#Vlad please stop causing misunderstandings even to yourself

[noxcheshire]

I think I’d be really funny, if Bruce was a reincarnated Vlad.

This is going to be based off of a prompt I saw (I will find you) where Bruce suddenly remembered his past life as Vlad.

HOWEVER, my take on that is the de-aged Ellie and Dan because the amount of ANGST and self hate that Bruce will go through thinking his past self was not only a villain, but also that sort of person?

It will eat him alive.

It will eat that man alive every time he goes to sleep and another burst of memories pass underneath his eyelids.

It burns him when he wakes up with the phantom touch of a body underneath his hands, of a boy just as young as Damian and thinner too, struggling to escape a grip of a man whose hold was too possessive, and too cruel.

It feels like acid swishing down his throat when he wakes with the taste of oily words filled with threat and something more whispered over the form of a boy. A young boy whose blue eyes blazed furiously back and yet tried to hide the quiet bursts of fear underneath.

It feels like Bruce cannot scrub the man he had been right out of him, even when his skin blisters red until it bleeds. Vladimir Masters had woken spitting and screaming, burrowed like a cold sore underneath everything that is Bruce.

Bruce hates it.

Hates the monster he had once been and still is — because despite the fact Vlad is now Bruce, living and breathing and existing here in Gotham — Vladimir Masters still exists.

He is out there right now in a little place called Amity Park, pulling weight and blood just to get what he wants.

A man who has used and abused for far too long…

Perhaps it was time to see to it, that however and whatever way that Bruce came to be, that it began with Vlad’s unfortunate circumstances back into the Ghost Zone.

[angelaiswriting]

Escape | Sergei (Daredevil)

[credits for the base video]

✏️ Pairing: Sergei x fem!reader

✏️ Summary: in the aftermath of the Hell's Kitchen bombings, you find yourself on the run to safety with Sergei and Vladimir.

✏️ A/N: I haven't written a word since last December. I also did not rewatch Daredevil, I just wanted to get out of my slump, so I hope the vague (lol why tf do I even worry) details about what happened to Vlad and the Russians aren't that far off. This is just some self-indulgent porn with plot while I try to decide whether this is my last fic on here or not. If this side of the fandom still exists... enjoy! 💌

✏️ Warnings: pre-established relationship, Vlad and Sergei being bffs, fluff (imo), kind of an angsty (?) ending for Vlad but he's alive and physically fine! 18+ ONLY (mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, feeling stalked/observed/tailed; oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob?, p in v sex, coming inside, brief cockwarming, mentions of people hearing you have sex and of voyeurism)

✏️ Word-count: 16,982

ESCAPE

It’s like an out-of-body experience, and you feel like you are the only fixed point in this whirlwind of details.

The smell of smoke and blood that sticks to your lover like some ugly sticker.

The rain drizzling outside.

Hushed Russian in and out of the bedroom, the utility-closet-turned-into-vault room, the living room.

The stench of your own fear.

He’s shoving random essentials into a duffel bag, Sergei. Underwear from your side of the drawer. Your toothbrush and toothpaste from the bathroom, while their glass holder shatters on the floor. Your laptop. Your gun―the one he taught you how to shoot but that you never really had to use before. Money from the safe. Your documents―the real and the counterfeit ones.

Yours yours yours.

It takes you forever to realize everything he’s shoving into that bag belongs to you. That’s when the panic kicks in, and suddenly you’re back inside your body, standing half-dressed in the middle of the living room, barely registering anything Sergei is saying.

The apartment stops spinning when he shakes you by the shoulders and grabs a hold of your face.

He’s bleeding from his left eyebrow, and you can see where he tried to clean himself without success. There’s a spot on his right cheek where the skin is simply no more.

“Listen to me!” He’s not really screaming, but it still feels like he is, and you flinch. The raw desperation in his voice, in the tremor of his hands almost makes you gag. “Milaya, please.”

“What the hell happened to you?” you manage to ask through the thick stupor paralyzing your mind.

Your heart is so loud in your chest, so unbelievably heavy, it’s so hard to hear what he’s saying; to give meaning to his words, his actions.

Why’s he kneeling on the floor, helping you put on your pants like you were a child?

Why’s he so dirty? Blood on his skin and clothes alike. You have the nagging feeling that it’s all his, this time―

“You need to leave.”

―that tonight’s not one of his usual ones. It doesn’t feel like he’s just come back from a fight one bit. For a moment you wonder if this had been caused by some misunderstanding between him and Vladimir, after―

“Take the car and go as far as you can.”

―after Anatoly died―got killed―his murder still feels so surreal, an open, gaping wound.

“You have to leave the country―”

Why is it you you you? Why’s he only talking about you?

What the fuck is going on?

It’s weird, to be stuck in a body much slower than your mind. Your grasp on reality becomes looser, until―

He’s not coming with you.

It’s like holding on to curtains, too frail to withstand the full body weight of a person.

“I’m not leaving you.”

The mere thought of doing so has you nauseous. Your stomach twists and turns, and you feel the exact moment you start breaking out in cold sweat.

This isn’t how an eventual escape plan was ever supposed to go. You were supposed to leave together, to remain together through thick and thin. Swim or drown, whatever that would be, but do it together.

“Take this.” He’s not listening to you. Instead, he shoves that duffel bag in your hands as he kneels down again, already grabbing you by the ankle to slide your right foot into your shoe.

The sight of him on his knees in front of you, dressing you, getting you ready to get out of here, chills you to the bone. There’s this freezing, sticky fear spreading everywhere inside you―bones, flesh, soul. Like you’re never going to see him ever again if you let him go now. Like it’s always going to be you―singular―if you walk out of the door without him by your side.

“Find a way out of the country.”

You think you’re not strong enough to fight off this nausea, this dread.

He’s still not listening. You barely are, too, in his defense.

“I’m not going into hiding without you!”

You’re immobile as he rushes around. He fetches weapons, ammo cartridges, the receiver unit you’ve been using to check their GPS beacons after Anatoly got killed.

“There’s no time for this!” The desperation in his voice thickens, but it’s the look in his eyes that freezes you for a moment longer. There’s a light in them you have never seen before. If you were already suspicious about the situation before, you are even more now. This man is a thousand light years from the Sergei you know.

He’s shoving you backward before you can fully recover from your stupor, but then you’re fighting back against his hands for the first time in your life.

“No!” And you’re so loud, and trembling so hard, that for a heartbeat he stumbles. There’s actual terror in his eyes when you sandwich his cheeks between your hands. “Don’t send me away,” you beg. There’s no time for any of this―you might know nothing about the situation you’re in right now, but you know the urgency behind Sergei’s words and actions must have a reason. “Come with me,” you continue, but he’s quick at cutting you off.

You read it in his eyes, in the way his expression hardens―he’s going to hurt you so that he can successfully drive you away unless you manage to stop him first.

“I don’t have time for your stubbornness!” He pushes past you and you feel yourself move the way you’d watch someone else do it. Your hand is wrapped around his elbow before he can make his way out of the door.

“Whatever this is, we can face it together,” you plead.

You made each other that promise when you made your relationship official. It’s supposed to be you and he together against the world, and not… whatever card he is trying to pull. And if it’s scary, then the better: you would protect him and he would protect you. If it’s some issue between him and the guy, then they already know that you’re a package deal.

“Everyone else is dead.” He turns around but he still doesn’t look at you. He looks past you, at that empty spot on the cupboard where you’ve always wanted to place a framed picture of the two of you together. “The garage is gone, they bombed us. Vova…” He swallows. It’s like it physically pains him, to voice these things out loud, and you’re sure it does. He’s spent such a long time with them… Hell, even your blood freezes in your veins―it thickens, it makes you sick. “I can’t have you die as well. Fuck, I can’t.”

That’s when his gaze meets yours, and that’s also when you get the final confirmation that he’s deadly serious. Not that you had doubts before―Sergei has never been a hurricane in your life, let alone in your apartment, always so eerily calm instead―it cements the fear in your body, and locks your muscles up.

“So what? You stay behind and die by yourself?” You scoff, doing your best to swallow your fear for his own sake. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He tries to retort―you see how his lips part, how the look in his eyes darkens. You’ve never seen him this pale, almost gray, and you were there, when he almost bled his way into the grave three years ago.

“There’s no bloody time for this!” He’s stern, running out of time more than you even know. More than you could even guess. There’s still blood trickling down his face―down his eyebrow, where it’s finally starting to coagulate, and down his cheek, where it definitely must hurt like hell.

“We have thirty seconds,” you insist, pulling him into your arms and locking your hold around him.

He hisses. You take that as a sign he must be injured somewhere underneath his clothes.

You think you can feel his heartbeat against your chest more than you do hear your own in your ears with how this is making you.

The gun in his shoulder holster is pressed up against the inside of your arm, freezing cold.

Twenty-five more seconds.

You wonder how much more it’s going to hurt when he finally slows down and his mind has the time to catch up with the situation, with what happened tonight. You can barely even wrap your head around what Sergei said earlier, about how everyone’s gone―

seventeen seconds

―and so close after Anatoly’s death. No one took it well, but especially Vladimir has been another kind of angry, a whole new breed of caged animal.

“Stay by my side,” you whisper against the dirty skin of his uninjured cheek. “I’ll stay by yours.”

“Milaya…” His voice trembles and then cracks, and you know he still has enough energy to fight you on this.

Those thirty seconds ran out five seconds ago.

“We can fight this together.” You hug him tighter for a second, two at most―you’re losing your ability to keep track of time.

A series of beeps comes from the tracking device in the back pocket of Sergei’s jeans, then. He freezes in your arms for another second, almost burned by the unexpected sound. You see it on his face when he pulls back―how he had already lost hope and how it’s back now, all of a sudden, punching him in the stomach and twisting.

Vladimir.

Who else would be so obnoxiously loud and annoying while pressing the emergency button on his GPS beacon?

You’d kiss every inch of his stupid face―if not for your own relief, then for that you see wash over your lover’s features. Something lights up in his eyes, and you can almost feel his new determination to survive when he meets your gaze.

You smile. “Grab your bag, I’ll get the keys.”

*

You don’t stop driving for the next three days, you and Sergei taking turns behind the wheel while Vladimir moans at every hole in the road from the backseat.

You’re no nurse, but you gave it your best when you stopped at dawn, after leaving New York behind, the first and last time you stopped for more than five minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” you grimace, looking into the rearview mirror when the car bumps yet again on the uneven road.

He swims in and out of consciousness, Vladimir, while Sergei tries to get some sleep in the passenger’s seat. You were supposed to switch one hour ago, but you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. You can drive a bit longer, you know you can.

“It’s alright, Kukolka.” Vladimir’s hushed Russian unsettles you more than his failed attempt at a reassuring smile.

“As soon as we’re out of the country, I’ll find someone to check you out,” but you’re not even sure he’s heard you.

It’s right there in the back of your throat―the bile, the nausea this situation causes you. Out of worry, that is―after seeing Anatoly’s corpse, the way he was killed, you’re not sure the sight of anything else could get you as sick as that did. But Vladimir has lost more blood and it makes you comfortable to calculate, and you’re not sure how much longer he can hold on before absolutely having to get actual medical help.

Sergei stirs in his seat then, and this time he’s the one groaning. You worry about him, too, of course. You’ve done your best to patch him up, to clean his wounds, but you worry there might be more inside his body, where you can’t physically see.

You hand him your bottle of water when he moves―purposefully, this time―and you realize he’s awake.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He’s looking at you, you see it from the corner of your eye, and then he turns in his seat to check on Vladimir.

You don’t answer him. “I’m stopping at the next gas station for food,” you announce instead. Sergei packed this car with meds months ago, but food was never a priority. You thought you’d have a long life in Hell’s Kitchen, after all. “We’ll be at the meeting point by tomorrow night.”

Next to you, he hums. You see his arm move from your peripheral vision before you feel the wrapped-up palm of his hand on the left side of your neck. The movement of his thumb as he caresses your skin soothes you, and suddenly you’re not as tense anymore. You didn’t even know how much you needed the reassurance of his physical touch until you finally had it.

“That’s not what I asked.” His lips are so close to your ear that the unexpected caress of his tired voice makes you shiver in your seat. Then, he’s pulling your sun visor down. “How long has it been since you should’ve woken me up?” he asks again.

He’s sitting back in his seat now, but his hand is still on the side of your neck. It almost makes you cry, how absolutely normal and domestic this feels, if you don’t focus on how wounded he is or on the man on the backseat, fighting to stay on this side of consciousness.

Then, it hits you. You and Sergei have never gone on a car trip before, despite it being on your wish list of things to do as a couple.

“Not that long,” you lie, but it takes you a second too long, and he reads you way better than he’s ever read his best friend in the back of the car. Still, he doesn’t outright call you out on it. Instead, he says, “Pull over.” The tone of his voice doesn’t leave room for discussions, but you’re nothing if not stubborn.

“You’ll take over after I stop.”

“Yes, and I’m saying you’re stopping the car now.”

You don’t reply this time, nor do you slow down. You simply turn your head for a moment, the road ahead of you empty for miles, and fix him with a glance.

“Stop bothering her, Yurchenko,” comes a voice from the back.

You quickly glance up at the rearview mirror and find Vladimir trying to sit up straight, still as pale as he was this morning, but not as much as he had been when you dragged him out of the tunnels of the New York City sewage system.

“God, you’re annoying.”

“Jesus Christ, not again,” Sergei mutters under his breath. You almost physically feel him roll his eyes, and for a moment, his fingertips press a little harder into the side of your neck. “Fuck, you’re annoying even with a foot in your grave.”

“Yeah? And you drive over all the bad parts of the road,” rebukes Vladimir. “Do you do that on purpose? At least she is nice, and she apologizes.”

That last addition earns you an unamused look from Sergei. You catch glimpses of it the few times in a row you quickly glance in his direction.

You shrug. “What? He’s in pain.”

“I am, too. Never heard you do the same to me.”

Vladimir opens his mouth before you can reply yourself. “That’s because you’re always asleep when you’re not driving.”

A chuckle escapes your lips. It all feels normal, for a moment. This is just your usual Friday night out, sitting in a booth, sandwiched between Sergei and Vladimir to act as a shield to their (almost) constant bickering. Anatoly would joke about you being the third wheel in their relationship, back when you and Sergei had first started dating, five years ago. They always bicker so childishly, but then they’d also go into the deepest pit of hell for each other.

You wonder if this is their way to cope with what happened, with what brought you to drive away towards an abandoned hangar to leave the country.

“Maybe you should drive then!”

Vladimir is already trying to sit up right between both of your seats when you slap Sergei’s thigh.

“Just so he can drive us into a ditch?” You scoff. “Over my dead body. Now be quiet, the both of you, until we get to that gas station or I’ll drop you both off here in buttfuck nowhere.”

They both know you wouldn’t actually follow through with your threat, but they still have enough decency to do as you say.

The next two hours are spent in peace, or as peaceful as that silence can feel. You’re not even sure your idea of turning on the radio was a good one, because it makes the otherwise lack of conversation incredibly surreal. You barely have the guts to glance to your right, even when Sergei places his left hand on your thigh. You dare not ask what he’s thinking about, or where his mind is compared to his body, not even when a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirms that Vladimir has fallen asleep once again.

You pull up in the eerily empty parking lot of a gas station less than two hours later, not long after dusk.

“I’ll take care of the food,” you say, fetching some of the cash Sergei hid in the armrest between the front seats. “You drag Vlad to the restroom.”

“Grab chips?” It’s so weirdly normal, again, the way he asks it, the way he looks at you when you turn toward him. If it weren’t for the band-aids and faint bruises on his face, you would even fall for this illusion of normalcy.

You nod with a smile on your face. And before you can push the door open, you feel him lean over to your side and then he’s kissing you. Every thought, every worry in your brain gets obliterated in less than a heartbeat. His hands on each side of your neck pull you closer into him―and to a time and place that don’t belong to the here-and-now.

He’s pulling away before you can even fully recover from the unexpected kiss. There’s a smirk on his face that is just so absolutely Sergei, in a way, that you chuckle.

“Be careful.” His words are a warning, but there’s a look in his eyes and a tone to his voice that have you under the impression that he’s pleading you.

Sergei rarely ever begs.

You nod, and then you lean forward to peck his lips. “You, too.”

“Feels a bit like I’m third-wheeling you two lovebirds.”

The car is back to being silent when both you and Sergei turn to look at your friend. That devil sure is hard to die, you gotta give him that.

“Let me know if you need help burying his corpse when I’m back,” you throw in while looking at your man before getting out of the car.

The night air is chilly, but the light of the full moon in a black sky full of twinkling stars doesn’t make it feel as scary as your first night in hiding felt.

Even the small convenience store is quiet when you step inside―unsurprisingly so. That does feel a little like you’re in a movie, with some robber just waiting to walk in, gun in hand. The weight of your own weapon against your ribcage is comforting enough, however, and after pulling your scarf a little higher over your mouth and nose, you pick up a shopping basket.

You get some sandwich bread and pickled vegetables, some beef jerky to shut Vladimir up with when he gets a little more sour and annoying, some food to last you for a couple of days more in case things don’t go according to plan, and, obviously, Sergei’s favorite chips.

At the counter, when you pay for the food and the gas to pull from the pump in front of which you parked, the farthest away from the mini-mart, the clerk tries to make small talk. He looks young, like he might still be in his first years of college if the books on the stool next to him are anything to go by, but there’s something in the way he looks at you that unsettles you. Even on a bad day (and today isn’t exactly a great day), you’re sure you would be able to take him down barehanded, but there’s something today… You feel it in the air, smell it like a bloodhound, and it makes you stand on edge, pulled as tight as a bowstring.

“Cold, isn’t it?” smiles the boy. The neon light above him catches on his lip piercing and it drags a shiver down your spine.

You do your best not to turn around in case this isn’t just inside your head. Instead, you smile back politely, replying with a single, emphasized, “Freezing.”

In the second he looks away to ring up the three jugs of water you put on the counter, you quickly glance to your left, where a display with sunglasses stands. You don’t see any movement on the mirror lenses of one of the pairs on display.

“Are you getting one of those as well?”

You wonder if it’s just something in your head, this feeling. Some play of your mind, after having spent so much time keeping an eye on the rearview mirror to make sure no one was tailing you. You wonder whether no one really has. Whether it’s normal. Whether whoever organized that attack really thinks every target has died, whether now you’re just being paranoid.

“No, thanks. Just looking.”

Why’s this dude so fucking slow at putting your stuff into the plastic bag? Why’s he staring at you the way he is?

“Crazy, huh?” he asks, smiling again. For the second time, he gives you goosebumps.

Hurry the fuck up, you beg in your mind.

“What is?”

“Those bombings in Hell’s Kitchen.” The dude nods toward the television, mounted on the wall to your right. There’s still a service covering the attack you’re running away from. “New York’s really going crazy, man. I wonder what happened.”

You nod. “Crazy indeed.”

Your fingers itch to touch your gun and make sure it’s still there―it is, you know it without looking, but it’s still an urge that you can’t really shake off.

You shift your weight onto your other leg.

“You not from ‘round here, are you?”

The beef jerky is finally in the bag. Only the chips have remained now.

You shake your head. “I’m from further south,” you lie. “Going north to visit family.”

You’d kiss his forehead when he finally puts those fucking chips inside the bag.

He nods and smiles like you’re saying the most interesting shit he’s ever heard in his lifetime. “Say, need a hand carrying this stuff to the car?” he asks when he’s finally giving you the rest of your money after you pay for both groceries and gas. “I can help you pump.”

The look in his eyes when he says that, when he smirks at his own choice of words, makes your stomach turn upside down.

You’re positive you can carry everything yourself―two jugs of water in one hand, the third and the bag of food in the other. You’ve had to carry far heavier things in your life than groceries for two days.

“Nah, I’m fine.” You hope he catches the drift by the tone of your voice―pleasant but still blistering nonetheless―but he’s already pulling up the reclinable part of the counter to step out.

“It’s fine, it’s a chill evening anyway. Got nothing else to do.”

