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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

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What if (Construction worker/ high school sweetheart AU)

Summary: Life leads Y/N and Grayson in different directions after high school and they meet years later, rehashing the past. But life has its own plans for old lovers who just wanted one another.

Warnings: angst, fluff, death

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N - This was in my drafts for a long time, so if you guys like it and want more, let me know.

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Two hearts, one valve, pumpin' the blood, we were the flood, we were the body. Two lives, one life, stickin' it out, lettin' you down and makin' it right.

Seasons, they will change, life will make you grow, dreams will make you cry because everything is temporary, everything will slide, our love will never die.

I know that birds fly in different directions, but I hope to see you again.

Sunsets, sunrises, livin' the dream, watchin' the leaves, changin' the seasons. Some nights I think of you, relivin' the past, wishing it'd last, wishing and dreaming.

Imagine Dragons - Birds

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There are few big moments that make a person. Moments that bear the weight of a thousand suns that claim pieces of your soul. Some are love, a goodbye or a tragedy. For me, it was all three, all at the same time.

I left New Jersey six years ago soon after a tragedy claimed the lives of both my parents. I was only seventeen at the time, still a stupid teenager with a conviction everything my parents say is useless and only there as punishment. We were on our way home from my grandparents, arguing about a party I wanted to attend when a car swerved into our lane and dad had no chance of avoiding it.

I remember every detail of the crash, every single moment in slow motion, including the moment I realized I would be an orphan before darkness took me too.

After that, my life changed irrevocably. The only comfort I had was my high school sweetheart, Grayson Dolan and his big bear hugs I melted into.

We meet very few people who can shake up your world and still keep you steady. Grayson Dolan was all that and more. My heart always felt comfortable and safe in his hands. I believe we all encounter three different loves in our lives – your soulmate, the love of your life and eventually the one you settle for. Some people get to meet only one, some two, while others meet all three.

I don’t know which one of these is Grayson, after all, our story had an abrupt ending.

The funeral came and went. My grandparents moved to our house to take care of me, but I felt suffocated. Every inch of that house represented them and it haunted me. Survival guilt ruined me. The guilt was like gasoline in my guts. My insides died slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt me out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person. Staying in New Jersey would have killed me, I just knew it.

The moment I turned eighteen, I set off to a new beginning.

I begged him to come with me. He begged me to stay. Things were said and that night I had to say goodbye to the only person that anchored me.

Alas, I said goodbye to Grayson Dolan too.

So here I am, six years later in the big city with my very own company. I never self-medicated with alcohol or drugs, rather worked harder to reach my goals. More work you put in, less time you have to think about what hurts you.

And this distance hurt me. Leaving Grayson destroyed me.

I never stopped thinking about what I left behind, about what could have been. But I learned to live with my choices. I had to.

Some people are meant to leave a mark in your life, but they don’t have to stay. No one ever does. People always leave, some willingly and some are forced to, but the end result is the same – you can only ever count on yourself.

"Your meeting at 2 is pushed back. Now you have the time to meet with the construction team that's gonna stand in for Fred." Lily, my assistant informed and I nod, sipping on my tea before rushing out the door. My company deals with architecture, building and interior designing and my usual construction crew bailed in the last minute, forcing me to look for another.

"You also have to meet the new architect. It took me two weeks to find him and we will not cancel!" Lily ordered, making me giggle. “I mean it. He comes highly recommended and his work so far matches your vision so perfectly.”

"I'll do it. Just point me in the right direction." Hands raised in mock surrender, I follow her index finger to the conference room and I nearly gasp at the beautiful man waiting inside.

With my head held high and back straight, I walk into the room, ready to meet this exquisite specimen.

"Sorry for the wait." I start with an apology, immediately offering a hand to shake which he gladly accepts.

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N, the owner and acting CEO of this company." I finish the introduction, noticing the man's smile growing which only accentuates his naturally handsome features.

"Pleasure is all mine." Bowing his head, angling my hand up ever so slightly, he presses his lips to the back of it like a proper gentleman. It’s almost impossible not to swoon over the gesture or the British accent I noted immediately when he spoke.

"Although, I must say I'm disappointed you do not remember me." He feigns hurt, letting my hand go slowly, reluctantly.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, wetting my lips and take a second look at the man. “Pardon?”

His dark blonde hair is perfectly curly, long enough for them to form but not to fall to his forehead as it would make it seem unkempt. His large, deep-set blue eyes bore into mine almost as if he’s looking for something he cared for dearly but lost along the way. A spark hiding behind his heavy look reminds me of a flame I once lost myself. The color is different, but the emotion remains the same.

His lips are set in a confident smirk, aware of my hungry, shameless gaze. His lips are rosy instead of pink, small instead of plush. His cheekbones are set high and defined, just as is his sharp jawline that could cut glass like a diamond.

He's tall. Much taller than I am. The broad shoulders give enough definition to his muscles so one can easily conclude he works out, but doesn't kill himself in the gym.

He is the epitome of beauty. Perfection. I can't deny that.

"I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met." I apologize again, wanting to keep this man around. For business purposes.

"It's Troy Lahey. We met when I was just an assistant. I suppose I didn't leave a lasting impression." Quirking an eyebrow, Troy brushes the awkwardness away as he helps me take my seat like a gentleman would.

Grayson used to do that for me as well. Opening the door, taking out the chair, even carrying my bag no matter how pink or flowery it is. A rare quality in men these days. Even after all these years, I compare everyone to Grayson. It’s involuntary, almost like a compulsive need.

"I'll make sure I remember you now." I muss, steering the conversation business wise. It didn't take long for us to reach an agreement as he is an agreeable man, very open minded and open to adventure.

"Have you ever hear about Rosie's?" He stops to ask just as I stand to take my leave. I turn around with lips part, possibly some worry passing my features. No matter how hard I’ve worked on my poker face, I still can’t hide my surprise. I can’t remember the last time a man as attractive like him paid any attention to me. More likely, I can’t remember the last time I paid any attention to a man, any man.

"Please don't tell me they're closing. It's my favorite restaurant." I frown, seeing his face light up as he stands as well.

"Nothing like that. I was just wondering if I could buy you dinner this Friday. Or any day you please?" He proposes and I nearly choke on my saliva. He's handsome. He's intelligent. He's everything I searched for and everything I avoided to find.

My heart is still bleeding. My heart still needs time. Six years isn't enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

"Since we've just agreed to work together on a project, I cannot in good conscience agree to that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to." I say politely, noting his smile grow as if he took my rejection as a challenge and although I'm sure it bruised his ego, he won't just stop. He knows I like him and he seems like a man who fights for what he wants.

"I'm a determined man and I think you know that."

"Arrogant." I challenge, fueling the fire.

"Mhmm...I'd say confident." His charming accent can stop a women's heart and while I'd usually find the persistence annoying, he doesn't annoy me. If anything, he amuses me.

But I walk out the door regardless, waving over my shoulder.

Rushing halfway across town, I manage to get to my second meeting just in time. Still in a frenzy, I walk into the meeting only to find someone I never thought I'd see again.

Dropping my files, I feel my legs wobble as I stumble forward and lose footing.

Strong arms wrap around me, catching me in the nick of time and I open my eyes to find myself in a warm embrace of my first love.

"Grayson?" I breathe out his name, my hand instinctively cupping his cheek like I did all those years ago.

"It's really you." He says slowly, his eyes taking me in like I'm a mirage. His earthly hues glaze over with tears as I swallow my own.

Six years of distance between us. Six years of silence, of thinking what he must be doing and how he’s doing. Six years of picking up the phone to call him just to hear his voice. Six years and now he's here with me, holding me tightly like his life depends on it.

"Hi." I smile, feeling him slowly steady my body, but on the inside I'm fireworks and tsunamis, hurricanes catching on fire.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, not meaning to be rude, just curious. Leaning back on the desk as his hold relents, I interlock my fingers to stop my hands from shaking.

Grayson rubs the back of his neck nervously as he always did, shyly looking to his feet first before allowing himself to truly look at me.

He's scanning my body, looking for something that remained the same, something to cling to. I find myself doing the same.

His hair is no longer floppy nor falling in his eyes, making it seem darker, cropped almost. His eyebrows are a little less bushy and I can't help but wonder if he has someone plucking the extra hair like I used to do whenever I managed to overpower him long enough or bribe him with a tasty treat...or myself. His lips are the same plushy pink, perfectly smooth and kissable.

Instead of smooth skin, he bears a stubble, adding age onto his once young looks. His eyes remain the same, the understanding, and kind, gentle soul shining through and he still has the wing shaped earring I bought him. It was a gift for our first month anniversary where I promised I'd be his angel, one to keep him safe as long as the earring remains in its place.

Holding my breath at that realization, I swallow thickly, allowing the need for tears to wither away.

He's grown wider, there are more muscles and definitely more tattoos. I wonder if he had our matching tattoo removed.

“It’s going to be fine.” Grayson speaks slowly, his hands clutching mine as a grin replaces his smirk. “I’ll hold your hand and everything.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I raise an eyebrow. “My parents will kill me. This isn’t even legal, Gray.” Biting my lower lip, I cast my gaze down to his thigh and the unmistakable ink etched into his skin.

“I won’t force you, but I really think it would be cute, ya know? Couple goals and all that? Imagine telling this story to our kids!” The excitement in his eyes is overpowering, entirely enchanting and I’m not sure if he’s even aware of the effect he has on people. His smile, his happiness is positively infectious. He’s incredibly charismatic and charming, turning heads without even trying.

Sighing, I nod. “As long as I get a kiss every time it hurts.”

Pecking my lips, Grayson nods too. “You have yourself a deal, my angel.”

I look at him and still see my Grayson, just a little bigger and stronger, teensy bit older but incredibly beautiful.

Does he still see me as me? Have I changed? Does he find me attractive now? Did I ever even cross his mind?

"I, uh...I was just supposed to deliver some papers. I didn't know I was delivering them to you." He puts his hands on his hips, licking his lips. His gaze wanders, scared to make eye contact.

"Construction crew?" I inquire, unsure what to do when all I want is for him to hold me like we're teenagers again and tell me all he's done or seen since we parted.

"Yeah. Ethan and I started our own little business. This was actually his idea." Grayson frowns, suspecting Ethan had organized this meeting behind his back, but I don't think so. I would have known, would I not?

"It’s really good to see you." He focuses on me once more and my heart jumps. "I missed you." He adds and I know it's over for me. All my what ifs are standing before me, incorporated into one man I had never stopped loving and no matter how hard I fight it, I want to be around him longer.

"And I you. Is it possible for you to stay? Have dinner with me while you're here?" I offer courageously, terrified he might say no.

"I'd love that!" He claps his hands together, a wide smile taking over his face and I see his eyes light up.

Smiling too, I let my heart guide me for the night. If nothing else, I should at the very least have the courage to spend a few more hours with him. After all this time, it will either offer us a second chance or give me closure.

