.

But even so, the fact that Tsukasa had to send him, a mentalist… to make sure that Senku is alive.

There was no doubt. Senku is alive.

He finally understood what he had to do.

Gen enjoyed it. He enjoyed experimenting and toying with the human mind and the limitless possibilities of the human psyche. He mostly used it for his own benefit and gain, but that's what the world, the previous world, taught him. To him adults were easy picking, even more so than teenagers and children. He knew as one grows older, the ideals and beliefs, and biases a person has learned will stick longer and thus harder to change or remove. Gen knew of this and exploited it to his heart's content. So it was child's play for him to figure out what had occured in this laboratory.

He asked Tsukasa if he could stay a bit more to inspect the area. The man let him, and asked if he knew the way back.

Gen knew the way back.

When he realized that he was finally alone, he quickly observed the area. He looked at the pieces of the broken jars, the stains on the floor and at the walls, he saw the various broken tools nearby. He then rushed into the tree house and saw the same mess as the lab. Gen saw this as a laughable way to make it look like they got scared and escaped.

Smartest man alive? More like the world's worst crook if he had ever seen one.

He remembered Tsukasa’s expressions, the hatred in his words and the shakiness of it. That was also obvious. Tsukasa was scared. Very scared. He only knew of Tsukasa as a fearless man who would stare down other fighters bigger and stronger than he was, and took them down easily. For someone to induce such paranoia and fear in him...

He has to know. He has to know who this Senku person is.

He just has to!

After gathering what he can from the area, he went back to the Empire. He gave Tsukasa what he could deduce from it, and said that he and his companions that he too figured this out from the tracks, that they probably dashed at around southeast to where the Empire was.

Tsukasa was impressed by him. He mentioned that the two companions were Taiju and Yuzuriha.

Gen faked a shock, well to everyone it looked like a real shock. He knew some of the bigger and heavier footsteps belonged to a heavyweight like Taiju, and smaller, lighter footsteps belonged to a woman, Yuzuriha fits that description.

Tsukasa explained to him that they returned after he had subsequently killed Senku and buried him in that direction. Gen was right it was southeast to where they were, Hakone (or it would have used to be considering the lack of any buildings).

He also mentioned that they were Senku's best friends.

That's what stood out the most.

Gen wondered to himself as to why they were kept under surveillance. Now it made sense, Tsukasa was worried that they might turn on him eventually. Even with the power difference, there was an instilled fear that Senku would come back for them and have a scientific weapon that could be used to defeat him.

That's what the mentalist deduced at least.

So Taiju and Yuzuriha were… no are Senku's friends. He filed that important tidbit for later.

Tsukasa had given him information that was more valuable than even he thought.

He was also told of a blond haired, blue eyed girl that seemed to have no knowledge of science and had a very primitive way of thinking. He was (truly this time) shocked to hear that there is a possibility of a village of primitives in that area, and that Senku might have made contact with them if that was the case. So now he had a destination in mind.

Hakone. Around a two day walk from where they were now. Gen didn't particularly like the idea of walking so far and so long, but his desire to meet this Senku was what pushed him further.

Before he left, he asked Yuzuriha for some extra materials and a cutting tool. Part of him wanted to tell them that he was going to see Senku, just to gauge their reactions. He knew if they didn't react to what he expected it, then it was truly confirmed that Senku is alive.

But he held his tongue on that. He didn't want to risk then getting caught on this mess.

Gen himself haven't really decided on if this Senku really is the person he was looking for. If he was the mystery counter. All he knew was that, he was a threat to Tsukasa's ideal world.

The smartest man alive vs the strongest man alive.

A typical brain vs brawn...

His journey was long and painful, especially since he didn’t wear any shoes. Along the way he picked up many nightshade flowers and stored them into various hidden sacks underneath his clothes. He even found many berries and even some small animals he could use to make fake blood bags for his own protection, just in case everything went downhill for him. He knew when to expect the worst. After all, he made a living from expecting the worst in people and exploiting it.

His journey took way longer than two days. He was exhausted, yes, but every step further was one step closer to meeting this Senku. He thought it was worth it.

From what he knew about the positions of his shadows, he had deduced it was around noon. He walked further and further through the forest, and that's when he heard something, music. He heard music playing nearby, he walked closer to the source, and saw it, clear as day. A village, built on two small peninsulas connected by a bridge.

It was the primitive village that Tsukasa told him about. There were primitives living in this area.

And in front of it was…

Well to his surprise. It was a ramen stand.

Gen approached the stand closer then was quickly given a bowl of said ramen by a child wearing a melon mask over her head. He thought it was kind of cute.

He felt a pang of hunger as he took a whiff of the bowl on his hands. It was a crude version of ramen that he knew, but well, he supposed it was still ramen. So he took a bite.

Gen nearly gagged from the taste.

He remained very quiet despite the complete awfulness the dish had. He couldn’t even call this ramen. He heard this was foxtail millet ramen.