You’re too scared to make a scene. What if you do and the people who wanted your people dead find you? You might have told Sergei you’d die with him, but not now. There are still quite a few years of your life you want to spend by his side.

The boy tries to get a hold of your shopping bag when some movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and your brain threatens to go into survival mode. You’re mentally mapping possible ways out and obstacles on your path before you can even consciously realize you’re doing it.

The bell above the door jingles when the door opens, and you’re this close to dropping everything to grab your gun and take shelter behind one of the shelves.

“Babe?” Sergei’s voice crashes everything to a halt. He’s standing there like some fucking Prince Charming, face hidden behind a combo of black scarf and beanie―his best attempt at hiding just what a bad shape his face has been reduced to. “Got everything?”

It’s just when you reply, “Yes,” and start making your way toward him, all the while holding back that sigh of relief, that you realize what he’s just called you. He never calls you “baby” or any variation of it―neither in English nor in Russian―and you never do the same. Over time, it has become a code word of yours.

Better get the hell outta here.

He’s right behind you when you leave after saying the weirdest goodbye to the cashier boy. Sergei takes the jugs of water from your grasp and doesn’t question you when you speedwalk to the car.

“I have this really weird feeling about this place,” you say, shoving everything on the backseat next to a confused, but highly alert Vladimir.

“D’you think they’re looking for us?” Sergei asks as he starts pumping gas. You notice how he’s keeping an eye on the store you just left, and when you glance in that direction, you notice the boy has left the confines of the counter and is now standing outside, by the double doors, idly smoking a cigarette.

Why would anyone here even know you?

And why would anyone back in Hell’s Kitchen have pictures of Sergei and Vladimir for an eventual manhunt?

How would they even know someone survived the attack? Would they really look for the corpses?

The boy waves at you. You awkwardly wave back. It’s something straight out of a movie, almost like you’re surrounded beyond the borders of this light island of a gas station.

The hairs on the back of your neck are standing straight, and you hug yourself against the chill of the evening breeze―although you’re actually touching your gun, finally making sure it’s still where you put it.

You haven’t forgotten how Sergei hasn’t told you the reason why he called you ‘babe’ earlier. You haven’t forgotten about that. Just like you haven’t forgotten you also need to pee, but you’re sure you can hold it in a little longer. You’d honestly rather bite your own hand off than walk out to where the toilets are here, especially with how that boy is still staring at you.

Neither you nor Sergei say a word for the next half an hour, not even when Vladimir complains about “fucking stupid American bread” and your “poor choices for food” (when he’d really been surviving off of vodka, cigarettes, and fast-food take-outs before you entered the picture and he became an almost constant fixed addition at your kitchen table.)

“Saw anything weird in that shop?” Sergei’s jaw is clenched tight when you turn to look at him, and his hold on the steering wheel is white-knuckled. It’s enough to shut Vladimir up.

You wonder what he means by that.

“Not really, but I had the weirdest feeling. I kept on checking my back on some sunglasses on the counter.” You recall how much that unsettled you back there, but you don’t tell him that. “That dude almost insisted on taking me back to the car and ‘helping me pump’.”

He clenches his teeth that tad bit harder, and you almost worry he’s going to grind them to the gums.

“Serzh?” you call, lightly touching the stubble on his cheek, tracing the edge of the band-aid on his wound.

“There were four bikes on the back, a few feet from the toilets.” He glances in your direction first and then in the rearview mirror. As you turn to check the empty road behind you, shrouded in darkness, he continues, “I didn’t see anyone in that store with you and that dude, though.”

“Bikes were well taken care of, too,” adds Vladimir.

It makes your stomach sink, but at least now you know you weren’t just being paranoid.

“We heard some noises outside while we were pissing, like someone trying to be quiet.”

“Do you think they’re already after you?” you wonder out loud, and then more to yourself, “and this far away?”

“I doubt it.” Sergei shakes his head. His right hand leaves the steering wheel and grabs a hold of your left thigh, giving it what feels like his attempt at a reassuring squeeze. “But I think there were people there that were up to no good. I found someone’s golden necklace on the floor by the trash.”

Vladimir mutters something against ‘pieces of shit preying on women,’ but then he’s digging into the sandwich he’s managed to make with food he despises so much and he shuts up.

Sergei briefly glances at him through the rearview mirror before giving your thigh another gentle squeeze. “You still remember how to shoot that gun, da?”

“We went to the shooting range just two weeks ago!” you complain. “Of course, I do.”

“It’s different when you’re shooting real people.”

Vladimir interjects. “I’ve always told you to let her come along to our business stuff.”

Sergei curses behind gritted teeth, nerves ready to go off. “I’m not punching you just because you’re still my boss but if you were anyone else right now, I’d be taking you out of your misery.”

“Don’t fight, you two,” you sigh, turning back and pinching Vlad’s inner thigh until he winces in pain. “I’d fight to survive,” you then reassure Sergei. “Either with a gun, a knife, or my hands.”

You see him visibly relax. It’s almost like he’s finally breathing normally now. The knuckles of his left hand aren’t white anymore on the steering wheel, and the hand on your thigh is more like a comforting weight now than him trying to anchor himself.

“And you were there,” you add, after taking the two sandwiches Vladimir’s handing you. One for you, one for Sergei. “I always trust you to get to me on time.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, the road ahead of you straight and completely empty, before he takes a bite of his dinner.

There’s a lot more behind your words than you do say out loud. Like when he got back home to you, a few nights ago, ready to send you―and only you―to safety. Or like tonight, when he opened the door of that store and looked and felt just like a savior to you, Ariadne’s thread leading you to safety.

*

Thirty hours later, you’re in Cuba.

The flight from the meeting point to a remote location on the outskirts of Cuban civilization was relatively calm, even with the delay that caused the pilots to show up six hours later than agreed upon. The drive to the house of the man who’s helping you, however, ends up being a bit more tense. Between Vladimir’s constant moaning and grunting and Sergei fighting to stay awake, you were on high alert, all your nerves pulled almost to their limits.

The guy’s villa is nice, though. Surrounded by thick, tall walls. Entrances guarded by his men. The perimeter of the whole property is studded with security cameras―you have no doubt every square foot inside the house is constantly filmed as well. It’s what reassures you for the first time ever since Sergei woke you up at such an ungodly hour five days ago. It’s not even because of your own safety that you feel yourself finally breathe and your tense muscles loosen up―it’s for the reassurance Sergei is safe, here, finally. Vladimir as well, but truth be told, after all the complaining he’s done after getting rescued, you’d kick him in his shins yourself if you had the chance to.

“I knew I’d see you again,” Homer smiles, kissing the back of your hand as Sergei shoots daggers from his eyes―he’s still not over the fact that this sleazy man tried to court you while you were already taken.

Homer is not the guy’s real name, of course. Not even the Ranskahov brothers ever knew it, no one does. He would have told you if you had slept with him, and you’re still pissed at how annoyed Vlad had been when he found out you had, in fact, turned down the offer―you also haven’t forgotten how Sergei had almost raised hell in the face of both offenses.

Still, Homer was your best bet at a last-minute alliance―Vladimir and his men still did help him get out of the Stated unscathed, so there’s always been this favor card Homer had to pay back. The fact that you make him hard in his pants is just a precious added bonus that gives you brighter hope at the prospect of also leaving the American continent alive.

“Thank you for having our back.” Seeing Vladimir openly struggle to keep his balance as he moves forward to stand in front of his unexpected ally surprises you.

“You helped me when no one else did. It’s just fair I pay back your generosity,” comes the reply.

You let Sergei pull you back by one of your hips until you are standing side by side with him.

Homer chuckles at that and sends a wink in your direction. “I got the message three years ago,” he reassures Sergei. “The princess is taken. I won’t make a move unless she does first.”

“She won’t.”

There are not many instances you’ve witnessed where Sergei has been possessive of you, but this guy has always been an exception. You can only hope neither your man’s possessiveness nor Homer’s fascination with you will pose a threat to your survival.

Things seem to go well, however. The man of the house lends you his personal medical team to have a look at both Sergei and Vladimir while you get to enjoy a stroll in Homer’s greenhouse after being denied access to the rooms of the house dedicated to the clinic.

It unsettles you a bit and robs you of the chance to enjoy your own private botanical tour among colorful flowers of every kind. If anything, Homer keeps his hands and comments to himself―although you’re not so sure about where his gaze wanders when you’re not looking at him―and he limits himself to a retelling of what each flower is called and what their characteristics are.

Two of his armed men follow you close by, but whether it’s because you’re seen as a possible threat or that’s just another day in this house for them, you cannot tell. Still, you feel watched―every single one of your moves is being recorded, and you can’t quite tell how comfortable you are with that.

Honestly speaking, you feel quite safe here, but you wouldn’t step into the fire and guarantee the same for the two men you’ve come here with. Homer might still want you, after all, and now that Vladimir’s group has pretty much been exterminated, two Russians don’t pose that much of a threat anymore. The fact that they used to be far more powerful than Homer himself doesn’t even matter because they’re not that powerful now. They’re closer to defeat than they are to victory, and a smart person thirsty for power would definitely take advantage of that.

With that realization, the humid air of the greenhouse thickens. You feel it weigh down on your shoulders as Homer shows you some hibiscus plants, apparently his pride and joy.

“Ah, here are my favorites!” he exclaims. “What do you think? I import special fertilizer just for them.”

You smile, but inside your body, a million and one thoughts are eating away at your stomach, each worse than the last. “They’re quite the beauty,” you find yourself honestly agreeing.

This had better be your paranoia getting the best of you. Because while Homer would get nothing by killing what’s left of your friends, he would also get nothing by helping them. And in a world where letting them live could potentially get him something back in the future, you prefer to try and give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Still, they don’t quite compare to your beauty.” He places a flower behind your ear, one he cut with the shiny scissors he managed to fetch while you were lost in thought, and smiles at you.

“We’re finally in agreement.” It’s the second time in less than forty-eight hours that Sergei’s voice reaches you like a beacon of light.

Homer turns in his direction as well and you don’t miss that flash of disappointment speed across the look in his eyes.

Your anxieties find some peace. He’s still alive, there’s nothing to worry about―for the time being, at least. The band-aid on his right cheek has been changed, and the appearance of his face looks much cleaner now, including the cut on his eyebrow you stitched up after leaving New York City.

“However, she’s much more than just a pretty face,” he continues, sternly. If Vlad were here now, he would chew his head off, but you welcome his words.

Your fingers entwine with his when he finally reaches your side, and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You feel a bit too exposed without your gun, so it’s great to finally be reunited with the man you love.

“How’s Vlad?” you ask, looking up into his eyes and exploiting the excuse to finally lock Homer out of your mind for a minute.

“Getting treated and stitched up. He has a couple of broken bones, too. Maybe that’s why he was crankier than usual,” he smirks, his Russian ringing amused.

You slap his arm, and from the corner of your eye, you notice the way Homer is looking at the two of you. Trying to decipher what that might mean is something you’d rather not do, at least not in front of him, so you allow Sergei to be the first to speak up again.

“We’d really better get going now, if it’s okay with you,” he says, eyeing what he realizes to be a new nuisance in the life he shares with you. “Neither of us has had a chance to shower since last week.”

You don’t really reek yet, but now that you’re reminded of the fact, you do start to feel uncomfortable in your own clothes.

Homer doesn’t complain, nor does he try to hold you back. Instead, he smiles understandingly and makes chit-chat as he leads you to your rooms. Plural. Separate rooms, that’s what you’re given. Granted, they’re next to each other, but they’re two separate rooms nonetheless. It rubs Sergei the wrong way.

You’d also really not sleep alone in this mansion, especially when it belongs to a man who seems to still be set on pursuing you if not romantically, at least physically.

“No need for all these rooms, we wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.” You know Sergei’s more than good at lying. He’s an expert at what he does―no wonder why, after Anatoly, he’s always been Vladimir’s right hand. Still, it surprises you, how calm he is right now, his way with words when you’re sure the boxer in him is itching to come out and fight. “One for Vlad and one for the two of us―” he continues, raising your joined hands― “will be more than enough.”

Sergei almost starts talking shit about your host when you make your way inside the room, after fetching your bags. However, having known him and his antics for so long, you’re much quicker than he has the time to be, and you silence him with a kiss.

God.

Fuck.

Maybe this is it.

This is the moment you realize you can finally catch your breath for a while. Slow down, stop glancing into the rearview mirror.

It feels like you haven’t kissed in forever. Like you’ve been apart for so long, even despite the extremely long car drive you’ve been on. Without your endless worries and the fear of someone tailing you, it’s almost like you can finally get close again. Vladimir Ranskahov out of the picture―love him to pieces on a good day as you may―definitely helps.

Sergei kisses you back with the same intensity, like he’s parched and trying to drink you in, and when he pulls you in closer to him by your butt cheeks, you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck.

“I saw cameras everywhere in this house,” you whisper into the band-aid on his cheek when he moves his kisses from your lips to your neck. “Are you sure we can trust him?” Your voice remains low, barely above a whisper; you wonder whether the guest rooms have been bugged as well.

Sergei sighs into your skin, and his fingertips dig into your hips for a moment. “I don’t,” he says, hushed Russian into your cheek when he kisses it. “I want you a billion kilometers away from him.”

He picks up the hibiscus flower Homer placed behind your ear and, being careful not to pull on your hair, pulls it off of you.

“I’m going to fucking kill him if he dares to touch you again.” He doesn’t whisper―maybe fear isn’t tickling his stomach as it does yours―and you can only hope neither Homer nor his men know the Russian language beyond a da, privet, spasibo. Do svidaniya, too, if we want to be generous.

Still, you don’t think openly insulting the man in his own lair is a smart idea.

“Nothing happened,” you try to reassure him instead of voicing your concerns, cupping his good cheek as he crushes that flower in his fist. “You know he’s not the one I want.”

“I trust you, I just don’t trust him,” he insists. He closes his eyes with a sigh. “I think he’s made it clear enough that he just. doesn’t. care.” He enunciates the last three words slowly, emphatically, with petulance in his voice that’s usually so very characteristic of Vladimir when he complains. Lie down with dogs, wake up with fleas, you guess.

“We can simply ignore him,” you press on, bunching up the hem of his shirt in your fists. “We’ll leave as soon as Vlad’s fit to do it safely.”

A groan. “Fuck Vova.”

“I’d rather fuck you,” you bite back, tongue in cheek, a finger tracing the skin of his abdomen above the hem of his jeans. “After we take a shower,” you add when he gives you his best oh-I-will-fuck-you-alright face. “And then, you’ll tell me exactly what happened that night.”

You figure it’s a good compromise: you both get to have some fun, take your mind off of things, and then you’ll finally get your answers.

Why you had to leave.

Who attacked Vladimir and his men.

If everyone really is dead.

What the fuck is going on.

And what the fuck will happen now.

The shower is far bigger than any other you’ve ever seen in person, least of all used. You step in first while Sergei undresses, and you let the water cascade down your face.

A contented sigh leaves your lips.

You already know you will write down this shower in your book as the best so far.

The gentle stream of water is a much-needed, warm caress on your face and shoulders, even down your back, after it started aching one day into your desperate drive to safety. The tension in your muscles starts trickling down toward the drain, and the sensation of being absolutely filthy eases up a bit. You feel like you could even postpone lunch―all you’re in the mood for right now is this shower, some Sergei, a side dish of the answers you’ve been waiting for, and then a long nap as sweet as dessert.

Behind you, Sergei whistles appreciatively, no doubt enjoying the view of your naked body.

It makes you chuckle. How normal this feels now doesn’t weigh down on you the way that same feeling did back in the car.

You grin as you turn around, hands rubbing up your face to flick away the water raining down on you. Your cheeky comeback withers on your tongue and turns into a gasp when your eyes land on him. It’s not because he’s already hardening between his legs, but rather because he is absolutely covered in bruises.

He never mentioned being that hurt before. You’ve seen him numerous times after his fights, and his body has never looked like that―so hurt, so bruised with a pain that must run much deeper than skin level. You have heard him groan here and there―at this point probably when he couldn’t stand it anymore―but never would you have thought him to be this hurt.

“Oh, my god, Serzh…”

You can barely understand how he’s moving without flinching.

“I’m alright,” he reassures you softly when he reaches you. He grabs you by your hands and places them on his chest. His heartbeat is right beneath your fingertips and his bruises. Your right thumb caresses up and down his skin as you take in the sight before you.

You try not to let your lip quiver.

His strength and abilities are no secret to you but seeing him hurt is always a pang in your guts. Today the sensation cuts deeper, it twists and turns, stings even.

“I’m alright,” he repeats, taking your face in his hands and kissing you.

It serves as a good distraction, if anything. When you close your eyes, the mental photocopy of his marred body slowly fades away, until all you feel is his body flush against your front.

He takes one extra step forward with you in his arms and then he turns the shower off.

Your heads tilt when the kiss deepens and now you can feel how your heart picks up its rhythm for a different reason than you being worried for him. His hands move from your neck, down your shoulders and sides. When they reach your waist, your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ll heal so quick, milaya…” he whispers into the crook of your neck before kissing you there. “Promise you I’m fine now.”

A graze of his teeth, a swipe of his tongue, and you can feel yourself throb in a place that’s not your chest.

Still, “You should’ve told me,” you complain meekly.

You’re so pliant in his hands, practically boneless. Your knees don’t give out on you just because he has you so close against him.

He feels rock hard against your abdomen, almost a reminder of how deep he’s going to be inside you in not that long. It makes your head spin. He makes your head spin.

Your hands come up to his hair, then. They’re wet against his body untouched by water. Every part of him is.

“You’re the remedy to all my ailments,” he professes into your skin.

You chuckle. Maybe it’s because of his words, or the way he teasingly gives your ass a squeeze. Maybe it’s both.

“Let me shower you first,” he continues before you can tell him to stop with the jokes. “Then, when we’re done, we’ll show that douche how fucking taken you are. I bet that peeper has cameras in bathrooms as well.”

He pecks your lips and then pulls on your lower lip with his teeth. He doesn’t make a move, though. He waits for your green light. You know he’d limit himself to a simple shower if you said no, no matter how hard he could be.

You’re way past the embarrassment, however. After Anatoly caught the two of you fucking in the garage when you thought everyone had left, you stopped caring.

So, you grin. “Let’s show him,” you giggle.

Sergei is incredibly gentle as he showers you, lathers you in the scent of this new soap you’re being lent. His words, however, are anything but. “Bet he wishes you’d smell like him,” he whispers into your ear from behind.

You chuckle at his jealousy, even when his hands get to massaging your breasts and his erection nestles itself between your butt cheeks. “What’s gotten into you?” you giggle. He knows he’s your ride-or-die, after all.

“I’d say you, but it’s been so long since we've done that.” The pout in his voice is as clear as day.

He seems to have an idea, then, and he spins the two of you around.

“Look at you,” he grins. His soapy hands trail down your sides and then back up. His teeth nip at the crook of your neck the moment his hands give your boobs another squeeze. A bit rougher, this time.

But you’re not looking at your own reflection in the mirror. You’re looking at him, most of his bruises now hidden by your body standing in front of his.

He notices that, picks up on your line of thought the second your gazes meet in the mirror. He says something about you thinking way too much, about how it’s so new, the fact that you’re not running your mouth as much as usual instead. When he turns you back around, he distracts you by shampooing your hair.

“I don’t know how you managed to act as if you weren’t hurt.” You hope the reason is not a dumb I didn’t want you to worry.

“It looks worse than it really is, I promise.” He smiles at you as he massages your scalp and it’s like just any other day, when you’d choose to shower together because your jobs kept you apart long enough during the day.

You decide to bypass the sight of his stitched brow and bandaged cheek. You focus on the light freckles on his face instead, on the way they must have shaved his stubble before, during, or after his visit with Homer’s doctor.

“Let me shower you as well,” you smile softly when he’s done rinsing the suds out of your hair. Then, you turn the shower off. He laughs when you add a whispered stinky under your breath.

There’s half a plan quickly forming in your mind, and it has nothing to do with running away from this house and not even with your (maybe paranoid) worries.