“I have a car waiting for me, it can take us to Rosie’s.” Without thinking, I take his hand only to pause, questioning if it’s alright.

In my moment of doubt, Grayson interlocks our fingers and I let out a relieved sigh. “Rosie’s? Is it your favorite restaurant?”

Giggling, I nod. “Yeah. I always have my faves, but you knew that already.”

Once outside, Grayson steps before me, releasing my hand and just as I’m about to protest, I find he did it so he’d open the car door for me. Fighting the urge to smile, I pray my cheeks aren’t blushing at the gesture, but my eyes are flooded with emotions regardless.

“Are you okay?” Grayson’s hand rests on my hip and I hold my breath, nodding vehemently.

“Yeah, the wind is cold.” I point at my eyes, forcing a smile. “Cold winds are ruthless to my eyes.” Sniffling, I sit inside and send Lily a quick text to get me a seat at Rosie’s. Leaving my phone aside, I tuck my shaky hands under my thighs.

“It’s been so long since I came to New York. I didn’t even know you’re here now.” Grayson moves a little closer, his hand nearly brushing my thigh and I couldn’t help but glance at it every so often.

“I moved back last year. Los Angeles was beautiful and I loved the climate, but New York…It’s the closest to home.” Licking my lips, I shrug. “I guess I needed a change of scenery.”

“Miss, Lily wanted you to know Rosie’s closed for the day, but she made a reservation down in that new restaurant she mentioned. She said you’d know which.” The driver explains and I nod, grateful for the interruption. The last thing I need now is to overwhelm Grayson with all the reasons why I wanted to be in New York.

“That’s fine. Take us there.” Glancing at Grayson, I swallow thickly. His eyes never left me. Though I could sense he wanted to ask me something more, something that would likely bring up the past, Grayson remains quiet for the next few minutes. Luckily the restaurant isn’t far.

“Wait up.” Grayson runs out, circling the car before opening the door, offering his hand.

Reluctant, I look up only to meet his gaze. He’s uneasy, just as I am. So, I place my hand in his and let him help me out.

Sitting, ordering, it all happened so quickly, clouded with awkward silence neither of us could break. But he does. After all, he was always the outgoing one, speaking his mind with no restrain.

“Why didn’t you come back?” The uncertainty in his voice grips me as does my guilt, my heart sinking. “I always thought you’d come back after you finished college and I…I really thought you’d come back to me.”

Rubbing my forehead, I break eye contact. He’s pulling on my heartstrings, each of them breaking as he insists on answers I can’t be sure of.

“I can’t go home. I can’t be there. I don’t feel sane in New Jersey. It’s too much.” I sigh, hating the tears rimming my eyes. “I always thought you’d come after me”, I chuckle with a slight shake of my head. “Every day, for years, I expected you to show up on my doorstep and tell me you never meant to let me go.”

“I’m here now.” Reaching out, Grayson places his hand upon mine and I tense up. I don’t know why.

“But you’ll be gone by tomorrow. You said you’d never leave New Jersey. You said that and I hoped you’d change your mind, but you didn’t.” Cocking my head to the right, I glance at his quivering bottom lip. “Did you?”

“No.” Grayson draws a deep breath before leaning back, taking his hand with him. “I didn’t. I didn’t even know you’d want me to after that night.”

“I can’t breathe here! Everywhere I look, I see them! How can you not understand that?!” My voice is raw from all the shouting, the argument seemingly never-ending.

“Why can’t you stay for me? Am I not important enough? You know my family is here! My twin, my mother and father! My whole damn family, it’s not my fault”, I interject, stopping his thought.

“That I don’t have a family anymore? Is that it? You’re really going that route?” I croak, shaking my head. Running my hands through my hair, I turn away from him.

“You know that’s now what I meant.” Grayson sighs loudly, annoyed. “You’re making me out to be a monster because you need a reason to leave and not look back, but I’m not going to make it easy on you. I won’t.” He steps closer, his presence undeniable. “I will not be a punching bag for you. I love you. I want to marry you some day. I want to have kids with you. But I don’t want to leave my life here. I don’t want to follow you across the country just for you to look at me the way you just did.” Exhaling, his hand rests on my shoulder and I step away, needing my space.

“I’m not pushing you away.” I turn back, wrapping my arms around me. I feel cold, not on the outside but the inside of my body. I’m freezing and I’m burning, just the air here is toxic and I can’t live here. I can’t spend my whole life constantly being reminded of the worst thing that ever happened to me. If I stay, I’ll be trapped in misery.

“It sure as hell feels like it.” Grayson spat and I understand. I understand he doesn’t know how to handle this, because we never had to deal with this before. It’s new and strange and scary and it changed me in ways we can’t still fully smooth over.

“I’m not pushing you away, I’m holding on for dear life!” I choke up, shaking my head as I struggle to inhale. The pressure in my chest is crushing my heart and lungs and I can’t breathe, I can’t think. It’s too much. “I’m asking you to come with me. I’m begging you to, but you won’t.” Wiping my tears I step away from him once again as I notice him reach for me. “You’re giving up on us. You. Not me.”

I walked away that night, left New Jersey the next day as planned.

“Of course I wanted you.” A small smile appears on my lips as I notice his eyes are swimming in unshed tears as well. “I’ve always wanted you.” I add, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I couldn’t stay there. It would have killed me.”

“I could have helped you. I could have been there for you.” Grayson insists, his tone sharp and yet it’s laced with regret.

Does he wish he went with me?

“No one could have helped me back then. The only cure was to leave and I did it to protect my sanity.”

“I could have tried.” Slamming his fist on the table, Grayson stood abruptly, walking toward the exit.

Putting a hundred on the table, I rush after him, my purse in hand. “Wait!” I shout after him, catching him on the street as he tried to hail a cab. “Grayson.” I breathe out, taking his hand in mine.

“Go back to your perfect life, Y/N.” He remarks, hurt written in every line of his tearstained face. He’s crying. Is that why he left?

“It’s not perfect,” I croak. “Not nearly as perfect as it could have been.”

Cupping my left cheek, Grayson’s thumb runs from the corner of my lips to my cheek and back, drawing a gentle smile on my behalf. Leaning down, his forehead rests upon mine, his nose brushing against the tip of mine. His warm breath is tickling my skin, my lips parting and eyes closing in anticipation of his.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He whispers and I open my eyes. His brown hues are closed, his lips are quivering. Tears are still running down his cheeks.

Letting go of his hand, I cup his face too, breathing heavily. “So kiss me.”

He licks his lips, hesitantly brushing my cold ones. We have feelings that are not visible, we do things to prevent ourselves from being miserable. Being honest is all we have left. Our need to have a taste of the comfort the other one offers is undeniable.

Grayson is the first to end the wait. He kissed me and the world fell away. It’s slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rests below my ear, his thumb caressing my left cheek as our breaths mingle. Running my fingers down his back, I pull him closer until there is no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

It’s perfect. It’s mind-blowing and sensual, forming worlds where we weren’t torn apart six years ago, where we could have made it. There’s no tears in those worlds, no aching desire and longing for one last look.

I never want it to end. But it does. It has to. Everything ends eventually. For us, the end began with a phone ringing.

“Fuck.” He grunts under his breath, looking at me with newfound uncertainty as he picks up his phone, taking a few steps away for privacy.

Wordless, I stand to the side, breathless even now. All I thought I lost before is right before me and it feels like a dream. I’ve been in pieces and with a single kiss, Grayson made me feel whole.

“I, uh, I’m so sorry.” Grayson mumbles, typing something on his phone. “I really have to go. It was really great seeing you again.” He manages a smile as he hails a cab, successfully so.

“Oh.” It’s all I can say, feeling dejected by the sudden change in atmosphere. A part of me expected for him to come home with me, for us to take tomorrow off and stay in bed, talking and making love. I wanted more time. Is it wrong I hoped we’d get back together too?

“I’ll tell Ethan you said hi.” He adds before pecking my cheek. In a moment, he was gone once more.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The moments we spent together kept replaying in my head over and over again and I tried to figure out where I went wrong. Did I do something to make him leave?

Dragging myself out of bed, I arrive at work looking like a hot mess.

“You look like a hot mess.” Lily reminds me and I groan, ignoring her as I enter my office.

“Oh, good morning.” Troy’s chipper tone makes me flinch and I stop, wide-eyed as I realize he’s standing in my office, a cup of coffee in hand and a dazzling smile to go with it.

“I didn’t realize we have a meeting.” I admit, looking around to make sure I didn’t walk into someone else’s office.

“We don’t, but I like to be proactive. I’ve made the initial sketches and left them on your desk.” With a smile as bright as the sun, he passes by me only to stop right next to me. “You look beautiful.”

Glancing his way, all I catch is his back as he leaves me alone in the room. Just me, the coffee he bought me, a stack of papers and…a bouquet?

Wild flowers bring some color to my rather old-fashioned office, breathing some life into the room. I smile, stepping closer only to find a single rose in the center of the bouquet as well as a note. It’s typed, not handwritten and there’s no signature.

“Lily?” I call out for her while opening the note with a hint of a smile adorning my lips.

She appreciated the beauty of a rose, the symbolism. But she never liked roses. No. Her love was always reserved for lilacs, violets and other wild flowers that painted the very essence of her soul.

“Yes?” Lily enters and I turn to her with a wide smile.

“Who sent this?” Was it Grayson? Did he want to tell me something? The words are so beautiful, and just right. I’ve never liked to receive roses, but wild flowers made my heart go crazy. Who else could know this but him?

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them delivered.” Lily frowns, stepping closer. “Must have been delivered when I was in the bathroom or something.” She shrugs, still a little troubled.

“Oh.” I furrow my eyebrows, biting my lower lip.

“Why, what does the note say?” Lily narrows her eyes as I smile. “What’s that smile for?”

“Lily, book me a ticked.” I decide right then and there. My what if’s will no longer dictate my future. Whether these came from Grayson or not, I have to see him again. “I’m going home.”

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A/N - If you’ve made it this far, let me know if you like it and want more. It’s an old draft I polished a little which is why it’s written in the reader’s POV, something I haven’t done in quite some time.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan fanfiction #dolan twins

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hazel-writes · 4 years ago

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Summary: A devastating secret is revealed - one that you will never forget.

Word Count: 3,100

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

People they come together

People they fall apart

No one can stop us now

'Cause we're all made of stars

• We Are All Made of Stars - Moby •

You walked towards the room that the Commander had told you to meet him in. It was in a section of the ship you weren’t familiar with; red lights lined the sleek black walls and it was quiet in comparison to the bustling area closer to the command center. Needless to say, walking the near-empty corridors made you nervous.

And rightfully so.

Because at that moment, as you rounded a corner, you found yourself barrelling right into none other than General Hux.

Why am I like this? you thought to yourself, amused by your constant poor luck.