Once again he nearly gagged at the thought of foxtail. Foxtail, was what the noodles were made out of. He could feel the grainy texture and the bitter aftertaste of the ramen.

It was ositive-pay awful!

But he heard nothing but praises for this dish. Gen peered to see other people wearing similar clothes like the one the melon girl wore. It looked like they were almost inhaling the ramen. It was a complete consensus that it was the best thing they've ever had.

That's one other thing that hits Gen.

He sighs and misses something way more than ramen right now.

One of them quickly asked for seconds and Gen sighed and realized with the stereotypical glutton man. He supposed that in any kind of era there's always a glutton.

Then his attention quickly changed when he saw the man at the stand itself, putting the ramen together.

His hair stood out the most, literally. Even at the year 2019, he would have easily stood out. He wondered if it's dyed or if he used any hair products. Almost every bit of his hair stood upwards defying gravity. To Gen he looked like a walking giant leek or bok choy. Then when he turned sideways, that's when Gen finally saw his face. He looked sweaty and tired, but his face is full of eagerness and pride, that admittingly seemed contagious. The most noticeable features were the two jagged scars that lined and bent up from his forehead down to this eye line and just below the eyelid. The Mentalist instinctively touched his own scar.

He remembered the explanation Tsukasa gave him. That these scars are just a side effect of the depetrification process.

Gen remembered the day when he saw his reflection at the river and saw the scar running underneath his left eyelid, where it turned to shape his mouth then went straight down his chain and his neck. To him this was a reminder that he was petrified and awakened. Which meant, this man was…

“Are you the man who made this incredible food?” He heard a young girl approach the man with such eagerness and obvious intent of flirting, “the one called, Senku?”

Senku…

This green haired, prideful, obviously exhausted guy...

Is Senku?

Gen tried hard to cover his laughter. This was the man that Tsukasa, the strongest primate high school, was scared about? He looked physically weak. Everything about him was so lanky and skinny. It completed the giant walking vegetable set. Big green leaves and a nimble easily breakable stem.

He was….

'This was the man who wrote that date on the tree isn't it?'

He saw a familiar equation written on Senku’s outfit.

E=mc2

'Yeah… definitely the science nerd around here.' Gen chuckled internally, 'Who the hell writes that on their own clothes?!'

When the girl asked Senku what kind of girls he liked Senku simply answered this:

"A kind that would pump a ton of oxygen into my furnace"

Gen groaned internally at that answer

'And he's uninterested at romance. Like he's some sort of a Shonen protagonist…'

Gen managed to breathe and calmed himself in order to prevent getting noticed by the villagers. Senku had made the ramen for them. It was errible-tay. He could barely call this food.

'So this is what Tsukasa was talking about.' Gen just placed everything together in his head, 'This Senku is a scientist, through and through. He made the depetrification formula, he made this ramen, he has that silly equation on his clothes, he even has a furnace! I see why Tsukasa-chan fears him… but…'

Gen had to make sure. He wasn't going to just mingle with him and the primitives.

The blond villager girl whom Gen deduced as quite strong, and possibly the girl that Tsukasa ran into before, even expressed her displeasure at that answer. He wondered if she had some feelings for this Senku person.

The Mentalist admits that Senku is quite handsome. It was a shame to him that he isn't interested in romance. He would have loved to have gotten closer to him. But he supposed that he still has a job to do.

Well to everyone in the Empire of Might it was his job.

To Gen….

It was some assurance.

If this Senku is what he thought he was, that this Senku is the man that striked fear into Tsukasa's heart.

This handsome, nerdy, passionate man…

Might be the counter he was looking for.

Better strike while the iron's hot….

"Ah… this ramen is making me wickedly thirsty…" Gen admitted to himself, out loud for everyone else to hear. "A cola, would be great…"

And with that, Gen had Senku's undivided attention.

The Mentalist then went to work, fully analyzing this Senku to his heart's content.

Little that he knew what would happen later that within the past 3700+ years of his life, would change for the better.

'This is worth it…'

#dr stone #dr. stone #asagiri gen #shishio tsukasa #ishigami senku #fanfic #dcst #ogawa yuzuriha #ooki taiju #the psychoanalysis of Asagiri Gen

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vergils-daughter · 5 years ago

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Ahihi! It's my turn! 🖤🖤🖤 Can I please request for V and Reader splitting up, with her trying so much to make him stay but, he still leaves? Then, many, MANY weeks later, he seeks her out, wanting to fix things with her. I want to see what's your take in it. Thank ya! 🖤🖤🖤

Well, first thing I am sorry it took me so long. And a second apology - I may have gone a little crazy and literally punched the canon in the face. But I like to describe time and place and put Reader in specific environment. If you wish, I can write more canon-like fic, just let me now :-)

V x Reader splitting up

This should have never taken place. Nevertheless, just like small sand grains all these malices, divergences, bagatelles became serious misunderstandings and started to disturb the work of delicate mechanism called your relationship. All this leads to the day when V leaves you…

“You need to understand that I can change myself for you, but i cannot stop being myself!”