You gently scrub his chest with a soapy loofah, careful to be as light as you can when going over all the sore spots on his body. His hands are firmly planted on your hips, squeezing lightly every now and then, like a cat. He’s also looking at you and you mirror his smile with a mischievous smirk of your own.

His cock is still hard between your bodies.

You don’t give him time to suspect anything. One second your left hand is holding onto his bicep, the next it’s wrapped around the base of his erection.

He hisses in surprise, a sound that lasts a fraction of a second, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your toes curl against the tiled floor.

“Milaya…” he warns, voice dripping the same desire that’s making him heavy between his legs.

Some would say you’re playing a dangerous game, poking the bear while it’s chilling. But you want him to prove it to you―that he’s fine, that he’s not really hurt. (Frankly, you also want him to fuck this nightmare of an adventure out of your system. It doesn’t matter whether Homer hears. Hell, it doesn’t even matter whether he watches!)

“What?” You bat your eyelashes at him, badly hiding your mischief behind a broken innocence mask.

You move your hand up, tease the underside of his glans with your thumb, then move your hand back down.

He moans under his breath, never once breaking eye contact. It makes you throb between your legs. You don’t even know if it’s the water still on your skin, or if you’re actually dripping.

“’tis what you wanted, no?”

The loofah is somewhere on the floor by now. Your left hand lazily, without rhythm, strokes him while your right hand moves up his chest. Then, it’s resting behind his neck.

“Know what?” you whisper millimeters from his parted lips. His breathing has become labored. “’think I’ll make you come like this first.”

You’re beaming. His breathing is shivering slightly. Is he trying to stay quiet?

“Fuck, you’re a minx,” he breathes, his hands pulling you in closer by your hips, until your hand barely has room to move.

He kisses the grin off of your lips. There’s a certain insistence behind the action, and he pulls on your lower lip, then adds his tongue to the mix.

You moan first, and then he follows suit when your hand reaches the head of his cock and twists.

His fingertips dig into the plush of your ass, forcing you closer. The kiss distracts you, so his slap on one of your butt cheeks catches you by surprise, makes you whimper right into his mouth.

The movement of your left hand on his cock quickens in response while the fingers of your right hand slip into his hair, at the base of his neck.

You tug on the strands.

He groans.

In your hold, his cock twitches.

His impatience becomes your own then, and you’re barely aware of the way your thighs are pressing together―trying to relieve or chase a sensation, you don’t know, you’re a little too busy to give it actual thought.

In the middle of the two of you kissing, of your hand pumping him, he finds himself with his back against the wall. The cold tiles against his skin make him hiss―or maybe it’s his bruises. Again, maybe a bit of both.

He ruts into your hand.

When your thumb teases at his head, the sound he lets out is a bit of a moan, a bit of a groan, a bit of a broken chuckle. He calls your name against your lips and when you look up at him, you notice he has his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

You try not to whimper, but your breathing still does falter. Your heart in your chest is a deafening machine, and your mind, the weakest will to ever exist.

You’re on your knees before you can take the conscious decision to, thighs tightly squeezed shut together. There are still remains of body wash drying on your chest from when you hugged him instead of rinsing him.

It takes Sergei your tongue licking up the length of his erection to realize the change in your position. Eyelids heady, lips parted, the look he fixes you with is enough to make you beam with pride, like you’re the sexiest being to ever walk the Earth.

You give him a grin, and then you’re taking him all the way to the back of your mouth. His hands are in your hair the second the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. Suddenly, there are Ukrainian curses slipping out of his lips, here and there, a sign that he’s losing control in favor of the pleasure you’re bringing him.

It doesn’t take him long to come. It never really does―he’s always had a thing for your mouth, whether you use it for words or to suck the living soul out of him.

He always swears he’s in love with you, and this time isn’t an exception. He’s groaning it right now, voice quivering. His hands are keeping you in place, your nose touching his pelvis, ropes of cum shooting down your throat. Under these conditions, your only response to his declaration can obviously be a moan. It heightens the sensations for him, his cock still in your mouth, and he’s quick to pull out.

When you look up, his chest is flushed, the tips of his ears red, and he’s out of breath.

The smirk you send his way makes him chuckle breathlessly, your head still in his grasp.

“Fuck, I missed that mouth.”

One of his thumbs moves towards the corner of your lips, where some of his cum has slipped out.

“You barely even gag anymore.”

The muscles in his thighs contract when he watches you suck the pad of his thumb clean.

“Keep that up and I’ll get hard again,” he warns, cradling your face like you’re worth more than this whole damned mansion. You are―he doesn’t really, explicitly tell you so, but it’s clear in the way he acts, like he worships the very ground you walk on.

“Isn’t that the point?” you smile, standing up. Your lips automatically meet his, and his hands automatically find their place on your hips. “I want you so bad, Serzh…” you whisper against him, one hand blindingly going for the shower head.

It’s hard to rinse the dried body wash off of his body when he’s so insistently kissing your neck, so close to him you could almost feel his heartbeat against your own. Giggling ensues when you force him back and you wipe his front clean with one hand while doing your best not to spray water on his injured face.

The look on his face as he watches your every move is worth a thousand words, if not more. It makes blood rush to your face, and your gaze moves to his chest, his eyes too expressive for your own sanity. Like he wants to devour you, drink you in, and it’s not even because of the competition he wants to ward off.

“My turn now,” he suddenly says, grabbing that damned shower head from your hand and hanging it back in its place. Then, you’re the one against the wall and he’s the one on his knees.

Fuck, do you love this sight!

“’been thinking about this sweet pussy for so long…” He makes a sound in the back of his throat, like he can’t believe he’s finally being served dessert―despite it definitely being his favorite.

You let him maneuver you until your left leg is on his shoulder, your hands in his hair, but when he inches closer, you pull at his strands―

―not quick enough: he’s already licking a stripe up your pussy, until he places a kiss on your clit. Your mind clouds over, and it’s like having cotton in your mouth. “Not with that cheek,” you manage to complain through the haze brought on by him going to town on your core. You don’t want to somehow, accidentally, mess up his freshly bandaged wound.

“’s fine, I don’t need it to eat you out, do I?” He kisses your inner thigh, the one resting on his shoulder, and when you look down, he’s already looking up at you.

There’s a gleam in his eyes, like he’s promising you heaven on Earth. Like by the time he’s done with you, you won’t even be able to tell what day it is.

And who are you to say no? Oral with Sergei is a glorious experience, unlike any other you’ve lived through, maybe only surpassed by the actual sex―with him, of course.

It starts off toe-curling, with the tip of his tongue teasing your clit and one of his fingers pushing into the heat of your pussy.

You barely hear what he groans―so fucking wet already―your mind is simply too hazy. It’s spinning right after, when he starts suckling, and that one finger turns into two.

You hear yourself then, underneath his moans and your own. The sound of your slick, of how wet you are as the movements of his hand change rhythm and angle. When he starts hitting that spot, ravaging you like a man starved, you fear your knee giving out.

“God,” you moan out, pulling on his hair subconsciously―and maybe a bit too hard. Whether you believe in God, or in many, or none altogether, he eats you out in such a way that he does feel like one. Like he could make you see stars or even the entire universe without really making you leave the room or lift a finger.

The pitch of your moans heightens when he adds a third finger, stretching you to make you take him, and you feel yourself clenching impossibly tight around his digits.

Oh, fuck, how much did you miss this! You didn’t really think about this part of your relationship while on the run, but now you never want to leave this bathroom.

When you gather the strength to peek at the mirror, you’re met with the sight of your hair, wet and messy against the tiled wall. Your left calf is hiding part of a nasty bruise on his back. Even in his current state, however, he doesn’t show signs of hurt or discomfort.

Then he does something. Either with his mouth or his fingers―you’re honestly too lost in the pleasure he’s giving you to even rationally realize what’s rubbing you the right way. All you know is that your breathing deepens, your moans turn into whines, and your eyes cross behind closed eyelids.

“God, like that, don’t stop,” you beg, only half coherent, as one of your hands moves up to grab a hold of your boob. It’s like you’re looking for support, even despite knowing he’d never let you fall, never let you get hurt.

Your brain doesn’t even fully register what he’s saying to you above the deafening galloping of your heartbeat.

You just need to come so badly… Maybe you even tell him so, and maybe he adds a little more vigor behind his actions. His fingers curl just right inside you, and he doesn’t get up for air one second. Mouth suctioned to your clit, he gives you all he’s capable of.

Maybe he even looks up at the way you’re playing with your breasts. Maybe he even makes a comment―you definitely feel the vibrations of it against your core the same way you feel those of his moans. All you know is that you’re coming, pulled under the surface of coherence by the wave of this sudden orgasm. It blinds you, even when your eyelids are already closed, and you swear your heart skips quite a few beats.

Maybe you even do see god this time (maybe in the shape of your lover), as you give in to the pleasure, surrender to its onslaught, and spill your orgasm on Sergei’s face―if you weren’t soaring so far high up the heavens, you’d definitely force him to pull back and not mess up his injuries. But you don’t even think you’re part of this world anymore.

It takes you quite a while to come back to your senses. Slowly, the fixture lights in the ceiling come back into focus and your blood stops roaring in your ears. Your breathing is still quick, and you barely register the way your legs are quivering―

fuck, you want to do it again

―both feet on the ground.

It takes you a moment more to realize Sergei is standing right in front of you, his hands on your hips, one of his legs between yours to help you keep your balance.

His dick feels impossibly hard again, pressed against your thigh by your close proximity.

“You were so fucking loud,” he beams, looking prouder than he’s ever looked. You match him on that intensity, but in your case, it’s just because of how fucked out you are. “Squirted and all.” He’s so smug about him―you want to kiss him until he’s as breathless as you are. “I bet everyone in this house heard you.”

You don’t even have the energy to let yourself be embarrassed by that possibility. Sergei always has this effect on you: he obliterates everything else, until he’s the only focus of your attention.

“Serzh…” It comes out as an airy whine, your call of his name. You’ve barely touched the ground that you already want to float up again.

He hums, and then, “What?” right against your lips. He peppers them in kisses as light as feathers until he’s pulling breathless chuckles out of you.

“Please.”

You’re throbbing again, tingling all over.

On your thigh, you feel how his cock is already leaking.

“Please what?”

He’s on your neck, adding to his own work of art of hickeys. His hands are cupping your breasts, testing their weight, then teasing your hardened nipples.

Your hands shoot up to his biceps when he twists one of your nipples between deft fingers, a drawn-out moan diving from your lips.

You swear you could drown in him.

“Please, fuck me.” You look into his eyes as you say it. His pupils are blown and the lower part of his face is still glistening in your juices.

You taste yourself on his tongue when you kiss him. You should be looking for Vladimir, joining Homer for lunch, but you can’t even move yourself from this spot in the shower.

Before you can start pleading with him again, you’re taking matters into your own hands―his cock in your left hand, to be precise―and you’re turning around to face the wall. The cold tiles against your sensitive nipples pull a whine from the very center of your being.

From behind you, Sergei chuckles into your neck, entertaining the way you swipe the head of his cock along your dripping entrance but refraining from even slipping just the tip in.

“You want it from the back?” he murmurs, kissing your skin where he’s just stopped teasing you with his tongue.

So, what if you’re already delirious?

“Yesss.” The sound of that s stretches for a second too long, until the air is caught in your throat when he grants you with the tiniest thrust, enough to taunt your heat with his head.

“How bad?” he asks, one hand at the base of your throat and the fingers of the other inching down your front, your abdom― oh, fuck.

The moan that escapes you when he circles your clit once is so loud, it rings in your own ears.

All you can muster up after that is a questioning hum, his burning-hot presence behind you―against you―is enough to make your toes curl.

“How bad do you want it?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he touches your clit again at the same time his cock breaches your entrance to give you just the bare minimum.

“So bad.” Your voice is reduced to a whisper. As you anticipate what’s to come, your lungs struggle to take in enough air. “I’ll go crazy if you don’t take me right now,” you manage to breathe out when a hand on your hip stops your attempts at fucking yourself back onto his dick.

You hear the vibrations of his chuckle in your back and then, when you least expect it, he’s abruptly thrusting up into your pussy. It catches you off guard, and you’re so worked up you almost fear you’re going to come on the spot.

You don’t.

Instead, you find yourself wrapped up in his arms, his hips unmoving. You can’t distinguish whether it’s his cock pulsing inside your pussy or whether it’s all just you.

“I almost fucked you in that car with Vova in the back,” he confesses, voice strained and breath labored. “I needed to feel you so bad to know everything was fine.”

Are you even still breathing?

Are you choking on his dick or is it still in your pussy?

Your hips writhe, walls clenching down around him.

“You still with me?”

You manage to nod against his shoulder, barely aware of all the small moans that are slipping past your lips.

He smiles into your temple, and then he’s taking a step back. Two. Three. You feel each movement deep in your core, where he’s still safely lodged, and you’re on your tiptoes, doing your best to keep up with him.

When he turns the both of you around and makes you lean forward, you realize he’s brought you to stand between the twin sinks on the counter, right in front of the wall-long mirror. You catch his eye in your reflection, his body curled over yours so that he can press kisses to the crook of your neck. His cock pushes the tiniest bit deeper this way and it makes you moan, eyelids so heavied down by pleasure that it’s hard to keep them open.

“Wouldn’t want to crack either of our skulls in the shower,” he explains, finally―finally―pulling his hips back just to then thrust the air out of you the next second.

“Fuck.” How are you still even capable of forming words?

Your shoulders sink down for a moment as your weight rests on your forearms. Sergei’s hands on your hips luckily hold you up.

You call his name, pleadingly. The head of his cock is bullying this spot inside you that makes your eyes almost cross, fuck, you really need to come.

Maybe he’s even in your chest. Honestly who knows at this point. You feel him everywhere.

“You’re always so tight,” he pants, fucking into you so hard your breath hitches in your throat. You find it impossible to believe he’s just got out of the worst physical and mental scare of your lives. “So… wet― shit―”

His hips stutter when his right hand finds its rightful place between your legs, on your cunt. You clench around him so hard when he starts playing with your clit again that he swears he can see stars even with his eyes open.

“Fuck, you’re the death of me,” he groans, meeting your blurring gaze in the mirror that’s starting to fog up. He gives one of your boobs a squeeze with his free hand before he starts playing with your sensitive nipple― “And what a sweet death that’d be.”

―to be fair, every part of you is. Sensitive, that is, and overstimulated. All your nerve endings are alight, fired up by the way he’s fucking into you, like it’s a sport he’s fucking elite at.

It empties your mind completely as your body is full of him. Your mind is, too, and your chant of his name rises in volume.

Fuck, you’re so close. His movements on your overstimulated clit almost make you sob.

If this is how you die, you’ll honestly welcome it with a full heart. There’s no part of you that doesn’t feel full to the brim anyway right now, for that matter.

You tell him in between moans, how close you are, how good he’s fucking you. Even if you’re covered in sweat, you’ve probably never felt so good as you do now. Is it because you’re surrounded by the illusion of safety in this house? Fuck, you don’t know.

“I’m so close, too,” echoes Sergei’s voice.

With the last of his strength, he pulls you up. His right hand is still stubbornly playing with your poor clit; his left arm keeps you upright, your back against his chest, and his hand under your chin keeps your head facing forward.

The sight in the mirror almost does you in. There are drops of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His skin is flushed in exertion, but it’s the hunger in his eyes that makes you moan out loud, loudly. Then your breasts, bouncing with each thrust into your heat. Then the smallest glimpse of his cock, rock hard, a pearly ring of your juices at the base.

“Shit, where do you want me?” he groans―“Inside?”―in a broken voice.

“Please,” you sob back. “Yes.”

You’re holding onto his left arm for dear life, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. It hits you with the force of a freight train when Sergei simultaneously gives your throat a gentle squeeze while his right fingers flick your clit one last time. Everything goes white behind your closed eyelids, and you can’t hear anything above the ringing in your ears.

Your walls spasming around his dick trigger his own release and you both fall forward, almost boneless. You do hear his moans right next to your ear and he’s also not holding them back. His whole weight is on you, his left arm trapped between your chest and the countertop, while his hips still haphazardly rut into yours as your pussy milks him to the last drop.

He doesn’t pull out for the longest time, nor does he straighten himself up. You don’t complain, though―even with this whole man on top of you, it’s like you’ve never breathed better. To your chagrin, the time eventually comes for him to move, however. You lift your head a bit to watch his reflection in the mirror and you chuckle when you feel him tap his cock a few times against your entrance, after he pulls out.

“You’re already leaking.”

“Oh, no!” Your voice drips with sarcasm, and suddenly you’re being lifted up and turned around.

“Still running that mouth of yours?” There’s a touch of amused disbelief in his voice when he asks that, and you giggle against his lips before you kiss him.

“Maybe you should put something in it to fill it up,” you tease.

He does put something into you to fill you up, then. Just, it’s not in your mouth. The three middle fingers of his right hand breach your entrance―they make you gasp―effectively stopping his cum from dripping down your legs even more and to the floor.

“That can be arranged,” he smirks, satisfied by your reaction.

He walks you back into the room like that, three fingers up your cunt and his tongue in your mouth, his lips against yours.

“That porn performance―” comes a voice as soon as you make it out of the bathroom― “for free? Damn, you’re nasty!”

If looks could kill, Sergei’s would have Vladimir dead and buried already.

“What are you doing here?” You don’t know why, but Sergei’s Russian makes you flutter around his fingers. Your reaction earns you a glance from him, and then he moves his fingers in a beckoning motion a couple of times.

There’s no holding back the moan that rips up your throat, it doesn’t even matter that Vladimir has a first-row ticket for the view of your ass, the drops of sticky white semen that dripped down your inner thigh no more than two minutes ago; hell, even that of his best buddy’s fingers nestled deep in your heat!

Your hands give Sergei’s biceps a squeeze, and then out of your lips comes the gentle call for, “Serzh.”

“Came to fetch you for lunch, stayed for the show.” You don’t need to turn around to be able to envision Vladimir’s shit-eating grin. “Hurry up getting dressed, we’re already late.”

*

You get seated right opposite Homer at the dining table. Try as you might, however, you can’t refrain from squirming in your seat. His gaze is fixed on you, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess he’s also been an indirect witness to your escapade in the bathroom of his guest room. Not that you owe him an explanation about anything, but still…

Whether it pissed him off or he found it amusing, though, he doesn’t bring it up. He says absolutely nothing on the topic, and luckily so. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep in the fact that you’re dripping someone’s cum in your by-now ruined panties anymore otherwise.

If anything, your meal goes on smoothly, which means that the discomfort is only yours to bear. Maybe you’ll pull on Vladimir’s ears for not calling you as soon as he walked into your bedroom. Maybe the ground will open up like a hungry mouth and swallow you before you can be done with your tomato salad.

You don’t even follow the conversation the men are having until Vlad says something odd. Your hospitality feels like being home, in Russia―which, for as long as you can remember, has always been code for guys, shit’s about to hit the fan.

You can semi-freely talk about it only a few hours later, when you’re granted permission to take a walk into town, posing as semi-normal tourists.

Vladimir keeps his comments about you and Sergei going at it like rabbits for himself. Instead, he picks an ice cream place in the noisiest part of town and drops down a plastic chair with a lemon-strawberry cup in his hand.

It’s good to see him do so much better already after a check-up and IVs, but it’s a bit unsettling that he’s also picked up on the weird air at Homer’s estate.

“We gotta leave as soon as possible,” he says in Russian, unhurried, even if you can almost see the cogs turn in his head. “I got in touch with the cousin of one of the guys,” he doesn’t say which, however. Does he feel stalked?

You look around, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, mentally registering all the faces you manage to lay your gaze on as you eat your own ice cream. Sergei catches your eye and when you tiredly smile at him, he gives your knee a squeeze.

He hasn’t managed to tell you anything about that night, yet.

“He’ll make us disappear in Costa Rica,” he continues, leaning closer across the table and lowering his voice. “We’ll continue from there.”

“You sure we can trust him?” That question is out of your mouth before you can rein it in. After all, Homer was supposed to be a trusted man as well―not that he’s explicitly done anything against any of you (if his flirting doesn’t count), but there’s still something unexplainably off when he’s around.