You stumbled backwards, mumbling an apology as Hux recovered. His features screwed into an expression of disgust.

“You.” he said through gritted teeth. “What do you think you’re doing here? This area is restricted. We don’t allow artist scum here.”

You didn’t want to reveal the true nature of your visit to this section of the ship, so you tried, and failed, to think of another excuse for your location.

“I- I was…”

He chuckled, a sinister grin spreading on his face. “Lost for words now, are you? That would be a first.”

When you continued to stay quiet, Hux took a predatory step towards you, his long, angled nose merely inches from your face. You shut your eyes tightly, attempting to block out his anger and ease your own.

He raised a finger in front of your nose but you held your ground defiantly. “Speak girl, I asked you a question!”

"Hux!” a voice sounded from down the hall, interrupting the interrogation.

The General's expression soon turned to one of irritation as he spun to face the individual who had spoken. You recognised the voice immediately as that of the Commander.

“I requested that she come to this part of the ship.” He calmly walked towards you and the General. “I take it you won’t keep her from our meeting any longer.”

“What would you want from her?” he scoffed, eyeing you with disgust. “She’s just a piece of Lothalian trash-”

Suddenly, his voice was cut off as he brought his hands up to his throat, grasping at an invisible force. You took a few steps back, taking in the scene before you. After a few moments, Hux was released and he crumpled to the ground, coughing and sputtering. The Commander then turned towards you.

“Come,” he said, before turning and walking back in the direction he came from.

You followed behind him, looking back at Hux, who was still on the ground. You knew you would be in trouble the next time you crossed paths with him, but now, you simply revelled in the sight of him lying helpless on the floor.

It wasn’t long before you arrived in front of a large metallic door. With a wave of his hand, the Commander wordlessly opened it, revealing a small, black room. Your eyes, however, were glued to the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall.

“Wow,” you said, entranced by the speckled expanse of darkness.

“Sit,” he ordered, avoiding eye contact.

You did as he said, bringing your legs up in front of you and draping your hands over your knees. Silence enveloped the room and as much as you hated small talk, you despised awkward silence even more.

You couldn’t take it any longer. “So are we gonna play patty-cake or are we just gonna sit here. On the floor. In silence.”

A sigh emanated from his modulator. “You are well aware that you are force-sensitive.”

Ah, so that’s what this is about. “I guess, though I still am unsure as to what that entails.”

“The Force is a field of energy, created by all life, that connects everything in the universe. Those who are force-sensitive are highly attuned to its flow; they can sense and manipulate it to their will. Less than one percent of the universe’s population has the ability to do this.”

This was the most you had ever heard him speak and you hung onto every word. “And I’m one of those one percent?”

“With proper training, yes, you could be.”

This confused you. “But why do I need to be trained? It’s not like I’m some soldier who could use it in battle; I’m an artist! What would I gain from it? ”

He answered quickly and straightforwardly. “Power.”

You hated that word. It was too often used to justify war. “But I don’t want power; I want peace.”

“Peace only comes from power,” he responded robotically.

You shook your head in disagreement and let your eyes wander to the sheet of space before you. You thought of your dad, and how he always knew how to deescalate a tricky situation. Or your mom, who was always putting others before herself. And of course your little brother, who always saw the best in everyone and everything.

You smiled fondly. “I think peace comes from empathy.”

“You’re being naive,” he sighed.

You shrugged. “Or hopeful.”

He responded as if reciting from a First Order textbook, if that was even a thing, you thought .

“Hope is dangerous. It distracts us from our fears.”

"And gives us the confidence to confront them,” you retorted confidently.

He was starting to grow frustrated, his gloved fists clenching and unclenching. “You should always go into a fight imagining the worst possible outcome, not hoping that you will somehow make it out unscathed.”

“But hope provides us with something to fight for, and without that, we’re powerless,” you thought deeply, choosing your words carefully. “You were wrong before. Peace doesn’t come from power, power comes from peace.”

He silently searched your face, as if tracing each line would help him figure you out. You noticed a shift in his body language; he looked on edge, hesitant, nervous.

“I want to try something. I am going to attempt to see into your mind - and I want you to try to stop me.”

“Haven’t we done this before?” you smirked.

“Yes, however, I want you to replicate your actions, control them.”

“And why would you help me keep you out of my mind?”

He fidgeted with one of his fingers. “There are people on this ship that wouldn’t be happy with me engaging with someone so dispositioned to the Force, as I am.”

This surprised you. “Who, Hux? He hardly seems like a threat you’d be concerned about.”

“Yes, Hux. But there is another. Someone I answer to.”

This surprised you even more. You couldn’t imagine the Commander answering to anyone but himself. “And why would this person be so against you training me?”

“He would believe his power over me would be jeopardized. He would perceive you as a threat.”

You scoffed. “Me, a threat? Does he know who I am? I tripped over a chair in my room last night and apologized to it. I mean, it’s just my personal opinion, but that definitely does not give off the most threatening of vibes.”

“Well, unfortunately, he does not care about your opinion.”

You paused, considering all the new information you just learned. Knowing that the Commander was following another’s orders should’ve made you nervous, but instead you had hope that maybe some of the bad things he had done in the past weren't completely his doing.

“Alright, fine. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

He nodded silently. As he brought his hand to your temple, you couldn’t help but flinch. Surprisingly, he stopped his movement.

“I’ll make it as painless as I can.”

You stared up at him, astonished by his uncharacteristic comment, before nodding. He slowly continued his maneuver.

You felt nothing at first, only a small tingle at the back of your skull. Like vines on a tree, you felt the tingle form tendrils and reach across the expanse of your head. You focused on each one, imagining walls being built in front of each. But the vines were persistent. They snaked up the cracks of your walls, making their way to the top. You tried making the walls taller, but there were too many; you couldn’t keep up. You managed to keep most of the vines at bay, but one vine slipped its way over the top of the wall, and started its descent to the other side.

As it did, flashes began to hit you in small bursts. With them came visions, memories.

You and your older brother, Doran, sat on a blanket, watching as your little brother, Benji, played in the dirt a few feet away.

“Why does he do that?” you asked Doran.

“Why does he do what?” he replied.

“Play in the dirt like that. It’s gross.” You watched as Benji squished a handful of mud in his hand, smiling.

“Maybe he sees something in it that you don’t.”

“Like what, worms?”

Doran looked at his younger brother fondly. “I dunno. He’s always been like that - perceptive. He lives in his own little world.”

The scene twisted into another.

“Wait up!” Benji shouted as you both raced down a steep, rocky hill, giggling like idiots.

You remembered this day. You won the race.

As you neared the bottom, you turned, only to see your brother trip.

This was new… You didn’t remember that happening.

Expecting him to stumble off of the rock he was standing on, you lunged forward.

Only, he never fell.

You watched as your brother hovered in the air, horizontal to the ground, arm outstretched in front of him.

“Benji-”

The vision changed.

Your mom and dad whispered in the living room of your house. You watched from the crack of your bedroom door. Their whispers were rushed, panicked. You could tell something bad had happened.

“We can’t just give him to them to use as a weapon,” your father said, frustrated.

Your mother responded, frowning. “He is old enough to know what his sacrifice would mean.”

“Sacrifice?!” he whispered, astonished. “So you admit it! Handing him over is a death sentence!”

Your mother sighed. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Your father interrupted before she could say another word. “It’s exactly what you meant! You want to send our ten year-old son to fight for the Resistance.”

Your heart sank.

"He could save millions of lives.”

“If he isn’t killed first!”

“He will be well-protected. They’ll take care of him.”

“For the wrong reasons! All they want is another weapon to use against the Order.”

“He’s already said yes.”

“He is being manipulated, and so are you!” Your father took your mother’s hands, pleading with her, begging her, for some sort of understanding. “Listen, just the other day he told me that someday, when the ships don’t fly above our house so often, he wants to study plants. That’s what he loves to do: look at the little plants, watch them grow, sprout leaves, bloom flowers… He’s just a boy. Our boy.”

She sighed. “I understand, trust me, I do… but think of all the other little girls and boys who will die if we don’t do this. I won’t be responsible for that kind of pain.”

“I just-”

“I know… but it has to be done.”

Your father looked down at the familiar dust-covered floor. His voice lowered in defeat. “The children can never know. Especially her,” he said, nodding to your bedroom. “It will put them in danger. We will tell them we sent him away until the land is safe.”

The scene changed again.

You stood in the doorway of your house. Your brother waved goodbye to you as he walked towards a small ship, hand in hand with your mother. You smiled, turning around before he did, and heading back into the house.

Why, why did you turn around? Why didn’t you keep looking for just one more second?

The scene presented itself to you over and over. You couldn’t escape it. You heard a voice, calling your name, urging you to escape your own mind.

“Hey… Hey! Wake up!”

You shot straight up from your position on the ground, panting. A face hovered over you - one you didn’t recognize. You shuffled backwards, startled.

“It’s me! It’s just me.”

You faintly recognized the voice - it was similar to one you had grown accustomed to over the past few days, except this one was less distorted and slightly higher in pitch.

“Commander?”

He nodded, looking away. Your bleary vision made it hard to see the man before you. You could discern a pair of deep, hazel eyes. They reminded you of one of father’s paintings; your favorite painting. It depicted a forest, with trees that touched the clouds and pinecones that littered the ground. You could practically smell them right through the canvas. Endless shades of green stood out against the stormy sky. It all seemed peaceful, yet full of life.

You brought yourself up onto your elbows, before scooting back towards the wall for support. You remained silent for a moment, processing the recent turn of events. You finally spoke, eyes wide, face blank.

“They killed him.”

The Commander looked back at you, confused. “Who-”

“My parents…” you interrupted, still in shock. “They killed him.”

He remained patient. “Killed who?”

“My brother,” you responded, the immensity of the secret you had just unearthed beginning to hit. Your vision became clouded, hot droplets hitting your tights. “My little brother.”

The Commander looked down, as if attempting to decipher a riddle. He spoke slowly.

“I thought you said he was killed by the Resistance.”

“He was,” you responded, running your fingers through your hair. You were angry now; angry at your parents, the Resistance, the constant wars and fighting. “But not in the way my parents described. They told me that there had been an accident . That an X-Wing crashed and he had simply been in the way. But he hadn’t just ‘been in the way’. He was on that X-Wing. The whole time they were using him - using his abilities - to help them win the war. I didn’t remember before. They must’ve done something to make me forget...”

The Commander looked at you strangely, his hazel eyes trained on yours, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“What a surprise,” you let out a breathy chuckle, raising your arms in exasperation. “You don’t care about any of this, do you?”

He remained still. “I never said that.”

Your emotions began to swell, and unfortunately, you projected your anger onto the Commander. “Well if you cared at all about my brother’s death, then you wouldn’t be blowing up planets on an everyday basis!”

“I have my orders,” he said, flatly.