Of course it would not be the first time he leaves the apartment to put his mind at ease. The way you are, you could make a stone crack from rage and V, despite his phlegmatic temperament, has his limits, too.

“I cannot be with someone who controls every aspect of my life. I need space!” - this is one of those rare occasions when V talks with his voice raised up. You are standing face to face in your small apartment. V’s silhouette is towering above you, as he is much taller than you, but in reality it is you who is the dominating one. You felt it in the way he turns his head. He is talking to you but it is already obvious that he wants to retreat. He wants to escape. No way!

“First of all, do not shout” - you speak with a cold voice - “and secondly, I do not control you, but I do organize our life, because YOU are not capable of it”.

Ouch. You see how he snorts and how his muscles show when he clenches his jaws. Then he opens his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but you cannot allow him to interrupt.

“You don’t have a normal job and because of all this business Dante dragged you into you almost died. Certainly you are not fit to be a demon hunter, V! Has that episode with Qliphot not taught you anything?

"Well, it is good that you always support me” - he speaks with a hurt tone.

“Spare me! You are saying, that I organize your life, but in fact you are angry that someone other than that long dead poet tries to put everything in order. Grow up, at least a little!” - Your anger starts to overflow you and the next wave takes you with it. V grabs his book and makes a move as if he wanted to open it. - “Don’t you dare to put a quote or I will throw this fucking book through the window!”

V clenches his fingers on the book as though he was afraid that you would really take it away from him. His eyes become dark, he has had enough. He turns his back to you and speaks very slowly.

“There is not a thing in me that you like. Maybe you were just wrong about me?”

And now he … This was getting out of control. Maybe this time you pushed him too far? You approach him and grab his arm in an attempt to turn him to face you, but he just pushes you away.

“You know that is not the case, V!” - you try, desperately.

“The truth is… I do not know, what IS. And I do not want to enquire any longer.”

With increasing amazement you watch him take his coat and the bag which he always took for the long missions. Then he walks towards the door.

Not entirely understanding what is happening now – or maybe, not wanting to understand? – you shout behind him:

“Don’t you dare leave!”

But of course that doesn’t stop him. When the door slams behind him you call out, so that he can hear you from the corridor.

“Don’t you think I will cry after you!”

Well, you do that a bit later, when you wake up at the morning, after a night spent on frenetic cleaning of the apartment, and find out that all of his stuff is gone. He must have come when you were asleep, but he did not wake you up. He took his books and clothes and just disappeared from your life. Perhaps for ever.

…

Dante wouldn’t be himself if he simply accepted just like that what had happened. When you said that you are moving to the far east, he looked at you as though he saw you for the first time.

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“But it is not the fault of this..” - he tries.

“Dante, I need to be back in my homeland” - you interrupt him before he starts the topic you very much wish to avoid right now. It is obvious that your splitting up with V sent some shock waves across the demon hunters’ world. Your romance started dramatically after the destruction of Qliphot and you saving V from crumbling into pieces. The rituals you had to use will give the demonologists something to ponder on for at least a few decades. However hard you and V may have tried to maintain some privacy afterwards, you were quite famous for a while.

“I have on offer for you, though” - you add. “I will set up a DMC branch office. Where I used to live there are demons, too, and there is no one to take care of all that rabble. Besides, I want to come back to giving lectures. I have so much to offer to my students after this Qliphot incident.”

Dante nods.

“You surely are not the type of person whose mind one can easily change, are you?” - he says, but you can see a genuine disappointment in his eyes.

Well, hell no, you are not.

…

“The concept of performing rituals that are based on demonic artifacts is very tempting, however the risk is very high. Sadly, not all of us are sons of Sparda” - you smile when you see the halls’ reaction to that - “…who can easily switch between the astral states of the soul. This is why for us, humans, rituals which originate from our tradition and available resources are more appropriate. Today we will talk about the angels’ talisman.”

You turn towards the board and draw a circle. The chalk squeaks, accompanied by the scratching of the pens and pencils. The hall is full, you notice not without satisfaction. The young, the old, a few theorists and occultists like yourself, but also some hunters marked with scars. Some of them are taking notes, and some came to listen, like this tall guy sitting in the last row, all in black…

Your squint as your weak eyes cannot see him clearly from this distance, but his silhouette seems familiar. You shake your head and resume the lecture. You do not have any time for this.

As the lecture ends, for some reason you leave the hall quickly when the lecture ends, before any of your students has a chance to rise from their seat.

Not now, not now…

From the university you go straight to the DMC office and the thought of all the work that awaits you there causes you to release a small sigh. You took a lot on yourself and even the fact that you no longer do any field work did not help. It got even worse – when your team is on the mission, you coordinate the transport and the details of payment and future commissions. You wonder how Morrison managed to work without a place to store all the documents and contacts. As you are walking by a store, the light of street lanterns reflecting in its windows, a thought crosses your mind – perhaps running an antiques shop would be an interesting change in your life?