Someone at the edge of the plaza catches your eye then. It’s a man you have never seen, but he’s staring right at you. During this trip your paranoia has been proved well-justified so far, so you don’t dismiss it this time: you lean across the table with the flirtiest smile you can muster for a man who’s not the one you love and you steal some of Vladimir’s ice cream with your own plastic spoon. At the same time, so close to his face you could even count the freckles on the bridge of his nose if you wanted, you quickly glance to the side without moving your head an inch.

Far from being stupid, Vladimir picks up the message immediately and pretends to be flirting back. “You’d better give me a repeat of your show tomorrow,” he says in the end, wincing a bit when he sits back against his chair. “Maybe we can have a three-way on the beach after dark.”

Luckily, Sergei plays along.

In your mind, ‘tomorrow’ echoes a thousand times. How did he manage to organize another escape so quickly when he had had a whole foot in his grave this morning?

You hope this time, your escape will end well.

Quickly enough, the topic of conversation changes and it’s just two friends talking normally with each other.

You? You keep pretending you’re watching everything around you through the eyes of a tourist. Instead, you see how the guy you spotted earlier is still there, looking in your direction from above the newspaper in his hands. A young couple has been on a video call since you sat down, and their phone seems to be tilted more in your direction and it is theirs. A bunch of kids, who had been playing football on the other side of the fountain when you got your ice creams, have moved closer; they’re not clamoring as much anymore, either.

You hope it’s just your paranoia. But you do spot a guy with an in-ear device at the entrance to the square, on the far left.

And if it’s not paranoia, is it Homer? Is it the people from Hell’s Kitchen?

That night the house is dead silent and in spite of it, you still struggle to fall asleep. Your brain mulls over a billion things at once. Homer. Your escape trip from New York. The people you left behind under the rubbish. The guy that’s apparently taking you to Costa Rica. Homer’s gaze everywhere on your body, making you squirm in discomfort at being ogled so openly, so disrespectfully.

Sergei’s lightly snoring next to you when you turn around. For a moment, you contemplate waking him up―maybe he can help you fall asleep―but you eventually decide not to. Running away has been exhausting for you; with his injuries and what he must have been through, he must have been hit even harder. He should probably get as much sleep as he can now that things are relatively quiet.

You turn around as slowly as possible, trying to slip out from under Sergei’s arm without waking him up.

When you get out of bed, you pick up your burner phone as you go. There are no new messages, no missed calls. It doesn’t surprise you.

[1:07 AM] you: you awake?

It takes him a few minutes to answer, but you’re glad he’s there, battling with insomnia on the other side of the hallway just as you. When it’s messages in a row.

[1:11 AM] V: yeah

[1:11 AM] V: why?

[1:11 AM] V: something happened?

You smile: you’re not the only paranoid bitch apparently.

[1:12 AM] you: everythings fine. cant sleep.

[1:12 AM] V: He’d bite my head off if the dicking down came from me. Sorry doll.

You glance at Sergei from where you’re sitting on the floor, but your snort doesn’t seem to have disturbed his sleep.

Vladimir, that sly motherfucker. He knows Sergei would tear his dick off even just for the fact that he’s thought of his woman. This morning was just an accident, so to speak, but there’s not a ‘second chance’ in your lover’s vocabulary, at least not in this field.

[1:15 AM] V: What? You considering it? ;)

Your uneven breathing is the only sign you’re doing your best to keep the laughter from spilling out of your lips.

[1:16 AM] you: you wish bby :*

“Milaya?” When you look up, Sergei’s rubbing his eyes, blearily looking at you after switching the bedside table lamp on. “What’re you doing there?”

The gruff in his voice shouldn’t rub you the way it does. You’re reminded of the first stage of your relationship, when you worked off hours and often came back home in the middle of the night. He’d demand you wake him up, and then he’d fuck you to sleep, his rough voice whispering obscenities in your ear or into the skin of your neck, your chest―even your inner thighs, if you still had the energy to let him eat you out before you clocked out for the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply. It’s no surprise that your knees buckle when you stand up and make your way to bed, your mind so deep in the gutter.

He eyes the phone in your hands. “Everything okay?”

You hum and slide into his open arms. The way his head nuzzled your chest makes you chuckle and your fingers comb through his short hair.

“Yeah. Vova can’t sleep either.”

When you look down at him, he’s pouting. “You were texting my best friend? You could’ve talked to me…” He might be dangerous when it comes to other people, but it’s mainly playful banter when it comes to Vladimir, you’re sure. Had you wanted him, you would have already made him yours. The dude hasn’t posed a danger for years now.

“I wanted to let you rest,” you reply, but Sergei’s hands are already starting to wander, and they distract you for a heartbeat or two. “After Hell’s Kitchen… You just haven’t been sleeping well.”

He scoffs in amusement, but the way he kisses your lips right after tells you he’s so very grateful―lucky, as he always says―to have you.

“That’s just because I didn’t have a chance to fuck you,” he smirks, his words crude. They hang heavy in the space between your lips, and heavy is the hand on your hipbone now that he’s hovering over you. “Can I do it?”

You can’t deny him, not when he looks at you like that―like you’re the goddess he worships―and not when hunger is already starting to simmer in your womb. So, you entertain him.

“Do what?”

“Do you.”

You laugh, breathless.

“C’mon, just let me get my dick wet. It’ll help you fall asleep so fast.”

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, still smiling. You bend your legs at the knees to trap him between them. It’s a blessing, the fact that you went to bed just wearing a t-shirt because you can feel the warmth of his erection against you through your panties. “You really can’t be romantic even just for a minute!”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, kisses where your marked skin still feels tender and loved. He comes down on his elbows, and all of you is pressed against all of him. It’s the most comforting weight there is.

“Let me make love to you,” he corrects himself, rutting against you once. “Let me make you feel safe.”

A kiss to your lips, then his tongue comes out to lick at you once before you give him access. It goes on and on, the kiss; it lengthens until you have to pull away for air.

“Let me be on top.” You don’t even need to beg: he turns onto his back and pulls you with himself until you’re straddling his lower abdomen.

“No prep?” he wonders, surprised laced through his voice.

You shake your head. “’m wet enough already with the way you run your stupid mouth.”

He grins.

You make quick work of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to whip his cock out. The tip is already reddened and leaking pre-cum. You smirk, look at him, then look back. You wonder how he always manages to work himself up so quickly, but then you realize he has the same effect on you―you’re dripping when you pull your panties to the side―so you don’t ask.

The way he lets himself go into a single, long groan as you slowly slide down on his cock gives you a full-body shudder. Your hands bunch his t-shirt in your fingers and your eyes almost cross. When you finally sit down on him, his erection buried inside you to the hilt, the air slips past your lips in a quivering breath.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you whisper, leaning forward until you’re lying fully on him. “You feel so good.” The stretch is delicious, and you feel how your walls flutter to make room for the size of him.

“Always such a snug fit.” His hands grab your hips, and he thrusts into you once, then once more. Two orgasms each this morning clearly weren’t enough, but tonight you stop him.

“Don’t more, let me feel you like this.”

He doesn’t complain, not even when you both already know cockwarming isn’t his forte.

“Tell me about Hell’s Kitchen. The fuck happened?”

“Now?!” he gasps, making you look at him. “While my dick’s in your pussy?”

“As good a time as any. I’ll fall asleep after. I figured it’d be easier for you than being in my mouth.”

A sigh.

It’s silent for a while, and then the dam opens. He tells you as much as he knows. Which, admittedly, isn’t much. Or he’s trying not to burden you too much.

You wish he’d lean on you, share his pain so that you can be each other’s crutch.

He tells you about the masked mudak, the one that’s been messing with them and their business for months. Fisk and his schemes. Then the bombing at the garage―his fingers dig harder into your flesh when he talks about that―the explosion, the smell, the blood when he had tried to pull Grisha out of the ruins. He was coughing up so much blood already, the poor kid, and Sergei had to look the other way when he gave in to his plea to be shot and taken out of his misery. He had been a breathing corpse, mutilated by the fallen ruins―bricks and poles and sin.

Sergei doesn’t tell you that, though. He doesn’t paint a picture.

It’s already a miracle he manages to get to the end of his recall with a still-hard cock. His arms hold you close, and you feel the way his chest constricts.

You try not to grumble. Just a couple of weeks ago Grisha had come to you asking for advice―there was this girl, prettier than the sun and moon combined, and he wanted to do all the right things to ask her out. You wonder if he did. If he followed your advice. Or had he still been waiting for his chance when his world went off?

You don’t speak for a moment, simply listening to the changing rhythm of his heart. Then, you apologize for pressing him into giving you an explanation, and you kiss him until he forgets all those bad things for the time being.

That night you make love to him, try to ease the nightmares and the bad memories plaguing his mind. When tears start trickling down the sides of his face, his eyes closed, you hold onto him a little tighter, a little closer, and you fall asleep still connected with each other.

If you could shield him from what happened, shift its weight onto your shoulder, you would.

*

The day after, you stay out late for dinner. Vladimir came up with some bullshit excuse about him wanting to celebrate life with you and Sergei, and Homer let him go.

Did the guy also send someone else after you? You have no clue, and frankly, you don’t even look around to try and spot his goons. You’ve mainly been picking at your food with your fork all day. Sergei managed to sleep like a baby―of which you’re proud―but your mind has been stuck on the memory of Grisha in your living room, pacing back and forth while he spilled his heart out. How he hadn’t wanted to go to the guys because he just knew they’d tease him to no end. How he didn’t know what to do―his parents had been the worst example to follow in just about any field of life, and he didn’t know what to do. Sergei’s woman is the nicest person on Earth, someone had told him, so he had come to your apartment when he knew Sergei was out with the guys.

You think about how he had just been nineteen; he would have turned twenty on Christmas day; you had already planned to invite him over for a few days so that he wouldn’t have had to be alone―your heart squeezes in on itself, and you sigh.

“It’s all gonna be over soon, Doll,” Vladimir smiles, patting your hand on the table with his bandaged one.

You look at him. The dark circles under his eyes. The bruises on his face. His split lip. You know there’s much more underneath his clothes that you can’t see right now―but that you have seen too many times whenever you stopped to clean his wounds in the car. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the last almost ten days, and like he’s lost ten more. A shell of his old self―no brother, no freedom, no business―a bird-dog trying his best to reach a place where no one knows his name, or his face.

Sergei also looks like the vocabulary definition of exhaustion. One day of relative freedom―yesterday―was enough to deplete his reserve of energy. Now all he wants to do is escape. And forget.

You smile. For their sake, you tell yourself. Be their crutch like they’ve been yours.

“Is it going well?” you ask, turning your hand around so that you can hold the one Vladimir still has on yours.

He hasn’t told neither you nor Sergei his plan, and neither of you has asked. You figured the less people knew about it, the more chances you’d have to make it.

He nods. He’s the only one whose stomach isn’t knotted up. Is it because he was mostly passed out during your first escape? You guess that could be the answer.

There aren’t many patrons left when a group of men walks in. It’s hard not to spot them; they stick out like black birds among the colors of the restaurant.

Are they Homer’s?

They spot you. You see the way the look in their eyes changes when their (apparent) leader’s gaze locks with yours. You’re the only one facing them, Sergei and Vladimir sitting at the other side of the table.

They walk closer. They’re seven tables away.

Six.

Three.

Your hand wraps tightly around your knife.

Two.

The man in the front smiles. It reaches his eyes. You think he’s going to flirt with you, cause a scene, create chaos.

“You must be Sergei’s woman,” he says when he and his men sit at the table behind you.

It takes you a moment for your brain to realize he’s spoken Russian. You’ve never been more relieved to hear a language before in your life.

Was Vlad waiting for your escorts? Is that why he insisted on staying that long?

You breathe out in relief and when you look at your companions, they’re both grinning. Sergei gives you a nod of his head, his foot teasing yours under the table in reassurance.

“We met some dogs,” says the man behind you. You don’t dare turn around. “We sorted them out, but their owner might come looking.”

Things move quickly after that. Your heart hammers in your chest with the same strength as the night Sergei woke you up in the middle of the night, but this time it’s not out of fear. There’s excitement scorching through your veins, and adrenaline is probably already kicking in.

You’re out of the restaurant, your hand securely wrapped in Sergei’s. Vladimir is in front of you; the men his friend sent are all around. It’s like being a celebrity, even when you’re not.

It goes to your head.

Your heart beats so hard it hurts. It seems to pulse in your eardrums, and there’s a restlessness everywhere in your body―your fingers, your arms, your legs. It’s like your body wants to run, desperately, and yet it’s stuck at a much slower rhythm.

You meet Sergei’s gaze. He gives your hand a squeeze, mouths an I love you, and you think you want to marry him. Right here, right now. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss the living daylights out of him.

Your head hurts.

It’s sort of exhilarating, in a way you didn’t predict.

You’re on a boat. Then a much bigger one.

The men’s leader and two others are in the helicopter with you, Vladimir, and Sergei. You have no idea how you even got on it.

Your head hurts.

*

They move you a lot in Costa Rica. You never spend more than one night in the same place. As it turns out, his friends are trusty, this time. You’re introduced to Andrei’s cousin, the one Vladimir has mentioned, and you have to witness the way his soul cracks behind the look in his eyes when he’s told the news.

Danger still feels really close, but just like your escape from Cuba, it’s fucking exhilarating. A whirlwind you can barely keep up with.

You have some of the best sex of your life―it’s the only thing that helps burn out that extra energy making you restless. You think Vladimir is never going to let you and Sergei live it down. You promise him he can sit and watch if he wants, and maybe one night he does, in the armchair by the window of your temporary room, and you enjoy the way he looks at you while Sergei fucks you from behind.

When you reach Romania, the home of some more friends of Vladimir’s (you wonder how he even manages to have so many when he can be such an annoying ass), you’re all positively exhausted. It’s been three weeks since leaving Hell’s Kitchen behind, but it feels like much longer than that. Three years, or maybe three lifetimes.

You don’t have many memories from Cuba; you didn’t have the time to form any, after all. Homer and his flowers, the shower, that ice cream in the sunny plaza. Costa Rica is a whole other story; when you think about it, there’s still phantom soreness between your legs and Vladimir’s taste still tingles your tongue, that one time Sergei miraculously agreed to let you suck him off.

Life in Romania, by the Moldovan border, is nice and quiet, and there’s not much to do in the countryside you’re sent to for your own protection. You enjoy the walks―at dawn, at sunset, in the midday sun.

Skinny dipping with Sergei after dinner quickly becomes your favorite activity. He’s so real and solid in this life that now feels like such an illusion. You let him love you, and he lets you love him, too. There’s not a place around the house where you haven’t touched each other, kissed, hugged.

You start to pick up the language and around the four-month mark in the country, you feel like it’s finally starting to click. You find a part-time job, Serzh does, too. It keeps you busy―away from the frenzy of New York City, and away from the dreadful stillness of a life so out of your routine all of a sudden.

Sergei puts a ring around your finger one night, as you’re lying in bed, the smell of sex still lingering in the air even despite the open window. He says marriage is just a formality, but he definitely can go down that route if you want. He’s still going to spend the rest of his life by your side regardless.

You think you could give him anything he wants. Could and would, no ifs and no buts.

Vladimir turns restless, however. He seems to slowly sink, like a stone not dense and not heavy enough to immediately reach the bed of the river. He feels stuck, and you see the way he can’t seem to be able to go on. The exhilaration of your escape has left his system―much more slowly than the adrenaline did, but you see he’s running on reserve now.

You think you’re losing a piece of him each day that passes.

You’re stuck in the indecision of what to do. If you bring up old memories, the scars on his body start bleeding again. If you shut them down, the black hole in his chest grows and eats away at him right before your eyes.

Revenge starts being brought up. It’s always late at night, when he’s had a bit too much to drink. He brings up Anatoly as you and Sergei watch on, unable to do anything. He brings up his brother and the way he was murdered. Brings up Fisk, Gao, Nobu, the masked mudak. He burns with the intensity of a sun, and the bitter cold of outer space.

You fear losing him to his demons. Sergei doesn’t know how to bridle him anymore.

One night, he starts crying. He’s had a glass too many―a bottle too many―and you find yourself sitting in the garden, the warm July breeze contributing to the scorching heat of his skin. He’s feverish―he has been for a couple of days now.

Sergei’s smoking a few meters away, eyes trained on the night sky as he stands barefoot on the grass, wearing nothing but an old pair of knee-length pants. You see the way his jaw clenches in the moonlight, and you know he’s close to tears as well.

It scares you shitless.

Vladimir allows you to hold him in your arms, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, wetting you with his tears and his saliva, where he cries broken sobs into the skin of your shoulder.

Maybe it’s always been just a matter of time before what happened in Hell’s Kitchen caught up with him.

Maybe it’s also just a matter of time before this wave of destruction slows down to a halt. You hope maybe next summer, he won’t be drinking this much. By the summer after that, he’ll be able to hang mirrors in the house without shattering them. By the three-year mark, he’ll be sprouting in the spring and thriving in the summer.

Sergei turns around and finds you already staring at him. On his lips stretches the small, sad smile that mirrors your own. You think you see gratitude in his eyes before he goes inside to fetch a blanket. He wraps Vladimir up like a child and drags him inside.

That night you both lie on the floor of Vladimir’s room, as still as statues, listening closely to the way he breathes while he sleeps.

“Is he gonna be alright?” Sergei whispers, dread in his eyes as he looks at you for an answer, like you’re a deity that can see the future.

You trace the lines of his face, his lips. You kiss him lightly, even despite the smell of smoke that’s left behind from earlier. “Eventually,” you promise―a lie, but also a hope.

You don’t tell Sergei, but you think Vladimir is still on the run. You can only hope he will slow down, stop, look around, see he’s safe, still alive, and that his demons haven’t followed him into his physical reality.

Bye, thank you for reading my fic. 💌

[dekalko-mania]

Things That Lurk in the Dark (Pt. 2) 

Amity changed the day the portal opened, in more ways than one.

(Read part one here)

....

Vlad had resigned himself to an evening of prep work, monotonous planning and continuous meetings with Amity officials aware of their...dilemma. What he had not expected, or rather, what he had been hoping to avoid, was an interruption in the form of a teenage brat with a flair for heroics. 

In the middle of what was surely an important conversation with the APPD chief of police (he was honestly only lending his partial attention), he found himself sighing at the crash of a piece of priceless furniture. Honestly, that boy had to work on his landings. 

“Was that your cat, Mayor Masters?” Chief Bryans raised a brow at the stomps that followed the commotion. 

Vlad huffed, internally affronted. His Maddie was much more well-mannered than that. “I’m afraid it’s a rather unwelcome visitor.”

Sure enough, his common room doors were soon slammed against the wall, revealing a fuming Phantom. Completely ignoring the other’s presence, he flew the rest of the way over to Vlad, fists trembling with barely-contained rage. 

“You.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to go through the door? Not forgetting your powers again, are you?”

“Shut up,” Danny snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me? This whole time I thought I was losing my shit, but I was right!” 

“I’m sorry, I thought you said Phantom declined to help?” Chief Bryans cut in through the middle of their stand off, eyes flickering between the two of them. 

“You said what!” 

Vlad scowled, eyes flashing over to the policeman. What a nuisance, he had completely forgotten he was still there. With only a subtle narrowing of the eyes, he summoned a duplicate to appear behind him, commanding the other to overshadow the man’s body and place him in a trance. 

Once finished, he focused his attention back on his rival, words laced with irritation. “This is bigger than you, Daniel. Had you known, you would’ve gone in there yourself like the fool you are.”

Choosing to not say anything about his distaste of overshadowing for now, Danny scoffed. “So, what? You planned to send in innocent people when you knew the one most qualified to handle this situation was me?” 

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself so much.” Vlad stood, reaching over to a worryingly packed folder and shoving it into Danny’s arms. “Look at this, dozens of victims and you really think you couldn’t have been one of them? What would Maddie think, hm? Finding her son among the list?” 