You stood abruptly. “You can choose not to follow them! You’re no better than my parents - sending innocents off into a war that isn’t even being fought for them.”

The Commander stood and spoke with a slight irritation in his voice. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.”

You paused, looking him up and down. You let out a humourless chuckle, knowing you probably sounded crazy. “You think you are so powerful, hiding behind that mask. But now I know… you’re just a man. You follow blind orders and when someone calls you out on your cowardice, you throw a temper tantrum like a spoiled toddler. Do you have any thoughts of your own?”

He whipped his head towards you and spoke through clenched teeth. “If I didn’t have thoughts of my own, you would be dead right now.”

“Tell me them then!” You were yelling now. “Why would you care what happened to my brother - what happens to me? Why would you?”

“Because I was your brother!” he boomed. But his powerful voice didn’t match his eyes; they looked desperate, scared, like he was a little boy again. You took a hesitant step back. He noticed this and took a deep breath before running his hands through his hair. “I was… used for my abilities. And when they became too strong, I was perceived as a threat.”

Your mood softened, surprised by his sudden vulnerability. You searched his eyes gently. “Who thought of you as a threat? The Order?”

He looked down, his hair concealing his pained expression. The room’s red glow cast somber shadows on his face, but just for a second, you swear you saw a flicker of light dance across his face.

“You can tell me.”

He shook his head, the shadows having returned, and avoided your eyes. ‘I’ve already said too much. I’m... I’m not the only one who can read minds.’

"There is someone else? Someone like me?”

He answered immediately, facing you with a stoney stare. “No, nothing like you.” He paused, regaining his impassive composure and putting his mask back on. “You can’t know - It is not safe.”

You started to open your mouth to protest, but a blaring alarm interrupted. You jumped slightly, startled by the unexpected noise. The door to the room you were in slid open with a hiss. The Commander spun around, activating his lightsaber. You had never been this close to it before; it crackled with a furious energy that both scared and enticed you.

Your focus made its way back to the opened door, where two terrified officers now stood.

“C-Commander, General Hux wishes to see you. He- he says it is urgent.”

The Commander stalked towards the officers, lightsaber still activated. The officers shrunk into themselves, anticipating their demise.

“Leave.”

The officers nodded vigorously, before running back the way they came. The Commander turned to look back at you.

“I have to go. I will be in contact with you soon.”

“Wait, I just wanted to say...” you paused as he stopped his movement. “You only become a threat to others when you become a threat to yourself. Always remember who you are. That’s what is important - that’s what makes us powerful.”

Your eyes met his masked expression in a moment of deafening silence. You caught his focus shift to the windows behind you, the stars reflected in the black slit where his eyes had been moments before.

An image flashed before your eyes briefly, except this time, it wasn’t yours: Stars surrounded you. You could make out two gold cubes hanging from someplace above. A small hand emerged from behind you, attempting to grab the shiny objects, but it couldn’t reach them. It kept reaching, and right when you thought it was going to touch them, everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, you were alone again.

——————————————

Previous || Masterlist || Next

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starswordartblog · 4 years ago

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For @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober day 13: Grow. Boy did this one grew out of my control, but I swear it gets to the prompt in the end.

Nathan lived in a cave. Well, it could barely be considered a cave actually, it was more of a room-sized hole within the rockier parts of Fortune Forest. But it had enough space for Nathan to sleep and store his stuff in, and was also conveniently in front of a river, so he settled there. His father had taught him the basics of living in the wild, and his magic was enough to drive away any creature that could harm him.

Close by were the taller cliffs and a waterfall too, good for baths and washing things. It was during those chores that he found Uni, little more than a month after settling in.

Nathan loved baths, or at least he loved being in the water, swimming and splashing around. It had been peaceful there every day so far, so he felt okay to let his guard down and relax for a while.

So he was really not prepared for when a body fell on him.

He fell into the water and swam away from the thing in a panicked reaction, but quickly had to get back to surface to gasp for air and cough up the water he had accidentally breathed in. To worsen his terror, he realized the creature had come right to his side.

He kicked away, scrambling to get to the river's margin, his terrified scream coming out as just a raspy noise. In that time, he finally got a good look at the thing, or at least its head, which was the only part of its body above water, much like Nathan himself.

Oddly, its hair was also much like Nathan's, the same short and spiky cut currently hanging down due to being wet, but in a sky blue color in contrast to Nathan's blond. There was a big horn on its forehead, with a rounded tip, and both that and the rest of its skin, that looked scaly like a fish, were a greyish green color, full of brown spots. Its dark eyes were wide open staring back at Nathan with a blank expression.

Since the creature didn't attack, Nathan's fear lowered, which meant there was plenty of space for anger now.

"Hey! You scared the hell outta me you creepy fish! Why did you fall on me!" He screamed while shaking the thing by its shoulders, stopping when it let out a small squeak, its mouth a little open now, gaze still fixed on Nathan.

Nathan let go, having felt something weird under his hands. Over the kid's shoulders were small, delicate brown fins, contrasting against the blue and white fuzzy mark that covered it neck to shoulders, like a puffy cloud.

"Did, did that hurt?" He asked, realizing he must have squeezed those little fins. The thing didn't fight back and looked like a lost kid, so he started to feel bad. "Sorry. Geez, just don't sneak on people like that again."

No answer.

"...You're creepy, you know that?"

"...at?"

"Hey, so you can speak!" he pointed accusingly. "Just say why you fell on me then! I've never seen anyone else here!"

The thing finally turned its gaze away from Nathan's face. It slowly raised its own hand (it had those apparently, regular human hands) from the water, and began looking from hand to hand, slowly stretching some fingers and closing the others, until they were both in the same shape. Then it stretched its arm towards Nathan to complete the gesture.

"Are you copying me?"

"...me?"

"You are! Man, I don't get this! Fish don't copy people! What are you after all?" He asked, shaking his arm in frustration.

The kid didn't answer, only shaking its arm the same way. Then it did it with more strength, splashing more and more water.

Was it playing? Nathan wouldn't mind that. Weirdness aside he thought having company here could be pretty fun. Better than the other kids in town telling him he should stop living like an animal. Although this kid was a fish, or some magical creature, maybe that's why it was okay with this. Nathan loved magical creatures since his father was one, so he was determined to figure out what this one was, and maybe be friends?

He did want a friend. It was lonely there, without his dad.

He grinned, and splashed some water on its face. It didn't even flinch, but stopped moving. Then it copied Nathan again, splashing some droplets on him.

"Stop just copying me, I'm always gonna come up with something stronger!" he scooped a handful of water to throw on its face, then dove, wanting to do a surprise attack next.

They frolicked like that for a long time. Nathan's surprises didn't work well because the fish kid was good at following him, but it also seemed too confused to do anything but that, so as far as Nathan was concerned he was winning.

He didn't realize when, but at some point its face had finally changed too.

"See? That's way less creepy, you're smiling now," he said, pointing at its face. Fish kid stared at his hand for a moment before bumping his own index finger into his. It reminded Nathan of something he'd seen the men in town do sometimes, so he turn his hand into a fist, and sure enough fish kid did the same so they could bump them, laughing.

"Man, that was fun. I still got no clue what you are though. Do you know? Are you human?"

"...uman?"

"Nope, still just copying. Maybe that's your magic? Is there magic to copy things? Maybe I should ask the old men in town, they might know."

He got out of the water, looking for his clothes, and hoping the other kid wouldn't complain about him being naked. His father always told him to have his clothes on around other humans, though he didn't understand why, but fish kid wasn't human so it was fine, right? Also, it was its own fault for sneaking in when he was taking a bath!

He still scrambled as fast as he could to get dressed. Thankfully, they had played for so long that his clothes were already dry from his washing earlier, he didn't even have to use his magic like he usually did.

He turned to call his new friend, "Alright, let's- Whaaaat?"

Behind him, fish kid was now floating. Just a little above the ground, and Nathan realized that, while most of his body was humanoid and the same size as his, it didn't have feet, just two bright blue fins in their place.

"You can fly?"

"..fly?"

"Yeah, fly!" Remembering the kid liked to copy him, he jumped a few times to see if it would get the point, and it did. Its fins kicked up the air behind them and propelled the kid a little higher in the air, almost as if it was still swimming. Nathan was overjoyed, and the kid's smile eventually grew as large as his.

"Guys I found a flying fish!" Nathan screamed as soon as Olden's bar came into view, immediately getting looks from plenty of the dudes drinking there.

Of the mage elders that watched over Fortune Forest, Olden was the one responsible for the mage children. People said that it made no sense then that he managed a bar at the same time, not that Nathan knew what that meant. He did dislike the place and the smells and had even been forbidden from getting a lot of their drinks, but all of civilization was weird to him, so he wasn't sure what it all meant. What actually mattered is that Olden was a great mage and knew lots of things.

"Hey, who the hell is that, kid?" Said one of the dudes around, pointing at the fish kid. "You made some weirdo friend in the woods?"

"Yeah!" he said cheerfully at first, then his eyebrows twitched once he realized the insult. "It's not a weirdo! It's a flying fish!"

"It's, very clearly not a fish," another dude pointed out. "I mean, he's dead-eyed like a fish, sure," he snickered, "but it's just a kid wearing your coat.

"Oh yeah," Nathan said, remembering he had lent the kid his coat since it didn't have any clothes. He pulled the upper part open to expose its shoulders and fins. "See? It's got them on the feet too!" he pointed them out.

The men blinked a few times, looking up and down at the creature, until the first one that had talked rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it, you're just pulling another prank on us. You shoved some poor kid on a costume because we didn't believe your father was a bird-dog that time."

Nathan grit his teeth, face burning with anger. "He wasn't a bird dog, his wings had scales, not feathers! His feathers were on his tail, that’s what I said!"

"Alright, everyone stop shouting," said Olden, beating his staff on the ground and coming out from the counter. "So Nathan, who is this?"

"Don't know, it fell on me from the waterfall, I thought you would know what it is," he scowled, crossing his arms, clearly in an awful mood after what the other men has said.

The man scratched his long beard, his eyes narrowed. "Well I'm afraid I'm not sure, the forest has never transformed children like this. He can clearly fly, so perhaps he was already changed and got lost from somewhere far away. But strangely enough, I can't feel much power from him. Even though physical changes like this are sign of an overflow..."

Nathan stared agape at the old man for a moment as it clicked.

"Wait, you think this is a mage? A human mage?"

"Human enough. Magic changes people in unique ways, you must get over that if you want to make it as a mage, boy. I've never seen a race of flying fish in the forest in all my years here, so it's more likely that this one is special. We should get a better check on him, to be safe."

Aceno's hospital was one of the few in the country specialized in magical issues, a perk of being next to a legendary forest full of mages. Olden took Nathan and the fish kid there, hoping to get more information on his condition. Even the staff was baffled at his existence though, and could only say that his vitals and magical power seemed stable, so it was likely that he had transformed by someone else's spell instead of his own power running out of control, and thus should be safe.