But when you look at the window you see the reflection of a person following you.

You feel the shivers running across your spine. You are sure that is it not a random pedestrian that goes in the same direction as you. You feel the attention focusing on you. You pretend that you did not notice anything and try to keep a monotonous pace and walk as though nothing happened.

Something tells you that you should not run or it will be like in one of this silly horror movies. The tapping of your steps and the beating of your heart muffle all other sounds. You grab your talisman subconsciously and you focus so much on that someone stalking you that you don’t notice a man who arrives from around the corner. With a surprised cry you both fall down to the ground.

And when you try to get up quickly, not sure if to fight or apologize, you see the face of the man you fell on. V’s face.

That is, you see a bearded guy with a long ponytail, so unlike this sleek mage that miraculously survived the destruction of Qliphot. Wearing linen pants, a black t-shirt and a heavy coat that covers his tattoos. In clothes that are surprisingly… plain. And in boots instead of his favorite sandals, although that is a little less surprising as it is wet and cold on this distant isle he arrived at.

But the eyes… they remained the same. You were unable to forget them, even though you have been trying so hard. If your heart was pounding like crazy in your chest a moment ago, now it is clenched painfully like a fist. You jump up and watch V rising up. Ah. Whoever was following you a moment ago, vanished. Was it a trick of V’s?

“What are you doing here?” - you say through clenched teeth. You look at him in a way you hope looks hostile. V brushes away some stray hair form his face in a manner so familiar to you and smiles shyly. You really want to rub this smile off of his face with a fist.

“We need to talk” - he says.

You rise you arms as in defense and shake your head. But before you manage to say something, he grabs your arms and pulls close to him.

“I was wrong, I cannot make it without you, you were right, I am not fit to all this” - he says on one breath, hugging you tight. You feel that he trembles.

“V, I…” - you make an attempt to see something, but he holds you even tighter.

“Forgive me for leaving you, S/Y. This world is full of suffering and I cannot separate myself from it. All of this is too strong…” - he presses his lips to your ear - “You gave me peace and calamity. I cannot live without it…”

“V, you cannot live in a constant fight” - at last you can say something. - “You are not capable of killing. This is why you felt so lost…”

“But I’ve changed my job” - he says.

“Wha…” - you are at a loss for words now. You tilt your head and look at him with amusement. -“You… resigned from being a demon hunter?!”

V only nods his head.

“And… what do you do then?”

“I… collect magical artifacts and… stuff. Rare books. Dante helped me to organize a small shop, I run something similar to a used book seller.”

You shake your head as you cannot believe what you hear. You take a deep breath, because it costs you a lot to say what has to be said.

“I… shouldn’t have imposed anything on you and tried to gain control over you. I only wanted to… protect you, but not by changing you. For that you must forgive me” - you end the sentence in a voice so quiet that you are not sure if he heard you at all. You look at him, not sure what you will find in his eyes, but there is only pure adoration on his face. He leans towards you and kisses your lips, very gently, and you cannot hide that you missed it so much.

You loose track of time in this intimate moment. You feel that an urgent desire awakens in you to recall one additional aspect of your relationship. With a sigh you break the kiss and take his hand.

“Umm… do you have a place to stay for the night? Because I have an apartment nearby, so..

"I do not. Will you invite me?”

“On one condition”.

He gives you a suspicious look, but calms down when he sees your smile.

“You need to shave this beard. I bet that when you are summoning Nightmare you look like a Santa on drugs.”

And the Polish version:

To się miało nigdy nie wydarzyć. A jednak, niczym powoli nawiewane ziarna piasku, wszystkie te złośliwości, rozbieżności, drobnostki urosły do rangi poważnych nieporozumień, zakłóciły delikatny mechanizm, którym był wasz związek. Wszystko to doprowadziło do dnia, w którym V cię opuścił.

-Musisz zrozumieć, że mogę się dla ciebie zmienić, ale nie mogę przestać być sobą!

Oczywiście, nie byłby to pierwszy raz, gdy opuścił mieszkanie w poszukiwaniu chwili oddechu. Masz tę skłonność, że nawet kamień potrafi przy tobie pęknąć z wściekłości, a V, mimo swojego flegmatycznego temperamentu, też ma swoje granice.

-Nie mogę być z osobą, która kontroluje każdy aspekt mojego życia. Potrzebuje też miejsca dla siebie! – to jeden z niewielu momentów, gdy V mówi podniesionym głosem. Stoicie naprzeciw siebie w salonie, w małym mieszkanku, które dzielicie od paru tygodni. Sylwetka V wznosi się nad tobą, jest wyższy o głowę, ale tak naprawdę to ty nad nim dominujesz. Czujesz to w sposobie, w jaki na wpół odwraca głowę, słowa kieruje do ciebie, ale już widać, że chce się wycofać. Chce uciec. Niedoczekanie.