“Stop it, I know what you’re doing and I’m not buying it!” Danny dropped the folder back onto the table, already knowing its contents by heart, blaming himself for having not done anything sooner. “You manipulate people, it’s what you do. You act like you care, when all you want is credit for solving the problem without me."

Vlad scoffed, "I understand there's been a history of pranks among us, Daniel, and maybe that gave you the impression that I'm one for playground antics." He pointed over to Chief Bryan. "But something they don't know, something your own parents don't know, is that Phantom is not as free of fault as he thinks he is."

"What?" Danny's eyes flashed. "You're saying I'm involved somehow?"

"Oh no," Vlad grinned, sitting back down, an air of arrogance mixing with his anger. "I'm saying you're the cause of it. Your ectosignature reeks throughout the reserve. Whatever is inside, it's calling for you. But shame on me for wanting to keep you from entering an obvious trap."

“But I didn’t...” Danny paused, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I didn’t do anything. And none of my enemies has this much power, unless-”

“Unless it’s someone new,” Vlad interrupted. “That’s what I believe as well. And you’re mistaken to think you haven’t done anything. Think about it, when did this all begin, hm? What prompted such a drastic change to the city?” 

Danny took a moment to wonder, going over the strange occurrences he had seen, when they first began. What could possibly have caused such a radical shift?  When was the first time he doubted himself and his perception of reality? It was probably around his freshmen year when he noticed it, the sky having momentarily seemed to glitch one day on his way home. It could only have been for half a second, happening around the time when he had still not gotten fully accustomed to his powers. He had been gazing out the school bus window by coincidence, right around the time when...

“The portal.” He realized, breath catching in his throat. “It was the portal.” 

“Exactly,” Vlad grinned. “I mean, what did you think? That ripping a hole into another dimension wouldn’t have its consequences?” 

“I didn’t exactly think about that, it was an accident.” It was true. Danny never planned to open the portal himself, not at that moment. He had only wanted to explore it, to see if maybe he could point his parents in the right direction. He never thought that an experiment in his basement would cause so much grief. 

“Of course you didn’t think, you’re a child. And children shouldn’t be involved in things they know nothing about.” Vlad’s tone was nothing short of condescending. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let your nosey little self anywhere near the reserve. 

You had no idea what you were doing back in college either, Danny wanted to snap back. Instead, he took his victory for what it was, knowing it was over from the minute he discovered the truth. 

“Which means you know you have no choice but to let me go.”

“Unfortunately,” Vlad sighed, summoning his clone back, and waiting as Chief Bryans blinked himself back into awareness. 

The officer glanced around the room, eyes falling onto Danny’s much more relaxed form. “I’m sorry, I think I zoned out for a bit. What were we talking about?”

“It seems there was a misunderstanding,” Vlad drawled. “Phantom’s hero complex is as strong as ever. He’ll be joining our raid tonight.”

....

To say that his parents were not pleased to see him was an understatement. He had arrived with Vlad and Chief Bryans, having taken the rest of the day to catch up on the plan. According to the chief, they had decided to first send his parents and smaller ghost hunters into the area, accompanied by a squad of officers armed with ectoweapons. 

There was a rough map of the reserve, littered with marks detailing emergency evacuations and possible things that may go wrong. From what Danny could gather, it had been a shoot first and ask questions later approach, his least favorite tactic. Vlad himself seemed opposed to it as well, knowing from his past conniving ways that matters were made better in one’s favor with patience. 

It took a bit of convincing, but Danny had managed to alter it so that he made the first attempt. If he went in and failed to resolve the problem, he would begrudgingly step back and allow them to take over. It had added pressure, but made him all the more determined to end the issue once and for all. 

What he had not counted on was the opposition of anyone outside Chief Bryans, a dumb assumption now that he thought back on it. As he sat still, letting an officer fit him with a set of Fenton phones and various gadgets, he couldn’t help but to notice the scathing glares being sent his way by his mom. 

Out of both Fentons, she was the most angered by his presence, refusing to place the set on him herself. “Unless it’s to study it, I’m not getting closer than I have to be.” 

He had to convince himself that he was used to it, ignoring the sting he’d felt at her words. 

Officer Perkins stepped back, nodding when he saw the gear was a good fit. “Alright, we weren’t counting on someone going in alone, so we’re going to need you to narrate what you see when you’re inside. That alright?” 

Danny nodded, taking the opportunity to avoid his parents’ gaze. Perkins was a much more comforting presence to him, resembling how he imagined Tucker would look like when older, minus the sometimes cocky attitude. 

“Are the, um, the families going to arrive? To listen in.” 

“The families of the victims you mean?” At Danny’s nod, Perkins frowned. “I guess they didn’t tell you, no one remembers that they’re missing.They did, at first, that’s how we got the news. But once they’ve alerted us it’s like they forget.”

“But wouldn’t they notice if they never came home?” Danny frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. There had to have been an Amber Alert or something to remind them.” 

Danny recalled that some of the victims were kids. Surely their parents would’ve noticed their disappearance, or at least been reminded of it when the officers went to update them. 

“We’ve tried sending them out, hell, we’ve even tried to put up signs and post it on social media. Somehow the texts never send, or the flyers disappear. Shit’s weird.” He sighed. “They think their kid is at a sleepover, or that their wife is out visiting her mom. For some reason they forget, but we remember.” 

Danny bit his lip, stewing over what Vlad had said earlier in the day. 

“What would Maddie think, hm? Finding her son among the list?”

If he went in and never came out, would his family forget his disappearance too? Would Sam, Tucker, and Valerie not even realize that he was gone? 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you,” Maddie cut in, momentarily catching him off guard. “I’m sure there’s no one out here that would’ve noticed you gone anyway.” 

Danny’s expression must’ve showed how painful the statement was to hear, because Officer Perkins immediately rounded on the couple. 

“Is this how you talk to someone who’s trying to help?” 

“Excuse me? Help?” Maddie frowned. “Ghosts don’t help because they care about people, it’s self-interest. He definitely has an ulterior motive.” 

Before Perkins could intervene any further, Danny smirked, shoving aside his feelings for an undeterred facade. 

“Don’t bother with them, they’re in their own world.” He met his parent’s gaze head on. “Probably wouldn’t even notice if their own kids disappeared in there.” 

He knew he went too far when both Fentons had their guns pointed at him, so quick that Officer Perkins stepped back in shock. Still, he refused to budge, knowing that anything they said would hurt him more than a few shots. Somehow, that angered them even further, his dad’s glare intensifying as he stared him down. 

“Listen, spook, you don’t know us as parents. So either you shut up or I’ll-”

“Geez, getting a little defensive aren’t you.” Danny released a humorless laugh. “Guess I hit a nerve.”

He leaned forward, placing his head mere inches away from their weapons. 

“Tell me, did you even bother checking if they were home before coming?”

He could see the moment it dawned them that they hadn’t, his mom’s gun dropping by an inch. A sense of guilty satisfaction filled him, knowing that despite them being the threat in the situation, he had the upper hand. He would regret it later, he knew it, but somewhere along the way of becoming Phantom, it grew more difficult for him to compartmentalize his interactions with his parents. 

Hard to be a good son when one second he was being held in a containment device, and the next found himself pressed tight against his mother’s side. 

The tension was cut through with a loud sigh, Vlad and Chief Bryans suddenly standing at the entrance of their tent. “Officer Perkins, I left you here to control the situation, not stand there gawking.” 

Embarrassment marring his features, Perkins placed himself in between the two parties. “Chief Bryans is right, we can settle this later. The truth of the matter is, Phantom’s here to help, same as you. So let’s focus on the raid for now, I’m sure your children are fine. You can call them if that’ll help.” 

Danny saw the uncertainty in his parents’ eyes, worrying for a second that they would do exactly that, before seeing determination settle in his dad's gaze.

“No, it’s fine. It’s too late for them to be out anyway.” He grunted. 

Danny scoffed, knowing they just didn’t want him to think he’s correct. Figures they would put their pride first. Without anything more to say, he stood, floating over to the two men. 

“If that’s settled, are we ready to go?"

Vlad grinned, doing very little to hide his amusement with Danny's predicament. "We've finished the final preparations, yes. All we need is your approval and we’ll get into position.” 

Danny nodded, looking over to the Fentons. “You ready?”

His parents’ scowls eased into quiet discontent, guns placed back into their holsters. 

“Well then,” Vlad said, holding open the tent flap. “Lead the way.” 

....

Danny had only gotten about a five minute walk into the reserve when he noticed the increase in supernatural activity. While Amity had bore many hints of it, the incidents were ones that left him second guessing himself, occurring so abruptly that they could be attributed to an overactive imagination. In there, following along the path of the main river, he struggled to find anything that wasn't out of place.

The first thing he'd noticed was the faint green glow surrounding the place, catching it even in the bits of sky he saw beyond the tree branches. It was as if someone had placed a filter over the entire area, having it resemble a darker version of Skulker's lair.

To his left and across the river, he swore he could see the occasional silhouette, figures peering at him from a safe distance. He wasn't yet sure if they were afraid or curious, but he hadn't gotten close enough to find out. Whoever they were, they weren't the missing people he was searching for. Even without the handheld radar he'd been given, his ghost sense was strong enough to tell that they were supernatural.

“Do you see anything?” Chief Bryan’s voice asked over the Fenton Phones. 

Danny imagined them as they were when he’d left, squads assembled on the outskirts of the forest, while the main group of leaders were hunched over a desk of equipment in their tent. They were unable to get footage, but the verbal descriptions and data sent back from his gear was enough to maintain their attention. 

He perused his environment, eyeing the various blob ghosts and unnatural bugs floating in his vicinity. “Nothing new, same as before. You?”

“Our readings are the same,” his dad’s voice responded. “Higher ectoplasmic levels than usual, but not too alarming. Can you describe the area again?” 

Danny sighed, raising a finger and providing a perch for a small blob. “Other than my little ghost friend here, it’s mostly the same. There’s more trees, I guess. They’ve got these weird jags on their surface, like someone ran their nails down them. “ He shivered at the thought, looking over to the river. “The water here’s frozen over, but the temperature inside is low so it makes sense. And along the side there’s...”

Danny froze, sentence left unfinished.

“Phantom?”

He placed the small ghost on a nearby log, slowly approaching the river edge. “There’s a crack in the ice. I think it’s coming towards me.”

Sure enough, the jagged line ended directly in front of him. He debated whether he should step back, but decided not to move when he saw the fractures branching off into multiple ones. The quiet was replaced with sharp noises and the thumping of something in the water. Danny leaned down, fists raising in case he needed to blast an attacker. 

The glow from his fists provided just enough light to see the appearance of a webbed hand pressing against the ice. Slowly, he moved closer, flinching when he saw a face just behind it. As if pleased that they’d been noticed, the creature pushed themselves into an area they’d be more visible, rapping their knuckles lightly on the film above them. 

“There’s a girl here,” he realized. “She wants me to get her out.”

“Is it one of the victims?” Maddie asked.

“No, she looks like some kind of mermaid.” Danny placed his hand on the shadow of hers, noting a trail of bubbles escaping her lips as she giggled.

“Leave it then. We need to find the victims, get out of there.”

Ignoring her, Danny put his other hand onto the surface as well, summoning the powers from his cold core so that he could spread the fissures further. When he felt it was enough, he pushed down gently against the ice, breaking it apart so that there was a large open space available. 

Slowly, a head of midnight blue hair broke through the surface, cyan face peering at him from beneath soaked bangs. She opened her mouth, once, twice, seemingly unable to utter a word, and then gave up in favor of reaching out to poke his face. 

Danny remained still, confused as the girl gaped at him in awe. Once she seemed to regain her bearings, he felt her grab each of his arms, mischievous smile being his only warning before he was yanked into the river. 

He struggled, shutting his mouth tightly on instinct as he was surrounded by what to anyone else would be dangerously cold levels of freezing water. Despite his attempts at breaking free, the girl’s grip was strong, and something about her kept him from going intangible. Try as he might, this was her territory, and he was weak to do anything but be dragged further down. 

Be still. Trust.

Knowing he had no choice, he let himself go limp, thankful that his ghost form didn’t need to breathe. By now, he could feel the pressure that the deep water bore onto him, shoulders feeling heavy as he was forced further down. He knew it was just uncomfortable, that he would be fine, but the dark water underneath him killed any enthusiasm to go deeper.

Too much, He thought. I’m gonna be crushed.

As abruptly as he was pulled in, he felt himself skidding to a halt, a wave of apology sent in his direction. 

Forgive. Mistake. Wait here. 

Releasing her grip, the girl gave Danny one final meaningful squeeze on the shoulder. Deciding he wouldn’t leave, she swam down past where the glow from the forest above could illuminate, disappearing completely out of sight. 

As he floated there, left completely to his own devices, Danny scoped his surroundings, thinking it strange how a river could bare such a resemblance to the bottom of the sea. From just beyond him, he could see jagged rocks lining its sides, some looking as if they had engravings made along their surface. Had he not been told to stay where he was, he would’ve loved to trace his hands along them. 

What caught his attention the most though, now that he’d gained his bearings enough to notice it, were the glowing dots interspersed throughout the water. If he was on dry land, he would’ve thought they were fireflies, an abnormal amount for the season. He was so entranced, it took him a second to notice that the girl was swimming her way back up, accompanied by an older woman. 

Taking in her appearance, he saw that she was much older and wore a long gown that went past the length of her legs. On her head, she had a dainty crown, circular and bearing engravings similar to those on the walls. With an expression matching the awed one the girl had worn previously, she placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled. 

Halfa. He said you would come. 

Someone expected me?

So it was true, there was a ghost within the reserve that wanted him there. 

Yes. You will see soon. The woman reached over to the girl, pulling her forward. My daughter, I told her to wait. You arrived. She brought you to me.

Hands practically shaking with anticipation, the girl pulled a tiny stone box from within her robes and handed it to Danny. Sensing that the gesture had importance, he took it from her politely, sending a thank you in her direction. Their demeanors remained encouraging, inviting him to look inside. 

When he did, he saw that there was a ring made of black obsidian to match the woman’s crown. On it was carved an image detailing symbols that resembled the shape of water and a moon. Though it wasn’t flashy as ghostly artifacts tended to be, he could feel power pulsating from within it, fingers tingling where it touched him.

For you. Our king. Our people. With you. 

Unsure what to say, Danny sent them another thank you, promising to take care of it. The choice of words struck him as odd, but he figured that it was similar to how Frostbite called him Great One. It didn’t mean anything, it was simply a show of gratitude. For what, he wasn’t sure. 

My daughter, can accompany you to surface. 

Suddenly remembering what he had followed her for in the first place, Danny shook his head. The reserve was huge, and it would take him much longer to find the lost citizens. If anyone knew where everything was, it would be those who inhabited it. 

Actually, have you seen other humans come in here recently? They never came back out.

The woman and girl exchanged a meaningful look. 

They sleep. On surface, I take. 

Squeezing her daughter’s shoulder, the queen bowed at Danny and made her leave. He sent her one of his own, surprised when he turned to see the girl already waiting ahead of him. 

Sensing his shock, she smirked. 

Catch up, King. 

With all the speed he could muster underwater, Danny swam, just barely maintaining his speed beside her. As they swam, he took note of his environment, in case anything of value appeared for him to report. Thankfully, the Fenton Phones were waterproof, but they were still too low for the signal to reach. 

He wasn’t looking forward to the ear full he would get when it returned.

My name, Kara. 

Danny felt shame rising within him at realizing that he hadn’t even thought to ask the girl her name before. Grinning sheepishly, he let her know he liked to be called Danny. 

Danny? Strange for King. King Phantom, okay?

Figuring it wouldn’t make a difference, he shrugged, again feeling put off by the royal title. Before he could ask, Kara took a sudden sharp turn upward, heading towards a patch of light in the distance. His legs would be burning after this, that he knew. 

Once he broke through, just a few seconds behind, Danny blanked. “What is this?”

Ahead of him stood a giant structure resembling a Greek temple, though it was black instead of white. Along its steps were stoic skeletal guards, donning armored uniforms and staring straight at them with glowing red eyes. The white light that they’d followed came from the gardens leading up to the structure, vanishing when it got too close, as if swallowed by the building. 

People inside. He waits. 

As if sensing that her explanation was not comforting enough, Kara bumped gently against his shoulder. 

They live. Avoid attack. Go in. 

Releasing a heavy sigh, Danny pulled himself out from the water, eyeing the temple one more time, before turning to give his goodbye. 

“Thank you, really. And for the gift too.”

Bowing her head, Kara smiled. Nothing to thank. Meet again. 

Seeing her vanish below the surface, Danny steeled himself, floating closer as he pressed a hand to the phones. “Hello, anybody hear me?”

When he was met with static, he decided communication could wait. He had made it clear that no move would be made until he had made his attempt. And besides, something told him that this was a part of the journey he had to take alone. 

Making sure that he wouldn’t be affected by deadly plants, he kept his distance from either side of him, staying directly in the middle of the path. Strangely, most of the vegetation consisted of large pomegranate trees, an unnaturally red kind that seemed to pulsate in temptation. 

From past experience with Undergrowth, he’d learned to remain cautious, and kept that attitude as he approached the steps. Out of all the reactions he’d expected from the guards, having them kneel before him in unison was not one of them. 

“Um, you really don’t have to do that,” He tried. “A ‘come inside’ would’ve been enough.”

Realizing it wouldn’t make any difference, he decided to float by, wary for any signs of malice. They didn’t move an inch, seeming to view him with some level of respect. The whole situation was weird, nothing going the way he prepared for. It wasn’t a level of welcome he was accustomed to with the supernatural, making him all the more apprehensive for who exactly was waiting for him.

His worry rose as he arrived at the entrance, both guards on either side opening the set of giant wooden doors for him, before taking the same position as their comrades. 

“What’s going on...” 

He had only a moment to calm his racing heart, doors crashing shut behind him. The room was easily shrouded in darkness, torches along the walls providing very little visibility with their misty green appearance. He couldn’t stop the shiver racing up his spine as the shadows melded into nearly physical shapes, unable to focus on any one image with the amount of anxiety that replaced his determination.

The point of no return, he thought. This is what this feels like.

His fear escalated as he quickly realized that his powers were not cooperating, light refusing to appear on the palms of his hands. Even his glow was dampened, nothing appearing to relieve him of the absolute darkness. 

With nothing to help him, he couldn’t stop his breaths from coming in rapidly, his Phantom form doing little to quell his rising panic. This was a mistake, coming to this place while aware that many couldn’t escape, it was wrong. 

“Shit,” he whispered, trembling fingers yanking at his hair. The pain only barely kept him cognizant, all other thoughts melding into mush. “C-calm down. You’ve faced worse. Calm down, calm down...”

 “My presence tends to make humans uneasy. Though, I would expect a future king to display his fear more honorably.”

Danny’s head shot up, latching onto the voice for something to focus on. Vision still not its best, he could only make out the silhouette of a bare throne, large and gnarled in design. Everything else was a washed out black, glints of stone shining at odd intervals. 

“Good, it seems purpose grounds you. Come forward.” 

Clenching his hands, Danny approached the misshapen figure ahead of him, stopping just before it. Most beings he knew were protective of their possessions, to a deadly point. He was not keen on testing whichever presence was in the room.

“Sit.”

He followed the voice’s command, holding back a groan at the sheer intensity of pressure crushing his core. Here, the dread was at its highest point, despair absolutely consuming him, darkness seeming to seep into him from his very pores. He closed his eyes, knowing that the dimness of his eyelids would be nothing in comparison to what surrounded him. 

He was met with a sight he had not anticipated, confusion flooding him when he found himself inside the unopened portal in his lab. Ahead were him, Tucker and Sam, frozen as they stared off inside the gaping void. Inspecting the other version of himself, he saw familiar black gloves over a white jumpsuit. 

“I’m...back in time?”

“Not quite.” The deep voice echoed, detached from any particular location. “We are in a memory. Events from the day we met have been suppressed in your mind.” 

“So you want me to, recreate it?”