They apologized for not knowing how to reverse the spell, Nathan didn't know why though. He looked cool that way. But no one cared when he said that.

They had just left the exam room when the room next to it opened, and from it came two mages Nathan already knew.

"Old man Old, whatcha doing here?" Mirian greeted the elder mage with a cheeky smile, but was interrupted by her sister shouting.

"Unicorn boy?"

Moira stared with eyes and mouth wide at the fish kid's horn.

"Wait what?" Nathan had only talked to Moira a few times, even though she was actually his favorite mage of those he had met so far (at least before fish kid). To his despair her sister was a jerk and they were always together, so it was hard to approach her. But he did know she loved unicorns, some kind of magical creature that was, actually just a horse with a horn, and sparkly? He didn't see what the big deal was. "What do you mean, he's not an unicorn, he's a fish!"

"Unicorn fish boy?" She was still in shock, and maybe also in awe? It was kinda fun to watch. He finally understood it was because of the kid's horn.

"God, what have you done?" said Mirian, hiding her face in her hands, "I can't believe this is how today ends."

"What do you mean, mean girl?" he scowled.

"How do you think genius here broke her leg, idiot?"

He blinked, and finally took a good look at Moira. Her hair and clothes were dirty and she had a few scrapes on her arms, but more importantly, said arms were holding crutches, and one of her legs was enveloped in a big white thing.

"That's a broken leg?"

Moira gave a small laugh, her cheeks red. "I went a bit too far in the forest. Thought I'd seen a real one this time."

"Geez, if you were going to climb the cliffs you should have called me, I wanna see what's up there too," Nathan pouted on their way home. Olden had returned to the town, but all the kids were from the forest itself so they could walk together for a while, slowly due to Moira’s current state.

"Aren't you seeing how it ended up," Moira retorted, "and I didn't plan it, it was in the spur of the moment. I saw something shine atop them, and saw something going deep in the forest with a clopping noise, so I thought I should chase them. It was probably just a beast though."

"That sucks."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad, I did make a magical friend," she said, pointing her head upwards. Ever since they left the hospital, a white bird had been flying over them. The few times it had come down, Nathan saw it had a red forehead.

"That bird is magical?"

"Yup, it's a siren pigeon, they follow injured people. Their touch calms you down, and their cries frighten the animals around. This one protected me back then."

Mirian bent down to stare straight at Nathan with a sinister smile. "Actually they just want to be safe to drink the person's blood," she added.

"Whaat?"

Moira giggled. "They're just birds, it’s not like they drink enough to hurt you. Also the blood was already outside me anyway, I’d rather it helped someone."

"I, I see," he said, watching the bird above them in a whole new way. "There sure are a lot of creatures out there, huh."

"It's fun, isn't it?" She smiled. "It's your time to tell your story now, though. Who's your new friend?"

"Oh, right." The fish kid had been quietly behind him all this time, hands on his shoulders. "I don't know much, he fell on me by the waterfall and we became friends. He doesn't talk but he likes copying me, and follows me anywhere. I thought it was some creature from the forest but the old man think it's a mage who turned half fish? I don’t really get it."

Moira bent her neck back as much as she could while on crutches to look at the kid. "Really? Did you get lost in the forest too, boy?"

The kid didn't answer, but slowly slid his arms down against Nathan's body, fully leaning on his back now.

"Huh?" Nathan turned his head to try to look at him. The boy rubbed his cheek against him.

Moira laughed, "that's a weird hug, but it seems he likes you. You're taking him back with you?"

"Yeah, I like him. And the old man said it's better to keep him close to where he was in case someone's looking for him. He's gonna look around the towns to see if anyone's missing a kid too."

"Don't think a transformed kid just 'went missing'", Mirian muttered.

"Huh?"

"Well," Moira interjected loudly, "I'm sure he's gonna fit right in with the rest of us anyway. It's, bad that he can't say his own name though, we can't just call him 'boy' forever. Maybe we should give him a nickname."

"That's true, huh." Nathan took another look at the boy happily slumped against him. His horn stuck out a lot from that angle. "Oh! How about Uni? You called him an unicorn boy, and the old man said he's unique."

Moira gasped, "that's a great name!" She turned to the other boy. "You like it, Uni?”

He didn't answer. Nathan poked his cheek.

"C'mon, copy her, why do you only do that to me? It's your name she's saying, Uni! Uni!"

"...uni! Uni!" He replied, with less hesitation the second time around, rubbing his cheek on Nathan's finger. "Uni! Uni!"

"I think he likes it!" Nathan grinned, and noticed Uni immediately copied the grin.

"Yeah!" Moira had a big smile too. She stared at them a little more before giggling. "You two look like brothers already."

"Brothers?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're going to live together even."

"I don't get it, what's a brother?"

"Uh? Oh, I guess you didn't know what sisters were last time too. It's the same thing, girls are sisters, and boys are brothers. It's when you have the same parents, and grow up together."

Nathan remembered her words, from weeks ago when she had introduced him to Mirian. "We don't have the same parents though." He was adopted though, would his dad also adopt Uni if he asked? He didn't like fish that much, at least as food, but maybe that meant he'd be okay raising one as a son? He couldn’t tell. "But I guess we will grow up together, huh."

At least if they didn't find his parents, and Nathan knew how hard that was. Lots of kids around the forest, including Moira and Mirian, didn't have parents either, though Nathan didn't know the reasons. The elder had once said that the world was harsh, and that's why the mages of Fortune Forest should treat each other as family and help one another. They didn't feel like family though, always calling him a liar and laughing at things he didn't know. The kids were fun to play and fight with, but not nearly as much as his dad, who could make a lesson and a game out of anything and enjoy it so much his laughter shook the forest.

Uni was different though, right? He liked Nathan, and was learning everything from him. That was a lot of responsibility, he was too young to be a dad! But Moira said something about that too, didn't she? An older sister was not a parent, she didn't know as much as the adults, but because of that, she also understood better how the younger one felt. That made them closer as they learned and worked on things. That's what it meant to grow up together.

He thought of him and Uni with identical grins on their faces.

"That would be nice."

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kiingdcmscome · 5 years ago

Text

Promises - Part One

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any canon characters in this fanfiction, I do claim ownership of the original characters featured and mentioned in this work. This is an au / alternate timeline fanfiction for the TNT drama Animal Kingdom and will feature characters and events from that show. ( This is a rewrite of promises part one, which i posted a few months ago. I went back and reread it, and absolutely hated it, so here we go, hopefully this is better ). (gifs and photos are not mine unless stated otherwise. this gif belongs to the lovely @demctozdemir and can be found here ).

Summary: Marley Dossier is lost. Her mother has just been arrested, her dead beat father won't pick up the phone, and her grandmother wants nothing to do with her. Unsure of what else to do, she tracks down her childhood friend, J Cody. Little does she know, she's going right back into the world her mother fought so hard to keep her from, and the world that destroyed her family before it even started. | This fanfiction takes place six months after the death of nineteen year old J Cody's mother Julia. J and his best friend Marley have been reunited, though their reunion might bring more heartache than either can handle.

Content Warning: Mentions of Absentee parents, drug abuse, jail/prison, homelessness. | My main character Marley is in a wheelchair, please keep that in mind.

Word Count: 1.5k

The hot California sun beat down on me and my muscles throbbed in protest. He better fucking live here. The house was nice, which made me think I had the wrong place. Those suspicions were confirmed as I approached the front door. An older woman, probably in her sixties, came out the front door before I even had a chance to knock. Dressed in those obnoxious printed yoga pants with short blonde hair and oversized sunglasses she reminded me of one of those "cool" grandma's you saw on tv.

"Can I help you?" She looked me over. Starting at my slightly worn sneakers to my braided hair. She barely stopped to take in the wheelchair, which honestly surprised me.

"I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong place." Turning away, I didn't get far before a familiar voice brought my attention back.

"Marley?" I turned to see him, a smile erupted over my face. It was so good to see him, especially since I hadn't seen a familiar (nevermind friendly) face in over a week.

"Hey J..." He didn't look half as happy to see me as I was to see him.

"What are you doing here?" His question confirmed it. He didn't want me here, and I couldn't help the confusion and hurt that worked its way into my chest.

"Well, you stopped visiting, so I thought I'd come out here, see if you were still alive." I didn't want to tell him the real reason, not yet.

"Uh, Smurf...This is Marley, she and I grew up together." He introduced me to the older woman, who'd taken a step closer to me. She reached out her hand, and I offered mine. She didn't shake it, instead, she just gave it a gentle squeeze and gave me a smile.

"He's being modest. Our moms actually used to do smack together."

"Marley, this is my grandmother. Smurf." Shit, I just insulted this woman's dead daughter. Instead of appearing insulted, she just nodded, her smile growing slightly before letting go of my hand.

"You kids hungry? I'll go and make you two something to eat." Before either of us could answer, she disappeared into the house.

"So did you really come all this way just to check on me?" He questioned once she was gone. I contemplated lying to him but realized there wasn't any use, he'd have seen right through it.

"It's a long story, so I hope you've got time."

"Credit card fraud? How did that even happen?" I'd just got done telling him all the gory details of my mom getting arrested and charged with credit card fraud. We were sitting in the backyard, his feet dangling in the pool. "And this all happened two months ago? Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried. Your number was disconnected or something." I leaned back in my chair, looking him over for a moment. "She was dating this guy Jimmy, you know, the manager at the restaurant. He's a real piece of shit. He was running some fraud scheme and she got caught up in it." I wasn't defending my mom. She'd been stupid, but if Jimmy hadn't dragged her into his shit she'd have never been arrested. "Her lawyer's advising she take a plea deal."

"And how much time is she looking at?" His question had an answer I didn't want to think about.

"Five years. Minimum." I sighed, leaning forward. "I can't believe this shit. The relapse, now this."

"Relapse?"

"Oh. I didn't tell you about that." I took a deep breath, staring down at my hands. "Yeah, about five months back, less than a month after your mom died...I got a call from the hospital. She relapsed. Clean eight years and then that shit."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Cause your mom just ODed and died. You had enough stuff to deal with." I finally glanced up at him. "Besides, we weren't really talking."

"Where are you staying?" He asked, changing the subject, which I was grateful for.

"I was staying with Claudia. But she kicked me out after realizing I wasn't going to be able to pay rent." Claudia, my grandmother (if one can even call her that) hadn't wanted me there in the first place. "Rita let me stay at her place, but her grandkids needed the room cause her daughter got evicted. I tried contacting Charlie-" My dead beat dad. "But he didn't even bother picking up the phone. So, this past week I've been at that shelter over on Granger."

"Shelter?" He stared at me for a moment. I could almost see the gears in his brain working to solve my problems, something he'd done since we were kids. "What about your uncle Eddie?"