-Po pierwsze, nie krzycz – rzucasz zimnym tonem – po drugie, nie kontroluję ciebie, tylko ORGANIZUJĘ nam życie, bo ty nie jesteś w stanie tego zrobić.

Auć. Widzisz, jak się żachnął, a mięśnie odznaczyły się pod skórą, gdy zacisnął szczęki. Otwiera usta, by coś powiedzieć, ale nie pozwalasz mu.

-Nie masz normalnej pracy, a przez ten cały biznes, w który cię wciągnął Dante, prawie zginąłeś. Przecież ty się nie nadajesz na łowcę demonów, V! Ten jeden epizod z Klifotem cię nie przekonał?

-Dobrze jest mieć w tobie wsparcie – mówi urażonym tonem.

-Och, daruj sobie! Mówisz, że ja ci organizuję życie, ale tak naprawdę to jesteś zły, że ktoś inny poza jakimś dawno nieżyjącym poetą próbuje ci wszystko poukładać. Dorośnij choć trochę. – gniew przelewa się kolejnymi falami i unosi cię ze sobą. V wyjmuje z kieszeni książkę i wykonuje ruch, jakby chciał ją otworzyć. - I ani mi się waż rzucić jakimś cytatem, bo wywalę tę pieprzoną książkę przez okno!

V zaciska palce na książce, jakby bał się, że mu ją wyrwiesz. Jego oczy ciemnieją, ma już dość. Odwraca się od ciebie i mówi powoli.

-Nic ci we mnie nie pasuje. Może po prostu myliłaś się co do mnie?

Czujesz, jak grunt usuwa ci się spod nóg. Chyba tym razem za bardzo go przycisnęłaś. Podchodzisz do niego i chwytasz za ramię, próbując go obrócić twarzą do siebie, ale się wyrywa.

-Wiesz, że nie o to chodzi, V!

-Prawda jest taka, że ja już nie wiem, o co ci chodzi. I nie mam ochoty dłużej dociekać. – z rosnącym zdumieniem patrzysz, jak sięga po swój płaszcz, bierze torbę, którą zabierał na dłuższe misje i kieruje się w stronę drzwi.

Nie do końca rozumiejąc, co się właśnie dzieje – albo nie chcąc rozumieć – krzyczysz za nim.

-Ani mi się waż wychodzić!

Ale to go oczywiście nie zatrzymuje. Kiedy drzwi zatrzaskują się za nim, wołasz jeszcze, licząc na to, że usłyszy cię na klatce schodowej.

-I nie myśl, że będę za tobą płakać!

Robisz to znacznie później, kiedy po nocy spędzonej na frenetycznym sprzątaniu mieszkania budzisz się rano i orientujesz się, że zniknęły jego rzeczy. Musiał przyjść, kiedy spałaś, ale nie obudził cię. Zapakował swoje książki i ubrania i po prostu zniknął z twojego życia.

…

Oczywiście Dante nie mógł tego zrozumieć. Kiedy zapowiedziałaś swoją przeprowadzkę na wschód, popatrzył na ciebie jakby cię zobaczył pierwszy raz w życiu. Krzyżujesz ręce i kręcisz głową.

-Ale to nie wina tego…

-Dante, wracam w rodzinne strony. – rzucasz szybko nim pociągnie temat, którego wolałabyś teraz uniknąć. Oczywiście, że twoje rozstanie z V rozeszło się już szerokim echem po światku łowców demonów. Wasz romans zaczął się dramatycznie, od zniszczenia Klifota, ocalenia V od rozpadnięcia się na miliony kawałków, a rytuały, które były w to zaangażowane, zapewnią demonologom materiał do badań na kolejne dziesięciolecia. Jakkolwiek próbowalibyście zachować prywatność, przez jakiś czas byliście dość popularni - Ale mam dla ciebie propozycję. Założę filię DMC. Tam, gdzie mieszkam, też zdarzają się demony, a brakuje kogoś, kto ogarnąłby całą tę hałastrę. Poza tym chcę wrócić do wykładów. Mam za dużo do zaoferowania studentom po tej przygodzie z Klifotem.

Dante tylko pokiwał głową.

-Cóż, nie jesteś osobą, której zdanie łatwo zmienić, co? – rzuca, ale widzisz w jego oczach szczery zawód.

Oczywiście, że nie jesteś.

…

-Koncepcja przeprowadzania rytuałów opartych o artefakty demonicznej proweniencji jest kusząca, ale niesie ze sobą spore ryzyko. W końcu nie każdy z nas jest synem Spardy – uśmiechasz się, widząc poruszenie na Sali - który potrafi swobodnie przechodzić między astralnymi stanami duszy. Dlatego dla ludzi bardziej odpowiednie są rytuały oparte na naszych tradycjach i dostępnych środkach. Dziś omówimy talizman aniołów.