The sound of cracking of bones and crackling electricity played in Danny’s ear, a reminder of just how painful dying could be. He remembered the soreness in his throat that lingered for days after, made due to the force of his screams. From there, that was all he remembered, skipping forward to when he woke up in his friends’ arms. 

“As I said, it’s only a memory. Yours is tainted, so I decided to show you through mine. Now, close your eyes and listen. I will tell you when to open them.”

Understanding dawning on him, Danny did just that, grateful that the man was not so cruel as to force him to watch his own body seizing in midair. The feeling had been awful enough, but to see it front row would have been even worse.

“I’ve always wanted to go in here.” His own voice said, continuing off where the scene began. “Who knows what awesome, super cool things are on the other side of that portal?” 

The quiet padding of feet got closer, every sound amplified within the tunnel, before getting cut off by a scuffle and a yelp. There was a click and a whirring began building, increasing and soon joined by an excruciating scream. It was the same one he heard when doing his signature wail, haunting him even after he’d survived. 

Even through shut lids, he could see the green blaze, stopping only when the howl was replaced with the sound of running water and the shriek of crows. He felt a nudge on his side, a signal that he could look. 

The area confirmed that the man was telling the truth, a sense of familiarity greeting him when he saw his slightly younger self standing beside an elder and a small, beat up boat.  He could only tell he was older because of his hunch and wrinkled hands clutching onto a paddle. The rest of him was covered by a black cloak. From the looks of it, he was engaged in a heated discussion with past Danny. 

“I feel...empty.” Danny stared at the figure with a forlorn expression, as if desperately hoping he could fix the torn up, hollow sensation in his chest.

“Of course you feel empty!” He waved in Danny’s direction, distaste tinging his voice. “My purpose is to lead the dead across this river, and your soul has not even properly moved on!” 

“I don’t...” He clutched tighter onto his suit, still fuming from the accident.

“Is that Death?” Danny could not help but ask. 

An amused chuckle negated his question. “No, Death was only with you at the moment of your passing. This is Charon, she brought you to him.”

“Look child, I don’t have time for explanations. I have other actually dead souls to cross.” He reached out a hand, motion more gentle than his gruff tone. “Get in, I’ll take you to the boss.” 

Danny slid his hand into Charon’s, scene switching the moment he made contact. 

They were standing in a throne room, this one putting the one back in Amity to shame. It resembled a darker version of Olympus, akin to the old paintings depicting it that he’d seen in class. The skeletal guards were inside this one as well, hidden along the walls in the spaces between gigantic corinthian columns. 

At the very end sat a huge man, face obscured by darkness and black robes shifting as if trapping lost souls. Beneath his throne stood Danny, arms wrapped tight around his midsection, while Charon finished explaining the situation next to him. 

Once done, the large man finally spoke. “You were right to bring him. He does not belong here.” 

“Wait, is that you? Does that mean you’re-”

“You humans have decided to call me Hades, yes, ruler of the underworld and what not. We have met before, once, in this memory. You do not recall it, but I remember very well.” His aura communicated amusement to Danny. “How could I ever forget, a child challenging me to a fight for his life. You were lucky that half your soul was still anchored to the earth.”

“Still, I have yet to decide how to handle this situation,” Hades commented. “This is the second time this has occurred. We can’t keep sending them back.”

As if waking from a dream, Danny’s eyes suddenly filled with anger, shoulders straightening despite still being obviously disoriented. “Obviously you let me go back to Amity. You said it yourself, and I can feel it. I’m not whole, I’m stuck there!”

“And who do you think you are? Telling me what to do?” A gust of wind shoved Danny to the floor. “I should dump you in Tartarus for daring to challenge me.”

“Challenge you?” Danny forced himself back up, glare stubbornly fixed on his face. “If you want a real challenge, then I’ll-I’ll fight you!”

Danny cringed, feeling worse than when his mom sent Sam home with a mug of himself as a baby. “I really said that?”

“Yes you were quite upset at me. Reckless thing you were, but I let you return. According to the rules governing the dead, you still had half a life to live.”

In their moments of brief conversation, several events had transpired, mainly Danny’s appeal as to why he would not allow himself to die. In the end, Hades deemed it a situation too bothersome to dwell on, deciding that the child technically did not meet the criteria to be there.

“I will send you home.” Sensing Danny’s relief, he held up a hand. “But I warn you, you will be considered a halfa, an abomination to both mankind and the spirits of the dead. Abominations do not typically have happy endings.”

“What do you mean a halfa? Is something going to happen to me?” 

“Not now, but just know that when you truly pass, you will never be able to come back. Either you stay and pass on as half a soul, or you become one again, and be doomed to forever wandering the earth alone.” 

Their setting reverted back to Danny’s basement, the moment where he was first reborn as Phantom.

“As you can see, your choice was obvious.”

If Danny had a physical form to view this in, he would have been shaking. He’d been living his life completely unaware of his fate, worrying over the ghosts, the pressure, his home and school life without knowing that the torment would continue even after he passed. 

“So this is why you brought me here?” His voice wavered. “To remind me that I’ll never find any peace?”

“Actually, I had planned to keep that fact hidden until your day arrived. I’m not as cruel as my brothers or you humans seem to believe.” His voice lowered, edging on a whisper. “There was a turn of events I had not foreseen. A change of fate perhaps only Clockwork knew of.”

Their vision began clouding with bursts of color, a tugging sensation dragging Danny’s consciousness through time and space.  It was like space mountain, the ride he had forced himself to go on in his childhood, only it came to a much more sudden halt. 

Clad in his father’s energy draining invention, Danny pressed against the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. He feared he wouldn’t last, that the fight would have been in vain, were in not for a hand appearing and suddenly locking the coffin closed. When he knew it was safe enough to drop his guard, he turned to see all his enemies standing behind him in solidarity. 

They had stopped Pariah Dark’s vicious reign for good. 

“Although the other ghosts allied with you, you were the one that ultimately defeated Pariah Dark. You had secured your spot as next in line to be King of Ghosts. The realm between the living and the afterlife has experienced chaos for far too long, and it has finally come to an end with you.”

“Wait,” Danny balked. “So Kara and the queen...they were being serious when they called me that? But I’m just a kid! I wasn’t even given a choice!”

“You have a choice, don’t be haste. As for being a child, well...”

Scenes of Danny’s many fights played in a quick sequence, from his very early fumbles with the lunch lady, to his most recent and much cleaner fights with Freakshow and Undergrowth. He played through sleepless nights, and days where he felt like giving up, trapped in lockers by bullies, or looked at in disappointment by his parents.  

It was disconcerting to know his life was under constant watch.

“I would say you’ve dealt with what’s been thrown your way pretty well for your age. The underwater kingdom has already pledged their allegiance to you, have even begun calling you king when you are still but a prince. Countless others wait to do the same.” 

“You said I can choose not to be one though.” Danny returned to his previous concern. “What happens then?”

“To your life, nothing really. You live your days the same as you were,” Hades responded. “But know that as a prince you are granted a luxury you had not had before. You may choose your court. If they agree, they can spend their afterlife with you ruling the zone.”

“I won’t be stuck here alone?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“If those you decide on agree, then indeed. They will be granted a place in your keep. I must say, being King of Ghosts is a much more fulfilling endeavor than wandering on your own.” 

Danny bit his lip, eyeing the scenes still going on around him. “Do I have to decide this now?”

“What a convenient question, it brings us to our next topic of importance.”

Amity Park, in its days of small town glory, grew around them. To their left was a farmers market, people dressed in attire from the 80s flitting in between each stand. Behind a stall of oranges was a couple kissing, leaning against a black motorcycle. 

“I want be your girl forever, you know that Johnny?” A whisper spilled between kisses. 

“Only if I can be your guy,” the boy smiled, cupping his partner’s face. “Until the end of time.”

“Is that...” Danny choked. “I didn’t know they weren’t that old. They would’ve been my teacher’s age.”

“This is the same day they passed, a motorcycle accident. You would think they would’ve been limited to one place, or completely trapped in the zone, but your home is strange.” A breeze blew across the image. “Watch.”

“Ember said this is the last chance we have to come here, grab one thing and let’s go!”

“Wait, I think I see my old guitar up there, lemme just-” Johnny’s ghostly form flew up towards a shelf, grasping onto a leather case. “I missed this thing.”

“Johnny!” Kitty tapped her foot impatiently, glancing nervously over at a whirlpool of green in the corner of the dusty attic. 

“Alright, alright” He dusted himself off. “I’m comin’.”

Back in his own body, Danny gasped, sensation of being dumped in cold water shocking him awake. He was back in the reserve, sitting atop a throne in an eerie chamber. He didn’t know what to make of the final vision, except for confusion at the fact that natural portals existed in Amity long before the Fentons had interfered. 

“So Amity hasn’t been normal this entire time?”

“As much as hundreds of years. The supernatural has been attracted to this area, and it has grown over the ages. It’s been a gradual process, with the boundary separating the zone and Amity growing smaller.” A pause. “But ever since that portal was built, it’s been sped up. There’s only a handful of years left until it spills over completely.” 

“So this really is my fault?” Again, Vlad’s words blared mockingly in his head.

“The opposite really. Had the portal been opened without anything to stabilize it, reality would have collapsed in on itself. As it is, it had a host.” A chuckle. “You were quite the conductor.”

Danny couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped him at the odd interjection of a dark joke. He had to hand it to the man, he knew how to meet Danny’s humor halfway.

“To answer your final question,” He continued. “You have until the Ghost Zone melds with Amity to decide whether you shall be king. If you decide you are not the one, the crown will choose the next candidate. The King of Ghosts shall work closely with me to ensure a smooth transition of dimensions. Choose wisely, prince.” 

Without a further explanation, the lights in the hallway flashed, building melting around him to reveal what the reserve must have looked like prior to Hades’ arrival. The greenery that had once been there was back to being regular oak trees, with the occasional large shrub. In the distance, he could see shapes interspersed beneath a wooden canopy, moving slowly to sit up. 

As he approached, Danny realized that they were the people who had gotten lost in the reserve, looking unharmed and rather sleepy. The nearest to him gasped when she saw him standing on the very edge of their group. 

“Phantom?” She wiped at a red stain on the corner of her lip, shoving another young boy next to her. “Ross, get up, it’s Phantom!” 

Danny knelt down, bracing a hand on the boy’s back so that he could straighten himself out. “Hey, are you alright? Do you remember anything?”

Apparently in too much awe to speak, Ross simply stared at him, muttering a quiet “cool” under his breath. Taking the lead, the girl rolled her eyes and answered instead. 

“Sorry about that, he’s a huge superhero fan. My name is Jenny by the way.” She waved at herself and then Ross. “Me and my friend snuck out here last night ‘cause we heard this place was haunted. It was pretty spooky, but all I really remember was grabbing a pomegranate from a nearby tree and knocking out.” 

“Why’re you here? I mean, not like it’s a bad thing!” Ross said, panicked. “It’s just, is this like part of your lair or something?”

“Stupid, lairs are in the ghost zone,” Jenny cut in.

Unsure how to best phrase it, Danny pointed over to the other people, some of which were eyeing him warily. Raising his voice, he decided to be blunt. “I’m here because you’ve been trapped here for days. There’s a whole rescue team waiting outside for you.”

“Days?” A middle aged woman in the crowd screamed. “But I don’t even remember knocking out!”

“I do,” answered a young man. “I would wake up every once in a while, but I wouldn’t be able to touch anything. It’s like I was stuck in between something.”

Leaving them to talk among themselves for a moment, Danny reached up and tapped at the Fenton Phones. “Hello? Can anybody hear me?”

A quiet sizzle of static filled his ears, before switching to the looming voice of Officer Bryans. “Phantom, what’s going on? We were just about to go in.”

“No need,” Danny replied, eyes flickering over to the group in relief. “They’re safe, we’ll be right out.”

...

The next day, Danny sat at the table pretending that the run down his parents gave him was new information. It was all stuff he knew, from Phantom showing up at the raid unprompted to how he’d come out with the group of missing persons fifteen minutes later. It had felt much longer to him, but he supposed that time ran differently when around Hades’ influence. 

At his father’s insistence that the ghost was not to be trusted, Jazz sent him a worried look. Shrugging it off, he let his father rant, knowing that his explanation of the events had sounded sketchy to both his parents.

“He said that some spook got lost and mistook the Amity Reserve as his domain,” Jack huffed, stabbing at his pile of pancakes. “I can’t believe the other officers fell for it. This whole town is going nuts over that ghost!”

“I know, honey” Maddie rubbed his back comfortingly. “But he did manage to get those people out safe so at least he did something useful. Anyway, I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you sooner kids.”

“It’s alright,” Danny smiled, glancing over at Jazz so that she knew he was really okay. “I get it, top secret. We’ve kept our fair share too.”

“Still, I like there to be trust between us,” there was a momentary furrow between her brow, quickly exchanged for a more cheerful expression. “But forget about that for now, how have you two been? I know we’ve been pretty distant.”

“I got into the summer internship I applied for!” Jazz supplied.

As he listened to his sister go into detail about her future endeavors in psychology, Danny thought back to how starkly different the previous night had been. He’d expected a battle with fists, but was met with the offer of a new path he could take altogether. 

He was aware that he was the best person to deal with the chaos Amity would face during the merge. He knew the town like he knew the constellations in the sky, and with the help of his friend’s and family, he had managed to keep it out of harm’s way. Whether he was alone or not, he knew he would keep doing so as a ghost when he passed.

He leaned back, a painful tension welling in his chest as he considered a future in eternal isolation. He imagined fighting ghosts, only to return to an empty lair, and then stopped as he entertained the other option. 

Danny thought of settling truces, rather than fighting. Of being in a palace surrounded by those closest to him that had decided their fate was also tied to guiding the spirits of the dead. He could picture Jazz walking struggling ghosts through their pain and helping them move on, or Sam and Tucker trekking with him to undiscovered dimensions. 

As he inspected his parents’ enthusiastic responses, he could even hope that one day they would use their passion for the sciences to help unite ghosts and humans, rather than divide him. 

He closed his eyes, thinking back to the visitor that decided to appear in his dream last night. A sense of calm washed over him, knowing that although he was stripped of one option, he was left with many others. 

Maybe he couldn’t be an astronaut, but being King of Ghosts didn’t sound too bad either.

....

He dreamt of a farewell feast in a dark temple, ripe fruits and fresh meats placed before him on a rounded table. By his side was a broad, bearded man, extending a platter of cheeses to him with a grin. He reminded him of Clockwork, only with a much stranger mix of strictness and sly character.

“Are you still afraid of what lurks in the dark, my prince?”

“It reminds me of dying,” Danny answered, passing it along to a woman sitting on his other side. “That was what it was like, right?”

“What you experienced was only a small fraction of it. Had Charon taken you to your true destination, you would have seen. It could’ve been to see your God, or to be reborn. Maybe it would have been to an eternal nothing. Who's to say?”

“I’m guessing you know then?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t tell me?” 

“You will see one day. Why spoil the surprise? Just remember, whatever they are, your beliefs hold value. Death is a personal experience, I would know.” He winked, raising a goblet up to the other occupants. “Now, let’s celebrate to a peaceful reign.” 

[writingpitcheswearingpearls]

Nothing Says Soulmates More Than Sharing a Soul: Chapter 13

Ao3 Link

Once out of Danny’s body, Phantom found himself hyperventilating and his vision fading to black around the edges. This was it; the moment of truth. He was about to find out what Danny thought of him now that he’d seen his true colours.

“W-What just happened?” The sound of Tuckers voice got Phantom to turn and face him, which the ghost immediately regretted. Standing in front of Phantom with clenched fists and a heaving chest was Danny. There was so much pain and anger in his eyes, Phantom couldn’t help but immediately burst into tears.

“Danny, I –”

“Get out! I don’t want to see you!” Danny cut in with a furious growl. Phantom’s eyes widened with fear. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could let out was a pathetic whimper before turning and flying away as fast as he could.

As he frantically flew over the town, he felt pure dread fill his entire being. His absolute worst fear had been founded. Danny hated him the second he knew the truth, and now he’s lost the most important person in his life. Not only that, but he’s lost everyone else that’s important to him too. After all, it wouldn’t make sense for anyone to pick him over Danny. They’d only ever been there for him because they were under the impression that he was the friend they knew and loved, not some stranger who didn’t even have a clue who he really was.

Not being able to think clearly, Phantom flew straight back to Danny’s room and collapsed onto Danny’s bed, curling in on himself as he sobbed into the pillow that so painfully smelled of Danny. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but he had no idea where he was meant to go and it was the only place he felt safe. He figured as long as he left before Danny got back, there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“Danny? Are you back?”

At the sound of Jazz’s voice, Phantom choked on a sob. He somehow needed her and couldn’t handle the idea of talking to her. Immediately, Jazz burst into the room and rushed to him, apparently hearing him through the wall. She sat next to him and began giving frantic, yet still soothing strokes up and down his back.

“Danny! Are you hurt? What happened?” She asked in a panicked tone. At the sound of the name she called him by, he let out a small moan of distress and curled further into himself.

We haven’t told her yet…She still thinks I’m him.

“I- I’m not…” He tried to say through his sobbing, but the pain and fear attached to what he was trying to say made it all that much harder to let out.

“It’s okay. You can tell me anything, little brother.” She encouraged in a gentle voice full of protective feelings and love that he didn’t deserve. Finally, he found the strength to push himself up and back away from her touch.

“That’s just it! I’m not your little brother!” He exclaimed, bringing his arms close to his body and digging his nails into his biceps. It was all he could do to stop the frost that was building around him from spreading any further and hurting Jazz. He wanted to look up to see her reaction, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“Don’t say that –”

“But it’s true! I was never actually Danny! I’m just some pathetic ghost that latched itself onto him, leeching off his memories and his friendships! Now you know the truth, you’ll want me gone too!” He cried out, lifting his hands to his face to clench his hairline.

“Phantom…” She said softly, before her hands wrapped around his to pull them away from his face.

“Please look at me. I… I already knew that you weren’t Danny.” That made him look at her.

“What? But then why did you call me that earlier?” He questioned with eyes wide with shock.

“It was a reflex, sorry. Having thought of you as Danny for four years, it will be hard to get used to the truth, even though I’ve had a couple of days to wrap my head around it. The point is that I know you’re not Danny, but I also know that nothing else you said was true.” She explained with a serious, yet empathetic expression. He opened his mouth to protest but was cut off when she raised her hand to gesture that she wasn’t done.

“You talk about yourself like some sort of malicious parasite, but that isn’t true at all. You’re a hero and the last thing I’d call you was pathetic!” She reassured. Phantom shook his head and looked away.

“You can’t know that. I have no idea what type of person I was before Danny, so who’s to say that fusing with him wasn’t intentional?” Phantom argued. The room was silent, and Phantom was afraid that what he’d said had convinced her.

“When that alternate future version of you fused with Vlad’s ghost, did he immediately go evil?” She asked.

Fuck, she thinks I’m going to go evil!

“I- I think so. I’m not sure.” He answered, shaking from how fast his core was pulsing with panic. He risked a look at her, only to become shocked to find her smiling.

“Great. So it stands to reason that when somebody fuses with an evil ghost, they are influenced to take on those evil traits. When Danny fused with you, he didn’t become evil, he became a hero. What do you think that says about who you were?” She explained with a confident tone that she reserved for when she was pretty sure she just won an argument. To Phantom’s confusion, it may have been warranted. He couldn’t find a way to argue with what she said. The calm only lasted a moment before he remembered the last time he spoke to Danny.

“Well, just because I didn’t go in a shit person, doesn’t mean I’m not a shit person now. You don’t know what I’ve done since separating from Danny.” He redirected. Her brow quirked in confusion.

“It can’t be that bad.”

“The second Danny found out, he never wanted to see me again.” Jazz blanched at his statement, visibly taken aback by it.

“What? That can’t be right. He wouldn’t –”

“But he did! He was everything to me and now that he hates me I’ve got nothing!” Phantom cried out, frost flashing out of him and spreading around the room, causing Jazz to flinch and jump up from the bed in shock.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” He apologised quickly, nearly reaching for her before thinking better of it. Jazz looked around the room at the ice damage, breath slowing down.