"Eddie's in New Mexico or something. I haven't heard from him in weeks. But don't worry, I'll figure it out." I take his hand in mine, glancing down at his knuckles. Bruised, which wasn't anything new. "You can't fix all my problems J, and I not here because I need you to. I'm here because I've missed you, and I needed a familiar face."

He didn't get a chance to answer before Smurf popped her head out the sliding glass door beside us. "You kids come inside, I've got lunch on the table."

The house was nice. Way nicer than anywhere I've ever lived. Nicer than anywhere J's ever lived too. For as long as I could remember, J's lived in the shitty apartment above the one me and my mom lived in.

"Thanks for the food, Mrs. Cody." I leaned back in my chair, popping the last potato chip on my plate into my mouth. I couldn't help but stare at the place. The kitchen and living room itself was almost as big as my apartment.

"Call me Smurf." She sat down at the table beside me, and I gave her a smile. "And you're welcome." I glanced over at J, who seemed to be watching us closely. I furrowed my brow, and he just shook his head.

"So, how long have you two know each other."

"Almost twelve years." It was so weird to say out loud. "Me and my mom lived in the apartment below him and Julia."

"And how long have you two been dating?"

"We're not." J and I spoke in unison. He looked to each other, a small smile forming on both of our faces.

"We're friends. Best friends." Thankfully, someone opened the sliding door, breaking the awkwardness.

"You fucking asshole." I glanced behind me. Holy shit. The person I should have been thanking for breaking the awkward silence was...hot...And covered in bright orange and blue paint splatters. Dark hair, tattoos, facial hair. I probably should have checked to make sure I wasn't drooling.

"Oh Craig, did your brother shoot you with the paintball gun again?" I didn't have to know Smurf well to detect the mock concern in her voice.

The door opened again, and another guy, blonde, definitely shorter than the other one, and also covered in paint came inside. "Don't even think about crying to Smurf. You shot me first."

"Twice. You literally emptied yours into my back." He turned around, revealing large red welts on his back.

"Don't start shit you can't finish." At that comment, the taller one, Craig, grabbed the blonde around the neck, putting him into a chokehold.

"Boys, enough. Can't you see we have a guest." They stopped, both looking down at me. The blonde just stared a moment, but the brunette managed to muster a small smile.

"Who's this?" He asked, staring at me long enough that I could feel my face heating. Jesus, stop acting like you've never seen an attractive guy before.

"I'm Marley, J's friend." I offered a small smile to both him and the blonde, but neither of them smiled back. Instead, the blonde when to the fridge, and the brunette continued to stare at me.

"Jesus Craig, you look like you've never seen anyone in a wheelchair before," J commented. He's done in it the past, especially when we were in high school. Anyone who looked my way wrong heard it.

The blonde snickered, and the brunette turned away from me, also heading towards the fridge. "What're you making for dinner?" He grabbed a beer, tossing the cap into the sink.

"We're having salmon. Marley, are you staying for dinner?"

"Actually I have to get back." I looked at J, "Do you think you could give me a ride? I'm pretty sure my arms are going to be spaghetti tomorrow from the way over here."

"Do you still live in J's old building?" Smurf asked.

"Actually no." I wondered exactly how much more I wanted to say in front of a bunch of strangers. "I'm actually in-between places right now. There's this...Home, I'm staying at that has a curfew."

"Like a shelter?" She questioned, and before I could answer, "Why don't you stay here until your new place is ready?"

"That's probably not a good idea," J answered before I could.

"Of course it is. You don't want your friend staying in a shelter, do you?"

"I don't want to be a bother."

"Of course not. You're staying, end of discussion. I'll get the couch set up for you. Do you have anything you need to go get?"

"No. All of my stuff is with one of my mom's friends." She got up, leaving the kitchen.

"What just happened?" I asked, watching after her.

"Smurf." J didn't seem happy, "Smurf happened."

#j cody #smurf cody #fanfic #au #*my writing #*mine #animal kingdom tnt #animal kingdom

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theguardianangel-fanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Dead

Summary: It’s been two years since the beginning, and only five days since Clementine met them. But somehow, things got so much worse, and Carver was just the beginning. [Season 2 AU/canon divergent. New situations, characters, etc.] Chapter 26: We Hope For Better Things Author’s Note: I’m either manic, hyperfocused, or I’ve had too much coffee today. [Main Blog] [AO3] [FanFiction.Net]

“Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger. Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.”

Clementine leaned against the back of the couch that she and Kenny previously sat on as the song’s lyrics reached her ears again. Sarita had softly gone through the song at least twice already, though she had at least taken a break of about a minute between each time. It was a long song, Clementine thought, and Sarita knew every single word.

She raked her fingernails against her backpack and tried to distract herself with this in order to avoid catching anyone’s attention. Part of her thoughts remained on that can, and her thoughts about cutting her hair again, though the others wandered to various things, like Kenny and the others, or Carver. Clementine peaked up briefly and realized that Sarita had stopped singing quietly, and was instead speaking with Sarah.

“What song is that?” Clementine perked up at Sarah’s question. It was the same question she herself had been wondering as well. “It sounds nice.”

Sarita looped a small, plastic hanger into a metal clasp on the top of a green, circular ornament. “’Good King Wenceslas’. It’s my favorite.” She placed it onto a branch a few inches over her head, Clementine suddenly understood exactly why the ornaments were only half-way up the tree.

Sarita grabbed another ornament, this one red.

“I’ve never heard it.” said Sarah, crossing her arms. Clementine looked up again. “I think I’ve heard the tune, but not the song. What’s it about?”

“It’s…” Sarita looped another plastic hanger into the red ornament, and stood on her toes to hang it up. “… about a king that brings food to a poor man. He and his servant march all night through a winter storm.”

Clementine glanced down to the beaten up box, and debated jumping in to help. She could, if anything, get Sarah to hold her up so that Sarita wouldn’t have to constantly try and fail at hanging the ornaments at a height taller than her.

“The storm is very strong… and after a long time, it gets so cold that the servant can’t go on.”

Sarah reached down and grabbed an ornament for herself, but then looked up at Sarita without immediately hanging it. She scrunched her eyebrows and appeared to be about to speak, but Sarita unknowingly cut her off with, “But the king tells the servant to just… step in his tracks.”

She sang another verse quietly.

“Mark my footsteps, my good page. Tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt the winter’s rage Freeze thy blood less coldly.”

“I don’t… get it.” Sarah murmured, and Clementine had to agree. It was a nice song, but she found the lyrics to be confusing. Why, she wondered, would stepping in the tracks of the king keep the servant from freezing to death?

In response, Sarita smiled. “It means that doing good things for other people can be good for you, too.”

“But the servant wouldn’t have been out there in the first place if the king hadn’t made him.”

“Good point.” Sarita suddenly looked over her shoulder, and Clementine met her eyes. “But I’m not sure if it’s meant to be read into like that. Would you like to join us?”

Clementine looked down at the cardboard box, then over her shoulder at Walter (who was now speaking to Matthew), and then back up at Sarita. Slowly, she nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”

She took an ornament that Sarah extended out to her, as well as one of the plastic hooks, and began to loop it into the top of the ornament. Sarita spoke up, glancing back to Clementine.

“It’s probably been a while since you’ve seen one of these.”

Slowly, Clementine nodded. She grasped one of the branches in her fingers, originally expecting to feel the texture of sharpened, plastic spindles – like a fake tree. But it felt completely genuine, and, judging by the pine needles littering the floor, it was genuine. It was smaller than the trees she walked past in the forest, but it still stood at at least fifteen feet.

“I haven’t seen a real one in a while,” she answered, bending down to grab another ornament, “A Christmas tree, I mean. There’s plenty of trees out here.”

Sarita turned towards the window and into the direction of the other trees, then looked back up at the Christmas tree. “Matthew found this one.” She bent down and began sweeping the clumps of pine needles into her hand. “It’s smaller than all of the others. He said that it would be better to bring in rather than leave it outside. He was right. It makes a good Christmas tree.”

“How do you reach the middle?” The specific area of the tree was high enough that none of them could reach it, but too far from the staircase next to it for one to lean over and string up the decorations. Briefly, Clementine imagined someone standing on the railing. And failing at standing on the railing. And falling and hitting the ground with a thump. That, she thought, would be her and her luck.

Pausing, Sarita also examined the area that Clementine pointed to and then scanned the other half of the sitting room.

Her voice sounding unsure, she said, “I thought we had a ladder around here somewhere…”

Sarah stood up as tall as she could; she, being even shorter than Sarita (yet still taller than Clementine), couldn’t reach much higher than Sarita could. She smiled to herself, then looked over to Clementine.

“I can’t reach any higher.” she informed Clementine. Sarita didn’t respond, and instead walked over to an area closer to where Walter was previously cooking; Clementine assumed that she made it her new mission to find that ladder.

Clementine shrugged. “You could hold me up. I’ll do it.”

Sarah paused, but then shook her head. “I…” She looked up at the tree, the landing of the stairs, and the railing, then shook her head for a second time. “I don’t think that’s safe.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clementine smirked, crossing her arms. Quietly, she teased, “You’re just weak.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Then pick me up.”

Both girls stayed silent for a moment before Sarah broke the silence with an indignant, “Okay, fine.”

Clementine stood still long enough for Sarah to wrap her arms around her waist, but she squirmed when Sarah lifted her only a few inches off of the floor. It was too tight and definitely not the best way to pick up someone Clementine’s size, something she immediately decided when she felt Sarah squeezing her by the stomach.

“No – just – put me down – Sarah, you’re squeezing me!”

“Can you reach it?”

“Sarah, I’m gonna pee if you keep squeezing me!”

Immediately, Sarah put her down, her shoulders hunched and eyes wide. “Sorry,” she murmured, watching Clementine, “Did I hurt you?”

Clementine shook her head, and nearly answered before she heard a soft chuckle from Sarita.

“I suppose we will have to find that ladder, or just resign ourselves to being short.” She had, evidently, been unsuccessful in finding that ladder.

Clementine simply wondered if Kenny took it with him when he went outside with the others. She shrugged, then murmured, “… Well, my life’ll have been meaningless if I’m not at least a little bit taller than you.” At the most, Sarita was only about five-feet, four-inches tall. Clementine remembered her mother being at least an inch taller than that – and her father was probably closer to Luke’s height.

Surely, she would be taller.

“You’re gonna be like, five-one when you finish puberty.” Sarah teased, turning away to grab another ornament.

“At least I’ll be taller than you!”

“I’m five-two, Clem.”

Clementine’s shoulders sagged. She walked right into that one.

She was thankful that Sarita almost immediately steered the conversation from Clementine trapping herself in that insult, when Sarita pointed to the part of the landing that lined up with the top of the tree. “There’s a box up there with some other decorations,” she spoke, then looked over to Sarah and Clementine. “I can either put an angel or a star on the top. Until we can find the ladder. What do you think?”