Obracasz się w stronę tablicy i rysujesz na niej okrąg. Kreda skrzypi po tablicy przy akompaniamencie skrobania długopisów i ołówków. Cała sala jest pełna, zauważasz z zadowoleniem. Osoby młode, stare, teoretycy i okultyści jak ty, ale też poznaczeni bliznami łowcy. Niektórzy pilnie notują, inni tylko słuchają, jak na przykład ten odziany na czarno wysoki typ siedzący w ostatnim rzędzie…

Marszczysz brwi – z tej odległości twoje słabe oczy nie widzą go wyraźnie, ale jego sylwetka wydaje się znajoma. Kręcisz głową i wracasz do wykładu. Nie masz teraz na to czasu. Z jakiegoś też powodu wychodzisz z sali jak tylko kończy się wykład, zanim ktokolwiek ze studentów zdąży wstać.

Nie teraz, nie teraz…

Z uniwersytetu kierujesz się prosto do biura DMC, a na samą myśl o czekającej tam pracy wzdychasz ciężko. Sporo na siebie wzięłaś i nawet rezygnacja z pracy w terenie nie odciążyła się. Gorzej – kiedy twoja ekipa jest na misji, ty koordynujesz transport, dogadujesz szczegóły zapłaty i kolejne zlecenia. Zastanawiasz się, jak Morrison to wszystko ogarniał bez jednego miejsca, w którym trzymałby wszystkie papiery i kontakty. Kiedy mijasz witrynę sklepu, w której odbija się światło ulicznej latarni, przychodzi ci na myśl, że prowadzenie sklepu z artefaktami mogłoby być ciekawą odmianą.

A kiedy zerkasz na szybę, widzisz odbicie postaci podążającej twoim śladem.

Włosy jeżą ci się na karku. Jesteś pewna, że to nie jest przypadkowy przechodzień zmierzający w tym samym kierunku. Czujesz jak przez skórę skupioną na tobie uwagę. Nie dajesz po sobie poznać, że coś zauważyłaś. Starasz się zachować jednostajny rytm i iść przed siebie, jakby nigdy nic.

Coś ci mówi, że nie powinnaś zrywać się do biegu, że to będzie jak w jednym z tych głupich horrorów. Odgłos twoich kroków i bicie serca zagłusza wszystkie inne dźwięki. Podświadomie zaciskasz palce na amulecie ochronnym i jesteś tak skupiona na obecności za twoimi plecami, że wpadasz z rozpędem na człowieka, który wychodzi zza rogu. Z okrzykiem upadacie na ziemię.

A kiedy otrząsasz się i próbujesz wstać z mężczyzny, na którym leżysz, niepewna, czy powinnaś walczyć, czy przepraszać, dostrzegasz jego twarz. Twarz V.

To znaczy, jakiegoś brodatego, długowłosego gościa z kucykiem, zupełnie niepodobnego do wymuskanego maga, który cudem ocalał zniszczenie Klifota. W lnianych spodniach, czarnym t-shircie i ciężkim płaszczu ukrywającym jego tatuaże. W ubraniu zaskakująco… zwykłym. I w krytych butach, co w sumie nie powinno cię dziwić, bo na tej odległej wyspie, na którą go zagnało, jest zimno i mokro.

Ale te oczy, one pozostały te same. Nie udało ci się ich zapomnieć, mimo że bardzo się przez ostatnie tygodnie starałaś. Jeśli do tej pory twoje serce tłukło się jak szalone w piersi, to teraz ścisnęło się boleśnie jak pięść. Zrywasz się i patrzysz, jak V wstaje powoli. Ktokolwiek cię śledził, zniknął.

-Co tu robisz? – cedzisz przez zaciśnięte zęby. Patrzysz na niego koso, i, masz nadzieję, wrogo. V odgarnia z czoła niesforne kosmyki – ten gest pamiętasz aż za dobrze - i uśmiecha się do ciebie nieśmiało. Masz ochotę zetrzeć mu ten uśmiech z twarzy pięścią.

-Musimy porozmawiać.

Wyrzucasz ręce w górę w obronnym geście i kręcisz głową. Zanim cokolwiek powiesz, V chwyta cię za ramiona i przyciąga do siebie.

-Myliłem się, nie mogę dać sobie bez ciebie rady, miałaś rację, nie nadaję się do tego wszystkiego. – rzuca na wydechu, obejmując cię mocno. Czujesz, jak drży.

-V, ja… – próbujesz coś z siebie wydusić, ale on przytula cię jeszcze mocniej.

-Wybacz, że tak cię zostawiłem, S/Y. Ten świat jest pełen cierpienia, a ja nie potrafię się od niego odseparować. Za mocne jest to wszystko… – przyciska usta do twojego ucha - Dawałaś mi spokój i ukojenie. Nie potrafię bez nich żyć…

-V, nie potrafisz żyć w nieustannej walce – w końcu udaje ci się coś wtrącić – nie jesteś stworzony do zabijania. Dlatego byłeś tak zagubiony…

-Mam inną pracę.