“It’s okay Phantom, you just surprised me. I’m not hurt. Has this been happening a lot?” She eventually said. Phantom groaned as he dragged his hands down his face.

“Yes. I can’t control my powers properly, especially my ice core. Danny has been helping me, but… without him I don’t think I’ll be safe around people anymore.” He admitted. The only place safe for him would probably be the Far Frozen. Frostbyte would surely take him in, even if he’s only half of “The Great One”. Jazz sighed, before sitting on the bed again.

“Phantom, I’m one hundred percent certain that if you just talk it out with Danny, you’ll find that he doesn’t hate you. That being said… spending some time away from him might be a good thing.” Phantom’s eyes snapped back to her, scared by what she’d said.

Is she telling me to leave?

Something about his expression must have told Jazz to realise what he was thinking, as her eyes widened and she suddenly raised her hands into a gesture that read “I mean no harm”.

“I’m not telling you to leave! I’m just saying that if you do leave, it may be good for you. It’s clear that you’re extremely dependant on Danny, so spending time away from him could help you develop as an individual and self-regulate.” She clarified. Phantom felt his shoulders drop, not realising that he had hunched them in the first place as he thought about what she said. Those sounded like things he wanted, but the idea of being separated from Danny for a long time gave him an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.

“In any case, you should wait until you talk to Danny before deciding anything. If you’re wrong about how he feels it will feel awful to leave with such a painful misunderstanding lingering between you. If you’re right, you’ll regret leaving without a proper chance to apologise and reconcile.” Jazz added on, bringing his attention back to her. The smile she gave him was warm and understanding, which he found deeply relieving.

“Thanks Jazz. For the advice… and for still caring about me even though I’m not your brother.” Phantom thanked sincerely, hoping his tone conveyed how deeply he meant those words. For a moment, Jazz’s eyes watered, before she suddenly lunged at him and pulled him into a hug.

“Listen closely Phantom, because if you don’t, I’m going to have to repeat it until it gets into that ectoplasmic skull of yours. Just because you aren’t Danny does not mean you aren’t my brother! You have been a part of my family for the past four years and that doesn’t end just because we aren’t blood related, you hear?!” She declared, voice shaking with emotion. Phantom couldn’t help but cry as he wrapped his arms around her back and clung desperately to his big sister.

~

“Dude, are you okay?” Tucker’s words cut through the tense silence. Danny turned to him and took in the concerned expressions of his two best friends. He groaned as he turned back away, too emotional to make eye contact with either of them.

“Not really.” He admitted lowly. So many emotions were bubbling inside him at that moment. Anger, betrayal, embarrassment, but mostly confusion. He wasn’t even sure confusion was an emotion, but he sure was feeling it.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Sam asked cautiously.

“Yeah, what the hell happened back there?” Tucker chimed in, voice raising in confusion. Normally, he would have loved to fill his friends in on what happened, but to do that he would have had to have processed what happened, and he did not want to do that any time soon.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Danny growled bluntly, hoping his anger would mask his fear.

“But –”

“Drop it, Tucker. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready.” Sam cut in. She offered Danny a supportive smile, which he tried to reflect back weakly.

“Fine, topic dropped. What do we want to do now, if we’re avoiding dealing with our problems?” Tucker relented. Danny was almost stunned for a moment. If he had told his fourteen-year-old self that Sam would be the one enabling him not to process his feelings and Tucker would be the vaguely more responsible one, he would have gotten a laugh and a “good one, Amorpho” from him, before immediately getting attacked. The thought made him chuckle lowly, before thinking of how to answer his friend’s question.

With everything he was feeling, he wanted nothing more but to distract himself from what had just transpired between him and Phantom. He was even willing to do something he had been avoiding doing ever since he became a hero.

“Is it too soon to go to Mikey’s party? I really just need to get drunk right now.” Danny asked, finally turning to face his friends. Tucker snorted out a short laugh.

“It won’t start for another couple of hours, and it won’t be cool to show up for another few.” He answered matter-o-factly. Danny groaned. He should have realised. Years of not being able to go to parties really made him a complete novice at them. Seeing his disappointment, Sam stepped closer to Danny with an encouraging smile.

“If you wanted something to do while we wait for the party, we could have drinks at my house and play video games.” She suggested.

“Pre-drinking before a house party? Wow, we are finally acting like real teenagers!” Tucker cheered enthusiastically. Danny put on a grin, hoping it conveyed his gratefulness to both his friends, while concealing the feelings he desperately wanted to ignore.

After sneaking into Sam’s parents’ liquor cabinet and several rounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike III that got progressively worse the more the trio drank, Tucker finally announced that it was fashionably late enough to show up at the party.

Sneaking more booze into their bags, the three of them took off on foot towards Mikey’s house, which was luckily only a short distance from Sam’s estate. Being in the same part of the neighbourhood, Danny really shouldn’t have been surprised by how nice Mikey’s house was. Not as intense as Sam’s “old money” mansion, but still quite fancy.

“Wow, drunk Danny sure is interested in architecture.” Tucker commented teasingly.

“Oh shit, was I talking out loud?” Danny asked, immediately being answered by two grinning nods.

Before they could knock on the front door, it swung open to reveal a red-faced Mikey with a wide, excited smile.

“Danny! You came!” He exclaimed far louder than necessary. Tucker cleared his throat.

“We’re here too, y’know.” He grumbled, making Danny and Sam giggle. Mikey took a big step back and gestured for them to enter.

“Come on in! If you brought drinks, you’re best to put them in the fridge now if they need it. We’re running out of room fast!” He advised, before wandering off at the sound of someone shouting his name from the other room.

Standing in the doorway, Danny felt his heart racing. Here he was, at a real-life high school party that he was invited to. He was drunk and without a care in the world, with no responsibilities or ghosts to worry about –

Suddenly, the thought of ghost brought a vision of beautiful green eyes to his mind. He shook the thought out of his head, before pacing further into the house to find something to distract him.

“Hey! It’s Fenton!” Turning to face the sound of the voice, he saw Kwan and a group of footballers gathering around a ping pong table. The rosy tint in Kwan’s cheeks and the delighted smile brought a warm feeling in Danny’s stomach. Before the jock could even gesture for him to come over, Danny found himself gravitating in his direction.

“You up for some beer pong? You can be on my team!” Kwan offered. Danny chuckled.

“Sure, but I’m warning you that I am already pretty drunk, so my aim is probably shit.” He warned, winning a light laugh from the group of jocks.

“All good, bro! That just means an even playing field!” A footballer he couldn’t remember the name of called out, words slurring together slightly.

Danny turned to ask Sam and Tucker if they wanted to play, to find that they had only just caught up to him.

“Do you guys want to play?” He asked. Sam rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, no thank you. I hate beer, and they probably don’t have a vegan friendly one, either.” She replied. Danny did a double take.

“Wait, beer can be not vegan? How?” He asked, very confused. Before she could answer, Danny felt himself being pushed toward the ping pong table by Tucker.

“Come on dude. You know she won’t stop once she gets started.” With a shrug, Danny returned his focus to the group of footballers.

“Alright, let’s do this! Now… how do you play?”

Danny wasn’t sure how, but he managed to be insanely good at beer pong, quickly annihilating Tucker and the other team and winning an uproar in cheers from his own team.

Learning how to aim while losing blood must have been good training for this very moment.

Busy chuckling at his own thoughts, Danny was caught off guard when he was suddenly swept into a bear hug by Kwan.

“That was legendary, bro! Seriously, is there nothing I can say to convince you to join the football team?” The boy gushed, ruffling a hand through Danny’s hair and messing it up even further.

“Yeah, especially considering sign ups are well and truly over and this is our final year?” Danny replied, not sure whether to return the hug or not. The contact certainly felt nice, but there was something this was just… off about it. Maybe it was the fact that Kwan seemed to be running hot too, so there was no cooling relief like when he was holding Phanto –

No. He wasn’t letting himself think about him. It hurt too much.

“Oh, right. My bad.” Kwan laughed, pulling away from Danny. He had to admit that the jock was quite handsome, and the glistening of his sweat was weirdly mesmerising.

“Wow, dude. You sure are hot.”

“WHAT?” Danny exclaimed, not sure if his line of thinking had made him hallucinate hearing that or if it had actually happened. Kwan laughed again.

“I meant your temperature, bro. Are you coming down with something?” At that question, Tucker jumped into the conversation, wrapping an arm around his best friend.

“Nah, he’s fine. He’s just running warm because of his growth spurt, that’s all.” Tucker explained, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“That checks out. You did seem to fit four years of growing into like, three days. Why don’t you have one of my rum and cokes to cool down? They’re in the fridge door!” Kwan offered, before waving and wondering back to the footballers.

“Danny, are you alright? You really are burning up…” Tucker commented, voice laced with concerned. Danny sighed before slinking out from under Tucker’s arm and stomping towards the kitchen.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling, I just want to drink until I can’t feel my fingers, okay?” If he couldn’t feel his fingers, maybe he wouldn’t remember how Phantom felt underneath them. Maybe he wouldn’t want to run them through his ghostly hair and relish in how soft it was.

“Whoa, take it easy, okay buddy? I don’t want you getting hurt.” Tucker advised; voice laced with concern. While Danny appreciated that Tucker cared, he was in no mood to be lectured, so he ignored the warning and continued his path towards the fridge and grabbed one of Kwan’s cans. When he was halfway through downing it, revelling in the cooling sensation, he heard a sigh come from his friend.

“I’m going to go find Sam. I think I need her help with this.” He admitted reluctantly. Danny huffed with indignation.

“Fine, go get her. Neither of you will be able to stop me from having fun tonight.” He scoffed. Hearing a surprising chuckle from a new voice, Danny pivoted suddenly toward the source of the sound to see Spike leaning in the doorway.

“Damn, Danny. I am loving your new look on you. Have you ever thought about eye liner? I think it would look awesome on you.” Spike commented, eyes tracing up and down Danny. For a moment, the blue-eyed boy shivered under the gaze, before offering a non-committal shrug.

“Come with me, I’m going to put some on you now.” With that, the punk boy had grabbed Danny’s free arm and tugged him towards what looked like an entertainment room, before pushing Danny onto a fairly large couch and stepping out of view. Quickly he returned with a bag and was pulling out an eyeliner pencil. Any concerns about getting pink eye from sharing the pencil immediately evaporated the second Spike perched himself on Danny’s lap. The pressure gave him an instant flashback to the times Phantom was in his lap.

“Sorry, this is just the easiest way to do this.” Spike apologised, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”  Danny was pleased with the laugh that quip won from the punk boy. Quickly, Spike stilled again and continued drawing along Danny’s lash line.

“With lines like that, it’s no wonder Punny Phantom chose you.” Danny couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of Phantom. Spike leaned back to look at his work, only to frown as he noticed something.

“Uh oh, did something happen between the two of you?” At the punk’s concerned question, Danny groaned and realised that he must have been grimacing.

“Sort of? I don’t want to talk about it.” He mumbled, looking down and away from the boy in his lap. Suddenly, a hand pressed lightly into his cheek and turned his face back up to Spike.

“Hey…if you ever want to talk, or not talk… I’m here.” The punk boy offered, eyes lilting on the words “not talk”.

As Spike leaned closer in towards Danny’s face, it occurred to Danny that the guy might be into him. He was going slow, seeming to give Danny an opportunity to stop him. Feeling his heart rate increase, he wasn’t sure if he wanted him to stop or not. The guy was pretty cute and he seemed like a decent enough person having calmed down a lot from their freshman year, but there was something missing.

Before Danny had to make a decision, the door to the room slammed open, causing both boys to jolt in shock. Peering around Spike, Danny saw a very drunk Sam standing in the threshold, hand still on the door with an angry expression on her face.

“I have to go.” Spike said abruptly, scrambling off of Danny’s lap and pushing past Sam, revealing that she had Tucker and Starr behind her.

“What were you doing in here?” Sam asked with a scowl. Danny gulped nervously, not sure what he did wrong.

“Spike was putting eye liner on me. Do you like it?” He replied, hoping his nervous smile would be enough to smooth out her agitated mood. Sam narrowed her eyes, as she scrutinised his appearance, before a strong blush spread across her cheeks.

“Y-Yes.” She mumbled. For a few moments an awkward silence hung in the air, as Danny waited for anyone to say anything. Eventually, Starr groaned before pushing Sam toward Danny.

“For crying out loud, I thought you were going to confess, not stare awkwardly at him.” The blonde complained. Sam hissed lowly, her blush getting ten times worse as she staggered toward him. Danny was thrown off by what Starr had said.

“Confess? Do you mean like, to murder, or…?” He asked cautiously, trailing off when Sam stopped right in front of him. Either way, he was nervous for whatever she was going to say. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, before scrunching her face up and turning back towards Starr and Tucker.

“I can’t do this! It’s too hard!” She complained, earning an eye roll from them both. Seeing how distressed she was, Danny reached forward and took Sam’s hand gently, the touch getting her to whip back around to face him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Sam. You’re one of my best friends; you can tell me anything and I’ll still want to be your friend.” He tried to reassure. Unfortunately it seemed to fail, as she let out a frustrated groan.

“That’s the problem! I’ve always just been a friend, but I don’t want to be!” She exclaimed almost angrily. Danny couldn’t helped but flinch, releasing her hand as he leaned away from her.

“Y-You don’t want to be friends with me anymore?” He asked, feeling tears begin to well in his eyes. The groan from every person in the room was Danny’s only warning, before Sam suddenly dropped herself onto his lap and pull herself in to his body until their lips met in an intense connection. It was at this point it clicked for Danny that Sam had romantic feelings for him.

As she gripped tightly into his shoulders with one hand and raked through his hair with the other, he took the moment to contemplate how the situation made him feel. He knew he should feel amazing; Sam was beautiful and someone he was very close with, not to mention the crush he’d had on her for the past four years. Theoretically, this was everything he should want and he should be satisfied.

The only problem? He couldn’t feel any of that. He tried kissing her back. He tried smoothing his hands over her waist. He even tried grinding into her. Nothing. Frustrated, he pulled away from her and groaned as he slapped himself in the face and leaned back into the couch.

“Ugh! What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just do this?” He mumbled, tears welling in his eyes. Why couldn’t his body react like it had with Phantom? Or even how he’d felt a minute ago with Spike in this same position. A scoff brought his attention back to the girl in front of him.

“I can’t be that bad at kissing.” Sam grumbled, crossing her arms defensively.

“Sam, I don’t think you did anything wrong. He’s just gay.” Starr interjected before Danny could open his mouth.

“What? No, I’m bi. I’ve had feelings for girls before, I swear! I even had a crush on Sam for like, four years! I don’t know why I’m ruining this!” Danny cried out. The irritated look in Sam’s eyes melted into one of sympathy as she slid off of Danny’s lap to sit next to him.

“It’s okay Danny. Sexual orientation can change, and crushes fade. I’m just sad I missed my chance.” She reassured, taking his hand comfortingly.

“But how did it change so fast? I swear a week ago Tucker caught me with a boner when you were picking up litter in a mini skirt.” Danny argued, before breaking eye contact with Sam to look at Tucker, pleading with his face for his friend to back him up. Seeing the thoughtful expression on his face made Danny’s stomach sink.

“Danny… I think those might have been Phantom’s feelings.” At the sound of Tucker mentioning the name, it all made sense. He’d always assumed he only started getting interested in girls after the accident because he’d only just reached that part of puberty, but what if it was because Phantom was the one who was attracted to girls? It would certainly explain why he hadn’t felt anything for any girls since they split. A weight lifted off of Danny, from both understanding himself better, and for the knowledge that Phantom was just as much in control when they were fused as he was. He let out a relieved laugh.

“So I wasn’t controlling him this whole time! He still had free will!” He exclaimed happily. He couldn’t wait to tell the ghost the good news.

“Uh… now that we can mention him without you losing it, can you please explain what the fuck happened back at the library?” Tucker enquired, making his way deeper into the room and sitting on a recliner. Danny found himself off guard, suddenly remembering that he was mad at Phantom.

“Ugh, don’t even get me started! He full on let me believe I was this perverted asshole that didn’t deserve a chance with him, but no! Turns out he was only acting weird because he did have feelings for me and was too much of a coward to tell me the truth! If he had just told me he was awake when I kissed him in my sleep then I wouldn’t have spent this entire time agonising over what a bad person I was!” Danny complained. As he spoke, it became very clear to him that the entire time he’d spent with Phantom as separate people, he’d been repressing his own feelings for the ghost to the point of almost being unaware of them. Seeing gears turn in Sam’s mind, he waited for her to speak.

“So, the problem was that he didn’t make it clear how he felt, which made you feel like he couldn’t love you?” Sam questioned, to which Danny nodded emphatically in response.

“Right… and how is that any different to what you are doing now?” She continued, stopping Danny dead in his tracks.

“W-Wait, what?”

“Come on dude, you had a look inside his mind and the first thing you did was tell him to fuck off, essentially. As if that didn’t tell him you aren’t interested. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you never wanted to see him again at all!” Tucker explained, rolling his eyes. Danny felt his own eyes widen with realisation and despair.

“Shit! I only meant I need space to cool down while I was mad at him! He probably thinks that I hate him! What if he runs away to the Ghost Zone? I have to go home and tell him the truth!” Danny exclaimed in a panic, before jolting to his feet and dashed out of the room.

“What the fuck was that all about?” was the last thing he heard from the room before he darted his way through the house and back onto the street.

Thanks to his increased speed and endurance, the sprint home was in record time, and luckily he had managed to sober up in that time. He wanted to talk to Phantom with as clear a mind as he could, so that he could tell Phantom how he felt without there being any more confusion between them. As silently as he could, he opened the front door. Luckily, he could hear his parents tinkering away frantically in the lab, so he didn’t have to worry about them slowing him down. Unable to slow his heart rate down as he climbed up the stairs, he focused on slowing his breathing and on what he was going to say.

“Don’t worry Phantom! I don’t think you’re a pervert! I’d probably watch you shower, if given the opportunity.” No, no, no… that doesn’t sound right. Just keep it simple and say you don’t hate him!

Figuring that was a good place to start, he took one last deep breath before opening the door to his bedroom.

To find it empty.

Disappointed, Danny walked into the room and looked around. The only sign that anyone had been in here since they’d left earlier today was that the computer was now on. He paced over to the screen to see a folder open with a single video file in it labelled “Goodbye Danny”. Nervously, he tapped on the file and the video began playing. On screen, Phantom was stepping away from the screen and steadying his breath before looking straight into the camera. It broke Danny's heart to be able to tell that he'd been crying.

“Hey Danny. By the time you’ll be watching this, I’ll have already gone into the Ghost Zone. I know Jazz said I should wait to talk to you before I go, but I think seeing you would hurt too much. When you told me to leave, I didn’t know who I would be without you. I… I need to be someone on my own, but I can’t do that if I stay with you. When I feel like I’m ready, I’ll come back to see you. But I’m not sure how long that will take, or if I’ll still feel the same way about you. I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m sorry I let you down. I hope you find someone who deserves you. Goodbye Danny.”

With that, the video ended on Phantom leaning forward to stop recording, and Danny found himself as frozen as the frame on screen.

He was too late; Phantom had left him.

[freshwater--mermaid]

Ersatz Ch 21: Earthbound

Both Danny and Vlad stood in the small guest bedroom of the Fenton household, the sounds of everyone else having breakfast coming in through the closed door.

Danny raised an eyebrow at the blank-faced man before him, the seconds dragging on in continued silence.

Finally, Vlad blinked, his expression turning into one of disapproval.

"Daniel, I will not be showing up any time you wish just to distract your parents so that you can go into the Ghost Zone alone."

"I didn't say you had to come over all the time! Just visit occasionally, like you do now." Danny argued. "How else am I ever going to discover everything in there? I don't get a lot of opportunities to be in the lab for hours without my parents noticing."

"First, I don't think you fully appreciate just how large the Ghost Zone actually is." Vlad said. "Second, have you forgotten how dangerous I said it was to venture around in there while alone?"