“… I don’t know.” Clementine admitted, gripping her left wrist with her right hand. She turned to Sarah, who seemed to be having a similar dilemma. “We always had a star. What’d you guys have?”

“An angel.”

“Why?”

Sarah paused for a moment, as if she were trying to come up with an actual answer to the question that wasn’t simply because. “I… don’t know. I think it’s a Catholic thing. I can ask my dad if you want.”

Clementine also paused. Her parents were never particularly religious, despite the celebration of Christmas. They never really went to church, except for when she was younger, and despite the fact that she had previously heard the word ‘Catholic’, she wasn’t at all familiar with what it actually meant.

“What’s the difference between being Christian and being Catholic?”

Before Sarah had a chance to answer, Sarita spoke up. “Catholicism is a section of Christianity. They have slightly different beliefs than most Christian groups.” She looked the Christmas tree up and down for a moment before she continued, “I’m not Christian. My family never celebrated Christmas… but I always liked the culture of it. What do you think, angel or star?”

“Um…”

“Angel, definitely.”

Clementine turned to her side, where a small end-table held a white and orange, wooden duck the size of a small dog. On its head laid a Santa hat, and around its neck was a small wreath. She knew exactly who had placed it there and why. She picked it up carefully from the table – it was heavier than she had thought – and showed it to Sarita.

“We could compromise and put a duck on the tree.”

Sarah’s face lit up as she looked at the wooden duck. “Aw, he’s got a little hat!”

“I don’t…” Sarita chuckled, just as she had before, “I don’t think it will stay on top. It’s probably too heavy for the top branch.”

“That sucks.” Clementine placed the duck back into its previous spot on the end table. “Kenny would find it funny.”

“He would,” replied Sarita, bending down back to her own cardboard box. She pulled out one of the few non-bauble ornaments – a glass hockey stick – and strung it on a lower branch. “Kenny thought it would be funny to put the hat and the wreath on it. I thought it was cute.”

Clementine was right; of course it had been Kenny to come up with that idea. After knowing his son, she found herself unable to look at anything with a duck on it without thinking of him.

“I’ll put the angel on the top, if you want.” She said this to Sarah this time, who’s eyes lit up again.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Angels were nice, Clementine thought, though she had never previously had one on a tree. If it made her friend happy, then what the heck? She would put it on there, even though she truly did want to put the wooden duck up there for comedic effect.

She raced up, gripping the railing to avoid slipping on the slick, carpeted stairs, and found herself on the landing. What Clementine didn’t anticipate was Alvin’s voice.

“It’s crazy! Why would they follow us this far?”

Clementine stopped at the top of the stairs. A few feet ahead of her, Alvin, Rebecca, and Carlos seemed to be in an intense conversation, though Rebecca, who was sitting down on a padded bench, seemed to be less involved.

“We can’t be sure.” This reply came from Carlos, while Rebecca simply sighed. Clementine stopped in her tracks at the tense conversation that she had just walked into. She looked over to where Carlos was standing, which was right in front of the cardboard box that she assumed held the tree toppers. Without saying anything, Clementine pressed herself against the railing of the top stair.

“It’s been a week, man!” exclaimed Alvin, crossing his arms, “We gotta be outta the woods by now!”

Clementine assumed this was a saying, though part of her wanted to pipe up and let him know that, yes, they were in fact out of the woods… and in the mountains. But she, again, stayed quiet and allowed them to speak.

“We can’t be sure. They might be tracking us.”

“Tracking us?” Alvin leaned against a bookshelf next to Rebecca’s stool, then groaned. “What d’you think they are, ninjas?”

“No.” Carlos spoke in a firm voice, folding his arms. “Ex-Army. And Dunlap was Special Forces.”

There was silence between all three of them. Rebecca shot a glare up at Alvin, while Alvin clenched both his jaw and one of his fists.

Clementine inched herself closer to where Carlos was standing, planning her quick snatching of the angel tree topper without having to interrupt them. But by this point, she found herself slightly more curious about the so-called ex-military people in Carver’s group – and the aforementioned Dunlap (yet another name she would be kept in the dark about) – than she was worried about getting the tree topper. They seldom spoke of the intricate details of what happened with Carver – why he was after them, why he targeted them specifically –

“Are you trying to get behind me, Clem?”

“Hmm?”

Her gaze snapped up from the box to Carlos, who moved over to the side and away from the box.

“Sorry.” Clementine muttered as she snatched the angel from the box. She peered over the railing to see Sarah and Sarita both continuing to place the heavier, glass ornaments towards the bottom of the tree. Carefully, she stood up on her toes and reached over the landing to grab the vertical branch at the top of the tree, then placed the tree topper onto it.

Sarah’s attention was attracted by the rustling of the tree. “It looks so pretty!” she exclaimed, taking a step back in order to see it better. Sarita also looked up from her place at the bottom of the tree, more pine needles clutched in her hands, and smiled.

Clementine flinched at the grip on her shoulder, and turned to face Alvin, who took a step back.

“You talked to that Kenny guy, right?”

“Yeah…” she spoke, backing against the railing, her eyebrow raised.

“What did he say?” This response came from Rebecca this time, who leaned forward, as if in anticipation.

Clementine shrugged, holding onto her wrist. She paused for a moment, attempting to gather her thoughts. Well, they “caught up”. He teased her about her hat. She told him where she had been and he glazed over his own story. It wasn’t particularly in-depth.

“Not… a lot.” she admitted, looking Rebecca in the face this time. “He’s… kind of… the kind of person who stays closed-off unless he’s angry.” Rebecca looked away from Clementine, who looked up to see the reactions from Alvin and Carlos. Gone were the days from the Motor Inn, and the moments where Kenny’s arguments with the other group members could shake the paper-thin walls while Clementine attempted to sleep. But Kenny’s group was much smaller – maybe he didn’t argue with them as much as he argued with the group from the Motor Inn. She hoped.

Slowly, Carlos nodded, then sighed. “Do you trust him?”

“He’s not a bad guy.” Clementine crossed her arms. She repressed the urge to look over her shoulders in the direction of the windows that lead outside.

“I didn’t ask if he was. I asked if you trust him.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There was a silence between them again, as Carlos processed that answer. In Clementine’s mind, she found herself doubting that he would take her word for it, seeing as she wasn’t even sure how much he trusted her in the first place. Enough to be around Sarah? Maybe. Enough to take her word for it?

Clementine thought, once again, about Kenny’s escapades back in Macon. And Peachtree City. And Savannah. Georgia, in general.

The answer was most likely going to be ‘no’.

“What about the other guy?” Alvin exchanged a glance with Rebecca as he said this. “Uh… Walter?”

“You didn’t tell him anything about us, did you?”

Once again, Clementine shrugged. Walter seemed nice. Matthew seemed pretty cool. She liked Sarita well enough. She was at least on speaking terms with Kenny – though more elated today, given the circumstances.

“He said he was a teacher,” she began, peering over the banister. Walter was at one of the counters now, away from the portable stove. Just a few inches away from him were a few stacks of ceramic bowls. “He used to teach kids my age. I think he’s cool, but he’s definitely still stuck in teacher-mode.”

She received three bewildered stares in response.

“What does… that mean to you, Clementine?” asked Carlos, raising an eyebrow.

It was one of those things that Clementine could tell, but that she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure how to put into words. Maybe she should have just described Walter in a different way.

“… I don’t know. You can just kind of tell he was a teacher. It’s not a bad thing.”

Carlos sighed, then shook his head. He looked up to Alvin and Rebecca. “We can figure this out later, but… I’m not sure about these people yet. I’m going to find Luke.” With that, he passed Clementine and retreated down the stairs.

Rebecca held her head with one hand, looking down at her lap. She wrapped her hand around Alvin’s wrist and muttered, “Honey, I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong, Bec?” Alvin kneeled down as Rebecca hung her head, then began to knead her forehead with her fists. Clementine turned from the railing and the tree, eyeing Rebecca. She could smell the cooking peaches and beans from downstairs, and so could Rebecca – maybe it was just the smell making her sick.

“I…” Rebecca faltered for a moment; she took a deep breath, covering her mouth. “I just need somethin’ to drink.”

“You got it.” Alvin stood to his full height, towering over his wife. “I’ll be right back.”

Alvin retreated down the hallway and into one of the nearby rooms.

Rebecca again pressed her hand against her mouth as Alvin left her and Clementine alone, then clenched the tissues she held in her other hand. Slowly, she raised her head up and looked ahead at Clementine, who eyed her in a cautious fashion.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little dizzy.” Rebecca spoke nearly in a whisper, lowering gaze down to her lap. She pressed against her left temple with one hand while crushing a small tissue in her other hand, her gaze pointed down at her stomach, her legs, and the floor.

“You’re sitting down.”

Clementine grasped her left wrist, leaning against the railing as she spoke, watching Rebecca’s mannerisms. She looked nauseous, though Clementine found it hard to tell, as she hadn’t exactly known Rebecca very long; Christa used to get sick, something Clementine could easily remember, when she smelled Omid cooking meat of any kind over the fire. At least until she started showing. In the later stages of her pregnancy, Christa didn’t have any sickness or dizziness. But maybe Rebecca was different.

“I know, Clem…” Rebecca twisted the tissue in her hand, her gaze remaining on the floor. “It’s just somethin’ that happens.”

Shifting in her spot, Clementine found herself backing up and leaning up against the railing, just as she had earlier. She gazed over her shoulder after taking her eyes off of Rebecca and looked down at the tree, just long enough for Rebecca to sigh and place a hand over the large bump.

She shook her head before she murmured, “Ugh – I can’t even take care of myself.” Clementine looked up from the tree, silent, only as an acknowledgement that she was listening (after all, Rebecca wasn’t the kind of person who liked to be passively ignored), and focused on Rebecca’s bump rather than her face.

“How am I supposed to raise a child?” Clementine met Rebecca’s eyes. “How can anyone?”

Clementine slowly nodded, but immediately switched to shaking her head as she watched Rebecca’s eyes dart from her own stomach to the hallway, as if eagerly awaiting Alvin’s return.

Crossing her arms, Clementine spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, but then sighed as she thought of herself. She was still alive. But she thought of Duck – the only other child that she spent longer than a few hours with after the beginning of the outbreak – and she thought of his end, and how Kenny couldn’t protect him.

How Kenny couldn’t protect Katjaa, either.

She thought of Christa and Omid. She thought of their child.

“I’m still alive.” Clementine found herself shrugging as she stepped forward from up against the railing. “Maybe… it’s possible?”

The pause between them lasted several seconds, as Rebecca looked down and as Clementine watched intently, wondering to herself if she had said something to set the woman off. Pregnant women, as Clementine (in her expert opinion and experience) had seen with Christa, could be emotionally unpredictable.