-Co… – na moment cię zatyka. Odchylasz głowę i patrzysz na niego zdumiona. – Zrezygnowałeś z bycia łowcą demonów?!

V kiwa głową.

-To co teraz robisz?

-Kolekcjonuję magiczne artefakty i przedmioty. Rzadkie książki. Dante pomógł mi w zorganizowaniu małego punktu, w którym prowadzę coś na kształt antykwariatu.

Kręcisz głową, nie wierząc w to, co słyszysz. Bierzesz głęboki wdech, bo sporo trudu cię kosztuje wypowiedzenie tych kolejnych słów.

-Ja… nie powinnam ci wszystkiego narzucać i próbować cię kontrolować. Chciałam cię chronić, ale nie poprzez zmienianie cię. Wybacz mi. – kończysz głosem tak cichym, że nie jesteś pewna, czy w ogóle cię usłyszał. Zerkasz na niego, spodziewając się gniewu albo goryczy, ale jego twarz wyraża tylko czyste uwielbienie. Pochyla się i składa ci na ustach delikatny pocałunek, a ty nie jesteś w stanie dłużej ukrywać, jak bardzo ci tego brakowało.

Nie wiesz, jak długo trwa ta chwila bliskości. Czujesz jak budzi się w tobie nagląca potrzeba, by przypomnieć sobie jeszcze jeden aspekt waszej znajomości. Z westchnieniem odrywasz się od niego i ujmujesz za rękę.

-Hmm… masz gdzie nocować? Bo mam tu niedaleko mieszkanie…

-Nie mam. Zaprosisz mnie?

-Ale mam jeden warunek…

V rzuca ci podejrzliwe spojrzenie, ale łagodnieje na widok twojego uśmiechu.

-Musisz zgolić tę cholerną brodę. Pewnie podczas przywołania Koszmaru wyglądasz jak naćpany święty Mikołaj.

#dmc #dmc5 #dmc 5 v #request #splitting up just like that? wel.. and #and yes i think that he would look ridiculous with white beard!

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letterfromtrenwith · 7 years ago

Text

The Passage of Time

Requested by @upstartpoodle for the prompt: ‘On the edge of consciousness’ from this list.

George experiences some very peculiar events.