"Oh please, there wasn't a single ghost in sight." Danny replied. "Even that big castle I got to was completely empty."

Vlad sighed. "You're very lucky that whatever creature guarded that territory was not around."

Danny threw his hands into the air in frustration.

"Well how else am I supposed to learn more about the Ghost Zone if I can't explore it?"

Vlad smiled, only adding to Danny's annoyance.

"Now I never said that."

The man's smile grew into a smirk, giving Danny the all-too-familiar feeling that he was being laughed at.

"Don't misunderstand me, Daniel." Vlad continued, ignoring the teen's frown. "I'm very impressed with your initiative. Deciding to map out the Ghost Zone is a smart idea. Doing it alone is the part that I'm in disagreement with."

Vlad walked around Danny, heading toward the door as he spoke.

"And besides, I myself have been charting the ghost zone for years now."

"You what?" Danny couldn't help but raise his voice in surprise.

"But I will be more than happy to go with you when the next opportunity arises." Vlad said, opening the door. "After all, I haven't explored this particular area yet."

With that, the man walked out of the room, leaving Danny with a mix of curiosity and frustration, which had become the norm after their conversations.

Sighing to himself, Danny walked out of the room as well, entering the living room. Vlad had joined with the group in the kitchen, choosing to stand at the counter rather than try to find a place at the over-crowded table. He politely refused Maddie's offer of food.

Danny chose an empty seat crammed between Sam and Jazz. The former was listening to Jack and Tucker discuss one of Jack's inventions, and the latter was trying to ignore everyone as she read from a small book.

"Hi, sweetheart." Maddie greeted her son, retrieving a plate of bacon and eggs. "I saved some breakfast for you. Now eat up quick; you kids will need to leave soon."

Danny glanced down at the plate as it was set before him, pushing it away slightly.

"Not hungry, Mom." he said.

Maddie frowned down at him, but was overtaken by Tucker and Jack, who halted conversation long enough to lunge at Danny's plate, devouring its contents.

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

School was mostly a blur, which was nothing new. Danny passed his classes in silent thought, interrupted only twice. Once when Dash 'tripped' while exiting a classroom, causing him to grab Danny's head and slam it hard onto his desk. The second break in Danny's mental wandering came in the form of a text from Vlad during Study Hall.

It read simply: Meet me in your parents' workshop this evening.

Danny knew it could only mean one thing; a trip into the Ghost Zone.

It was honestly exciting, the thought of traversing about with someone who had actual knowledge and experience of the otherworldly realm. Danny spent the remainder of his final class wondering what locations might be nearby that he hadn't discovered yet. It felt so much like something out of one of his favorite sci fi space adventure movies. He wished Tucker had left behind his recording equipment so Danny could film it all.

'Maybe he'll be able to run home and get his things before too much time passes.' he thought, the bell sounding loudly overhead.

Gathering his things, Danny was up and out the door in moments, making it outside to wait on his friends before the first sprinting students burst out the front doors.

After several minutes of waiting impatiently, Tucker and Sam finally appeared amid the crowd of faces. He waved at them, gaining their attention, and they wore relieved expressions as they walked toward him.

"Where were you?" Sam asked.

"Waiting out here." Danny answered, as though it were the most obvious thing.

"You didn't stop by our lockers." Sam continued. "We thought something might have happened."

"Like what?" Danny laughed, leading the way down the sidewalk.

"Hey man, with all the weirdness seeking you out lately, you can't really blame us." Tucker reasoned.

Danny mentally conceded to their point, choosing to change the subject with a question.

"Hey Tuck, d'you think you could bring over your camera and things to my place?"

"Why?" Tucker asked.

"Me and Mr Masters are going through the portal again and I figured you'd want-"

"Woah wait, what?" Sam interrupted. "Danny, I don't think that's a good idea."

Danny sighed audibly, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Sam, come on, you can't keep assuming he's bad news."

"I just don't think it's smart to go wandering the Ghost Zone with that guy."

"As apposed to wandering it by myself. Yeah, much safer."

Sam frowned heavily at him, crossing her arms defensively.

"Well either way," she said, "We already made plans for this afternoon, remember?"

Danny's expression blanked out, his mind casting about for the answer, and coming up dry.

Now it was Sam's turn to sigh harshly. "Our Halloween project? The little fruit jack o' lanterns? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Danny's eyes widened "Oh! I…forgot."

The three shared an awkward silence as they continued walking, the turn toward Sam's street approaching. Finally, as they reached the end of the block, Sam spoke up.

"Just head home, Danny." she said. "Me and Tucker have this. It's just carving up fruit."

Danny gave her a smile before running quickly across the crosswalk before its light changed, waving his goodbye over his shoulder.

"Be careful!" Sam called after him.

She shared a quick glance with Tucker before the two turned and continued down their own path.

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Danny walked down to the lab, bracing himself to once again see the ghost woman laid out on the table, or something equally unsettling. Instead, he saw only Vlad, reading through notes at his mother's desk.

"Where's my mom and dad?" Danny asked as he stepped fully into the room. "I thought they were taking a break from ghost hunting nights to work on upgrading their weapons?"

"They are." Vlad answered, not looking up. "And it's very interesting what information they've gathered just from the few encounters they've had recently. And of course, their study of subject o-one has been a great benefit."

"O-what?" Danny asked.

"O-one. The name they've given to their one and only captive ghost." Vlad elaborated, looking up at the teen. "I was told that they have you to thank for her capture."

Danny wasn't sure how to react to that statement, and so settled for looking down at his mother's notes and blueprints.

"Why are you going through her research?"

"To get a better idea of how these new weapons they're creating will operate. You should do the same whenever you can."

Vlad set the notebook down upon the table, once again looking at Danny.

"I do think you're squandering a great opportunity, Daniel. As I've said before, having access to this lab and all of its contents, as well as your parents' knowledge, is something that could only benefit you."

Danny walked away from the man, toward the closed portal.

"As much as I love standing around getting lectured, I think we should get moving before my parents come back from wherever you sent them."

"No need to worry about that." Vlad smiled, pulling back a sleeve to glance down at his watch. "By my estimation, we should have a little less than fourteen hours before your parents are awake enough to notice our absence."

"Awake enough?"

"A simple sedative, as before. Nothing to fret over."

Danny wanted to be mad about Vlad once again drugging his parents, but found that it wasn't that much of a bother. It wasn't as if the extra sleep would hurt them, after all.

With that affirming thought, Danny pushed the activation button, watching the portal doors slide open. The white room became awash in a green glow, Danny and Vlad casting pale shadows as they stood before the portal.

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Sam removed the basket of various fruits from a kitchen cabinet, setting it on the counter before turning to Tucker.

"Alright, which one do you want to carve up first?" she asked.

"The orange." he replied. "I could use a snack."

"You can't peel it, Tuck." Sam replied.

"I can scoop its insides out and eat it that way." the boy smiled at his own logic.

Sam shrugged, opening a drawer filled with knives of different sizes.

"Okay," she continued. "Pick your weapon."

Tucker deliberated momentarily, before grinning and pulling out the largest knife in the drawer.

"You can't carve an orange with that." Sam smiled, taking the knife and giving him one that was notably smaller.

"Not with that attitude. Where's your Halloween spirit?" Tucker joked, looking over his orange and thinking of where to start.

Sam set her own knife on the countertop, closing the drawer and selecting a tiny watermelon from the basket. It took her longer than Tucker to cut open the top. When she finally had it removed, she took a spoon and began scooping out the pale red insides, dropping them onto a plate.

"You gonna eat that?" Tucker spoke through a mouthful of orange mush, gesturing at the plate.

"Help yourself." Sam rolled her eyes with a smile.

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

"So there's really nothing worth it behind any of these doors?" Danny said, disappointment clear in his voice as he looked around at them all.

"I assure you, my boy, nothing of any real interest lies beyond any of these doors." Vlad assured, gesturing for Danny to follow him as they continued away from the Fenton Works island.

"They are home to ghosts too weak to conjure anything more than a room or two from faded memories. In fact, anything that you take from these rooms would simply dissolve into pure ectoplasm in minutes."

Any further questions Danny had were halted as Vlad pointed ahead.

"I believe that's the castle you visited before?"

"That's the one." Danny confirmed. "Don't get excited, though. It's a lot farther away than it looks."

"Then we'd better pick up the pace." Vlad said, rocketing away in almost the blink of an eye.

Danny started in surprise before taking off at full speed. He caught up to Vlad in seconds, the elder of the two remaining several feet ahead.

After continuing on this way for a while, Danny cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

"Hey, slow down!"

Vlad instantly halted flight, and Danny dove to the side. His leg still clipped Vlad's side, and he was sent spinning. Vlad quickly grabbed him by the arm, and Danny held his eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to pass. He grimaced at the pain in his leg and arm.

"I said slow down, not stop." he griped. "And how can you go that fast for so long, anyway?"

"It all comes from practice, Daniel." Vlad answered, keeping his grip on the boy and continuing forward at a slower rate.

Danny soon stopped seeing stars, and pulled his arm away. He was glad to see that they were almost at their destination.

"So how many years did it take to get as fast as you are?" he asked.

"Not too many." Vlad answered over his shoulder. "About ten, I'd say."

Danny groaned, his shoulder slumping down.

"Man, it's gonna take forever before I can do anything as good as you can!"

"You'll soon find that time holds little weight." Vlad said. "The years begin to feel like weeks."

"Wow, really?" Danny asked. "So…it doesn't feel like that long ago since you died?"

"At times it feels like only yesterday."

Vlad then held up a hand, bringing both the flight and the conversation to an end. They were still many yards away from the castle walls. Danny looked at it for a moment before glancing toward Vlad, surprised by the intense look on the man's face.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Vlad didn't answer, but instead became tense, looking around with a hard expression before his gaze fell on Danny.

"Do not go near this area again."

With those short words, he turned left and began flying away. Danny looked back at the castle before catching up with the elder ghost.

"So, let me guess," he began, keeping abreast with Vlad thanks to the slow pace. "You're not going to tell me what spooked you about that place, you're just gonna expect me to follow your every word."

"I told you that I have spent years charting every location in this realm, remember?"

"Yeah, what does that have to do with anything?"

"I haven't told you this yet, but your little island occupies a far corner of the Ghost Zone." Vlad said, searching the landscape as he spoke. "That is why you see so little activity where you are, and why everything is so far away."

Danny thought for a moment, taking in the information.

"So, in terms of ghost realty, I got placed in the countryside of the Ghost Zone? And there are, like, ghost cities packed with wall to wall ghosts and their homes?"

"Yes," Vlad answered. "I'm not sure what causes certain territories to manifest where they do. It seems to be entirely random, and in your case bad luck."

"Bad luck?" Danny questioned. "Yeah, I guess. Living around other ghosts would be cooler than being in the middle of nowhere."

"Actually, that works to your advantage." Vlad countered. "Being so isolated means that the more intelligent spirits are less likely to find your home. If you lived among them, you would likely be fighting them from your territory often. What I meant by bad luck is the fact that you live so near to that fortress."

"The castle? I wouldn't exactly call it near."

Vlad frowned at the teen. "I meant my earlier words, Daniel. Do not go to that place anymore."

"Then tell me what's so bad about it!" Danny exclaimed, throwing his hands out in frustration.

"It belongs to a very powerful and very malevolent creature." Vlad replied. "Let's be thankful that you didn't wake it when you first stumbled around inside its lair."

"So its asleep?"

"In a sense, yes. Now come on, I see something ahead."

Vlad flew forward, staying in front as he led the way toward another building.

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

"Now hold it still for a few seconds." Sam instructed.

"I know how glue works."Tucker replied dryly, but with a smile. He had to admit internally that this was turning out to be more fun than he had originally thought when he'd suggested the idea.

Sam lightly hit him over the arm for his quip, causing him to lean away from her.

"Hey! Watch the glue, Sam." he said mockingly.

"How about I just glue your mouth shut and give myself some peace and quiet." Sam shot back with a grin.

"I'd like to see you try."

Sam gave him a threatening smile for his bold words, waving the glue around before using it for one of her own tiny jack o' lanterns. She hoped that she would be able to clean all the glue off of the fancy platter once Halloween was over. If her parents found out she was using it for the display, she'd be grounded. But she decided to worry about those details later.

"This is starting to look really good." she said, looking at the little pineapple and squash that were already set in place. "It really was a great idea, Tuck."

"I'm a genius, I know." Tucker smiled, before certain thoughts has his bright expression falling.

"You think Danny's okay?" he asked after a brief silence.

Sam's face also dimmed, her eyes remaining on the platter.

"Yeah, he'll be okay." she said.

Another silence followed, both friends' concern mixing in the air between them. Finally, Sam broke through it with a smile, looking at Tucker.

"Either way, he's missing out on a great time. This is a lot of fun."

Tucker returned her smile, gluing the final piece onto the display. They both gazed at it proudly.

"Hey, wanna make some popcorn and watch that new horror flick?" the boy asked.

"Night of the Shewolf? You've seen it like ten times already." Sam replied.

"Yeah, but werewolf ladies, Sam." Tucker argued, his voice becoming dreamy.

"You've got some messed up taste, Tuck." Sam said, shaking her head.

"So is that a yes?"

"It's a yes. I'll start the popcorn."

~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

The building before them was tall and square, with a flat roof and little windows set in perfect rows all around. It reminded Danny of the old abandoned buildings in downtown.

"Be careful." Vlad cautioned in a quiet voice, slowly approaching the double doors at the front of the floating building.

"Why are we going in?" Danny asked. "I thought you wanted me to avoid these places."

"Creating an accurate map of this area requires knowing what kind of spirit lives in each territory. Now, keep behind me." Vlad answered.

Reaching a hand out, he slowly pushed open one of the doors, its hinges screeching out loudly, as though they hadn't been disturbed in decades. Danny peered over Vlad's shoulder as the man gazed cautiously around inside, both of them trying to see through the thick darkness.

A scraping noise caused Danny to jump, and Vlad fired a single shot of ectoplasm into the shadows. The pink glow cast a pale light from where it stuck to a far wall, and the two were able to distinguish the figures of old wooden boxes and crates. They sat stacked in neat rows, as if they were a library. Some of them wore labels with no words printed upon them.

The sound was heard again, and this time they could see the cause. A single, small box shuffled only a few centimeters out from behind a distant row, as though it were trying to peer around the corner at them.

Vlad held up his hand once more, liquid ectoplasm churning in his palm.

"Wait, don't!" Danny exclaimed, grabbing onto Vlad's arm. "We can't just go around blasting ghosts that haven't done anything. It's probably just some ghost of a rat or something."

"Here now, I am no mere rat!" cried a voice from within the room.

The box from before opened up, a blue glow coming from within. The glow then shot up into the air, quickly taking form. In moments the figure of a short, fat man hovered in the centre of the room, arms crossed and looking down at the pair with an indignant glare.

"I am not some filthy rodent; it is I, the great and powerful Box Ghost!" he gestured widely as he spoke. "Why have you awoken me from my slumber?"

Danny couldn't help but chuckle at the strange spirit's antics. His clothes and accent made the teen guess he was from the forties, but the way he spoke so dramatically reminded Danny of a high school kid trying to quote Shakespeare.

Vlad also seemed rather unimpressed, holding the unspent energy in his hand still and raising an eyebrow at the ghost's theatrics.

As silence dragged on, the self-proclaimed Box Ghost slowly fell out of his dramatic pose, looking down on the intruders with confusion.

"Why do you not tremble in fear at the sight of the mighty Box Ghost!" he demanded.

"Because you're anything but scary, dude." Danny said with a shrug.

The teen was honestly relieved that at least one of his distant neighbors wasn't a monstrous creature to be avoided.

"How dare you slander me!" the Box Ghost cried, rising higher into the air.

Vlad didn't wait to hear the rest of the speech that was obviously about to come. Instead, he sent out the gathered energy in his hand, sending it out in a sweeping gesture. It collided with the Box Ghost and sent him crashing into the far wall. The pink liquid stuck around his middle, pinning his arms and holding him against the wall. The short ghost struggled against his bonds, but the ectoplam held strong.

"Now that that is over with, let's move on." he said, straightening his shirt with a sigh before turning and exiting the building.

Danny watched the ghost continue to struggle and mumble curses and threats, before he turned and followed after Vlad.

"Uh, is he going to be able to get out eventually?" Danny asked as they flew onward.

"He will." Vlad answered, a self-satisfied smile curving across his face. "Eventually."

"I'm going to mark that location as an 'avoid at all costs'." the man added after a moment, annoyance painted clearly in his tone, earning a grin from Danny.

The boy began looking around, wondering what other strange locations and bizarre inhabitants they would come upon in the hours to come. Suddenly fourteen hours felt like far too little time, and Danny wished there was some way to remain in this realm for as long as he wished. He wanted to explore every corner.

[little-wawita]

The first time he remembered was the month after Bruce first adopted Dick.

The kid had been stressing him out. Dick was mad, full of defiance, every day he spent on the manor he spent them pushing his boundaries, trying to see what would make Bruce give up on him and return him to the system.

Except.

Except Dick has been... relaxing. Something like that.

He has been, not calming, exactly, he was still a child with lots of energy. But more like acclimatizing to living in the manor. To living with Bruce.

He even hugged him after dinner.

It made Bruce's chest warm up with hope. Things are not okay, Dick was still full of anger and was mourning his parents, there are hundreds of criminals in the street, Gotham still needed Batman. But things could be better, Bruce could make them better. The child in front of him is already a proof of that.

So when Bruce lied down on his bed after patrol, he knew he could go to sleep soundly knowing that he wasn't fighting for a lost cause.

---

There was someone under him.

He was holding a squirming body under him.

He had a hand digging into their black hair, holding their face down into the dirt. His face, if the muffled screams are anything to go by.

The kid, because no adult could ever be this small, was frantically trying to escape his grasp. Squirming as much as he could in Bruce's constricting hold. That's how he noticed that his other arm was wrapped around the boy's torso, the kid's arms unable to move because of it.

"Please," The kid begged, his voice was hoarse, like he had been screaming. "I just want to see my parents." And then the boy started sobbing, shoulders trembling with every cry, weakly trying to escape again.

Bruce (it couldn't be Bruce, could it?) pulled the kid's hair, moving his head sideways until he could stare at the boy in his blue, pained eyes.

And then he talked, in a voice that wasn't his but felt his in a way he didn't want it to.

"You know I can't do that, little badger."

---

When Bruce startled away, it was still night time, he was still in his room and he was still alone.

He threw up.

After clean up, Bruce couldn't go back to sleep.

He couldn't look at Dick in the eye, neither.

I think I’d be really funny, if Bruce was a reincarnated Vlad.

This is going to be based off of a prompt I saw (I will find you) where Bruce suddenly remembered his past life as Vlad.

HOWEVER, my take on that is the de-aged Ellie and Dan because the amount of ANGST and self hate that Bruce will go through thinking his past self was not only a villain, but also that sort of person?

It will eat him alive.

It will eat that man alive every time he goes to sleep and another burst of memories pass underneath his eyelids.

It burns him when he wakes up with the phantom touch of a body underneath his hands, of a boy just as young as Damian and thinner too, struggling to escape a grip of a man whose hold was too possessive, and too cruel.

It feels like acid swishing down his throat when he wakes with the taste of oily words filled with threat and something more whispered over the form of a boy. A young boy whose blue eyes blazed furiously back and yet tried to hide the quiet bursts of fear underneath.

It feels like Bruce cannot scrub the man he had been right out of him, even when his skin blisters red until it bleeds. Vladimir Masters had woken spitting and screaming, burrowed like a cold sore underneath everything that is Bruce.

Bruce hates it.

Hates the monster he had once been and still is — because despite the fact Vlad is now Bruce, living and breathing and existing here in Gotham — Vladimir Masters still exists.

He is out there right now in a little place called Amity Park, pulling weight and blood just to get what he wants.

A man who has used and abused for far too long…

Perhaps it was time to see to it, that however and whatever way that Bruce came to be, that it began with Vlad’s unfortunate circumstances back into the Ghost Zone.