This fic was partially inspired by the Inside No. 9 episode ‘The 12 Days of Christine’.

~~~~~

“Poldarks! Warleggan! Quiet, the lot of you!” George frowned at his paper, annoyed both by the undeserved reprimand and by the mistake he’d made in his translation. Ross and Francis had had some sort of trivial disagreement and elected to bicker it out in the middle of Latin while sitting either side of George, much to the latter’s irritation.

The disturbance to his work was one thing, but Barrett, the Latin master, was a martinet - free with the cane, and bearing a particular dislike of George. Vexed, George made another mistake, and crossed it out with a sigh. Latin was generally one of his best subjects, but when he looked closely he noticed several other corrections which he could not remember making.

It was very hot in the classroom – unusually so – and he struggled to concentrate. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot up his right arm from the elbow, as if he had been stuck with a knife. He gave a cry of pain, expecting Barrett to remonstrate with him but he heard instead, confusingly, a woman’s voice:

“No! Stop that! Get away from him!”

“Mr George Warleggan, may I introduce Miss Elizabeth Chynoweth?” Francis had described Elizabeth as a great beauty, but in George’s opinion, he had not done her justice. Her exquisite brown eyes were captivating, and George could not look away from her as she curtseyed gracefully, candlelight catching on the silver ribbon entwined elegantly in her chestnut hair.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Warleggan.” George struggled to make a reply. He felt a little peculiar this evening, and meeting such a striking girl as Elizabeth did nothing to reorient him. Likely, the food at Trenwith did not agree with him – it was far richer than the muck they served at school or the Spartan fare preferred at Cardew.

Feeling as he did, everything was a little off – the music echoing oddly as if it came from far away, the people moving in strange jumps and blurs.

“George, your father wishes to speak with you.” He glanced around, but could not see the source of the voice. Something else was wrong, however, something about his father – some reason why George could not possibly speak to him…Frowning, he turned back to excuse himself to Miss Chynoweth.

She was gone.

Ross glowered at him over the rough table of the upstairs meeting room at the Red Lion. George supposed he could hardly blame the man, considering the financial blow that had just been dealt to him. He had not attended a Wheal Leisure shareholder’s meeting as yet, but today was the ideal opportunity.

To get such a victory over Ross was deeply satisfying – their mutual dislike had grown into a great enmity over the years, and ever since George’s marriage to Elizabeth…

No. That was not right. George was not married to Elizabeth, no matter how deeply he might wish to be. Francis was. Wasn’t he? But hadn’t George gone to Francis’ funeral just weeks ago? He could not remember.

“I am sorry to say that you must prepare for the worst.” Someone said. One of the other men in the room, although George did not see anyone’s mouth move. And prepare for the worst of what? The closure of the mine was inevitable, what was worse than that?

“No, please, please, that cannot be.” That sounded like Elizabeth. But she was not here.

It was so very stuffy. George was sweating, and the room began to swim. He had to get out.

On the street, it was much cooler. It must have been raining as he could feel damp on his forehead. A young woman spoke to him. She had a kind, gentle face, a little like Elizabeth in some ways – he recognised her, but could not name her. He did know somehow that she should not be here, not now, in this place.

What was happening?

The tip of his pen scratched over the ledger, filling in the columns, balancing the figures. The mathematical precision had always been pleasing to him – a simple, correct formula. Today, however, the numbers would not co-operate. They danced across the page, seeming to dot from row to row at random. It made no sense. And here was an entry for returns on Wheal Bizzy – he had closed that mine near fourteen years ago.

Frowning, he turned in his chair to reach for another leather-bound volume, taking it from the pile behind him and dropping it with a clatter onto the dining table at Trenwith.

What? How had he –

“Would you pass Mama the peas, George?” Elizabeth sat opposite him, at her rightful end of the table as mistress of the house. He frowned at the pink gown she wore – it was rather an old one, which he was certain she had given to Morwenna. She had much finer she could wear, even for a family dinner.

Family…She inclined her head gently toward her mother, who sat a few places down on George’s right. Had the old woman recovered from her apoplexy? She certainly looked well enough. But, no, Elizabeth’s mother was dead these three years hence. She could not be here.

“We have reached the crisis point.” Who said that? What crisis? He was so very hot, and he could not understand what was happening.

Ursula toddled along ahead of him, her little frock fluttering around her legs, delighted giggles echoing along the hallway.

“Papa!” She called after her, wanting him to chase her. George followed along behind obediently, ever-watchful of her safety. Just ahead of him, she darted into an open doorway, small feet pattering on a wooden floor. He picked up his pace so as not to lose sight of her for too long, turning into the pink-walled drawing room just she wriggled behind a sofa, clearly wishing to play hide and seek.

But George stopped in the middle of the large Persian rug on the floor. They were at Cardew. He did not live here now. Had not for years.

“There you are, my dear.” Mary Warleggan sat in her favoured chair by the fire, her wide-skirted brocade gown draping elegantly across the seat. This was a sight George had not seen for almost thirty-five years. Indeed, he was not sure he actually remembered such a thing at all, or whether his grieving young mind had simply supplied it to comfort him.

“Mama?” This could not – What was -. He felt as if his mind were collapsing in on itself, all of his thoughts and ideas tumbling together. His mother stood, coming to stand in front of him. She looked exactly as he remembered her, as she was in his portrait of her. As she had been at twenty-four years old, just before her death. “Everything has become very confused, Mama.”

“I know, my love. But it is all finished now.” She reached up to touch his face gently.

“What is?” Someone held very tightly to his hand. But it was not his mother.

“George? George? Can you hear me?” Elizabeth’s voice faltered. “Please, please open your eyes for me.”

The dark brown miasma above him gradually clarified into the canopy of their bed at Trenwith. He squinted a little until his eyes became used to the light.

“George?” Elizabeth spoke again and with some effort – he felt extraordinarily tired – he turned his head to the right. She sat by the bed, holding tightly to his hand. Her lovely face was pale and drawn, her soft eyes tired, but watching him with a glimmer of hope. Their washbasin was on the bedside table, a cloth hanging over the edge.

A movement behind Elizabeth, and Dr Dwight Enys appeared in George’s field of vision.

“Wh – “ George managed to say, despite his mouth feeling as if he had swallowed sand. Before either could answer, some memories swam roughly into focus. A sore head and a scratchy throat, feeling hot and cold, his joints aching. Standing up in the parlour, a housemaid hurrying toward him as the room tilted alarmingly

“You’ve had a very bad fever.” Dr Enys placed a cool hand on his forehead, but George was far too exhausted to object to the abrupt touch. “We were very concerned, but you have passed the worst. With some rest and a restoring regimen, you should make a full recovery quite soon.”

The doctor pulled up the sleeve of George’s nightgown, examining a small bandage just below the inside of his elbow. Now that he knew he was wounded, he felt the slight sting on the tender skin. Dr Enys frowned.

“Your wife was not at home when you took ill. Dr Choake was called before me, and I am afraid he bled you. Mistress Warleggan arrived in time to prevent him from doing too much damage.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips and shook her head, gently brushing her fingers over his inner arm just under the linen binding. She reached for a glass of water and lifted it to George’s lips. He drank gratefully, the refreshment helping to banish what fog still clung to his mind. To think he had been so ill was quite alarming, but at least everything was finally clear. Elizabeth smiled down at him, her relief evident.

“How do you feel, my love?”

Although he could not summon much more than a whisper, George was able to reply: “Back to rights, my dear.”

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #elizabeth poldark #george x elizabeth #fic #f: ge #m: fic

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