Rebecca’s outstretched fingers stroked the outer side of her belly as her lips curled into a small smile as she spoke. “You’re right. But… it’s hard, I’m sure.” Clementine’s gaze focused on Rebecca’s hand as she watched Rebecca stroke her pregnant stomach. “It’s exciting to meet someone new. I’m already a little less lonely…”

Clementine nodded, her thoughts drifting back to Christa. She wasn’t going to deny her thoughts about Rebecca’s baby, or about the similarities that she saw between this group and just about every other person that she had ever met who died or were otherwise destroyed in some way.

She hoped for better things.

“She’s kicking.” Rebecca suddenly spoke, removing both hands from her stomach. She used one to push herself forward, and the other to reach out to Clementine. “Wanna listen?”

Clementine froze in her spot, still staring Rebecca in the face. Rebecca’s expression didn’t change, and she instead reached for Clementine’s hand, but Clementine’s mind was elsewhere.

Can you feel her kicking, Christa?

I don’t think she has feet yet, Clem.

Blinking, Clementine retracted her hand from Rebecca’s grasp and slowly shook her head.

“Can I… just… feel?”

Rebecca’s lowered smile was subtle, but she nodded anyway as Clementine reached out again, her fingertips barely close enough to feel the fabric of Rebecca’s shirt. Carefully, she placed her palm flat against the area that Rebecca guided her to; immediately, Clementine felt her heart racing.

The smallest thump against Clementine’s hand made her slowly pull it away again.

“I think it’s the smell,” Rebecca peered down to her bump and slowly rubbed it, savoring the remaining moments that the unborn child kicked, “That smells good, huh?”

Clementine crossed her arms, but only to hide the sudden lack of feeling in her fingers as they trembled. Slowly, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Just as soon as she spoke them, Clementine regretted it.

And just as soon as Clementine spoke and regretted speaking, Rebecca’s eyes became wide, her eyebrows scrunched. Clementine crossed her arms tighter, her shoulders arched as she did so, and mentally scolded herself. She shouldn’t have said that. She should not have said that.

Just because what happened with… Clementine’s thoughts were cut off when Rebecca spoke in a hushed voice.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Clementine watched Rebecca’s eyes as they began to look lower than her face, and instead took focusing on Clementine’s hands, which she was desperately trying to hide the trembling of between her arms. In a low voice, Rebecca asked, “Are you okay, Clementine?”

Clementine quickly nodded. “Yeah – sorry.”

For only a few seconds did Rebecca’s gaze linger on Clementine as she sighed, looking back down to her stomach. She looked up for only a brief second, peering in the direction that Alvin had gone off to, and then resumed her gaze down to her stomach.

“What’s wrong…?” The sudden reversal of their previous roles didn’t surprise Clementine. It wasn’t the first time in her life, and it would no doubt be the last.

“It’s not his.”

Clementine froze, her bewildered expression fixed on Rebecca, looking the woman straight in her eyes as she processed the bizarre statement. The words had been in a whisper, as if it were a secluded secret that should be guarded closely. And yet, despite that, Clementine had very little idea as to what the words meant.

Rebecca looked down again.

The realization fell on Clementine like a ton of bricks.

“… Alvin’s?” she murmured, barely audible to herself, never mind Rebecca. But to her surprise, Rebecca nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca shook her head, crushing the tissue in her fist yet again. She looked up. “But I trust you. And… you’ve got some secrets of your own.”

Clementine felt her mouth go dry. She had spoken to exactly one person about anything in any serious detail related to her life before the cabin that involved her parents, Lee, or Christa. And it had been Luke, unless Kenny said anything. She hadn’t even talked to Sarah about it; not about that.

“What do you mean?” The response was probably way too quick for her own good. Rebecca would easily figure out what the hell Clementine meant by this – it was practically code for I have something to hide.

Rebecca flinched at the sheer suddenness of the response.

“Nothing,” Clementine didn’t believe her at all. On her list of things to do, along with take a pair of scissors to her pigtails (and possibly Luke’s arm), was to go and punch Luke right in his face. She knew that there was no way that he hadn’t said something to the others. But Rebecca continued with, “I get that there’s things that you don’t want to tell us.”

Of course there were. There were always things that Clementine didn’t want to talk about. Hell, even talking to Christa became a difficult thing after Savannah and then after Omid’s death and then after… well, as Clementine thought before, there were many things that she didn’t want to talk about.

The last time that she told someone her private business, she ended up in the locked closet of a crazed man who talked to his wife’s decapitated head.

Clementine found herself beginning to walk away. It was neither intentional nor expected, but the sudden pounding in her chest began to start up again as she stopped approximately five feet away from Rebecca, her back turned as she let her previously trembling hands fall to her sides.

“I’m… I’m not trying to be weird.” Clementine turned back to Rebecca, “I just… I don’t know.” Once again, she crossed her arms and peered over the railing. Both Sarah and Sarita had abandoned the Christmas tree. “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Christa.”

“Your friend.” Rebecca placed her hand on her bump and looked into the same direction that she had before, as if expecting Alvin to walk back into the room at any moment. “Why?”

“She was pregnant for a while.” Clementine paused, biting the inside of her mouth and her tongue. She avoided Rebecca’s face. “And I don’t like thinking about it.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but instead suddenly smiled and turned as Alvin walked into the room. Clementine perked up, feeling herself tensing as she thought of the implications that came from Rebecca’s previous words – before Clementine had allowed herself to become so emotional.

“There’s my man!”

Alvin pushed a plastic water bottle into Rebecca’s hands as he asked, “You all right, baby?” He looked from Rebecca to Clementine, and then back to Rebecca with the same smile.

Clementine couldn’t help wondering how much of their previous conversation that Alvin had heard. Hell, Clementine didn’t even want to hear the conversation, and she had been a part of it.

“I’m fine, you big dope.”

Clementine’s gaze focused on Rebecca’s bump just as much as she focused on the words that Rebecca spoke earlier – It’s not his. As in, it wasn’t Alvin’s. Rebecca wasn’t carrying a baby that was her husband’s. If Clementine’s very limited education on the art of where babies came from was any less, then she wouldn’t have even believed Rebecca. Yet, here Rebecca was, pretending that nothing was wrong. Flirting back to her husband.

Her stomach hurt, and Clementine locked her hand onto her opposite arm as she weeded through the other possibilities. Clementine knew that Christa’s baby girl (as much as it pained her to think of that cold, dead face) was Omid’s. She had looked just like Omid, after all, with very little of Christa.

But Rebecca? Rebecca knew. She really, honestly knew.

Clementine immediately thought of the others – the men in the group. If it wasn’t Alvin, had it been one of them? But they all seemed to have something about them that would have immediately put a dent in any ideas that Clementine had.

The sick feeling in her stomach surfaced again as she thought of Carver and his strange way of speaking about Rebecca, all the way back at the cabin. A pretty little pregnant lady, he had said. Pretty.

Clementine turned back to Alvin, wondering if he had any idea.

“You alright?” Not for the first time, Alvin’s voice nearly made her jump. It was more of a flinch, but it didn’t matter.

“Yeah,” Clementine lied straight through her teeth, putting on a fake smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

#twdg #twdg fanfiction #the walking dead game #the walking dead game fanfiction #obtd #obtd fanfiction #obtd announcements #obtd updates #chapter 26: we hope for better things

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spnxmarvel-fanfic · 6 years ago

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Fairytale!Destiel AU : Chapter Two

Y’all I’m so sorry this took five days rather than two. But its here!!!

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel (Destiel)

Warnings: Theres guns, but this is a supernatural fanfic

Word Count: 1246

I mentioned earlier that there were a few villages in the kingdom, that were surrounded by the forest. Some people theorized that the forest was filled with monsters to keep them in, but they were nothing but bedtime stories.

Dean Winchester lived in the middle village, where life was tougher than the one closest to the castle, but not so much that people were starving every night. He lived in a small house with the rest of his family, his father John, his mother Mary, his grandfather Samuel, and his two younger brothers, Sam and Adam.

He had a lot of responsibilities, especially with his brothers, because Mary spent most of her time sewing, and well, John was one of the seven college drunks. So Dean had to take up their family business with Sam, hunting animals and god knows what in the forest for the less fortunate

“I’m going hunting, Mum!” Dean called out, swinging the hunting bag she made for him over his shoulder. There was no reply.

Sighing, Dean walked out of the house, meeting Sam at the door. “Ready Sammy?” he asked his little brother, ruffling his hair with a smirk.

“Deeean,” Sam groaned, attempting to straighten his hair again. “Which part are we going to today? There are no more animals behind our house,” he then asked, rushing slightly to catch up with Dean.

“Northside. Near the edge of the allowed hunting ground,” Dean said, looking both ways before sneaking down between to houses. Hunting wasn’t illegal as such. Samuel Campbell had asked permission years and years ago from King Charles, but it was still frowned upon by the villagers. So the Winchester’s dealt with the looks, and the teasing at schools, and snuck off to the forest unseen to help their town from beating away starvation. Ungrateful little-

“Isn’t that pushing the limits a bit, Dean? What if we shoot something that's on the wrong side? If we get caught they’ll-” Sam rambled, breaking Dean out of his train of thought.

“For god sakes, shut up,” Dean cut him off. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re going right up to the edge,” he snapped, and immediately felt guilty after.

They stepped into the forest, and the whole atmosphere changed. The cries of children playing were far behind them, and the brothers placed another layer of clothing on. People say that the forest is filled with monsters, but Dean only ever comes across the occasional ghost, never seeing the so-called ‘werewolves’ and ‘vampires’ the town claimed to have heard at night. Dean knew they were real, but the borders of the forest were heavily guarded against those kinds of things.

After taking a moment to let their eyes adjust, they began walking again, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves and Dean’s bag banging against his back.

“Hey Dean,” Sam asked, his voice low. He wasn’t afraid of the ghosts, he was afraid of a ghost sneaking up on him and killing him. That's how their grandmother had died.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean groaned. For a fifteen-year-old, he sure did ask a lot of questions.

“Is Dad going to hunt with us again? Ever since Adam started-” Sam continued, but Dean turned around to face Sam, stopping both of them.

“Listen, Dad has been getting further and further away from us. You shouldn’t really expect much from him anymore,” Dean tried not to growl, so it was more of an angry huffing. Adam didn’t spend a lot of time with Sam and Dean anyway, preferring to play sports with his friends. And John? John spent more time in the local bar than he did at home, which wasn’t very hard for him. So hunting was left to Sam, who was left to Dean. And boy, did he want an out.

Dean kept walking to the spot where he’d remembered seeing a few rabbits. They were fat at this time of year. “This looks like a memorable tree, Sammy?” he asked him, already getting ready to carve the date into it.

“Yeah Dean,” Sam replied and dropped his bag next to it, then began rummaging through it. While guns were easiest to use, both brothers loved finding new ways to catch hunts. Knives were pretty good, especially the fancy one grandpa Sam claims he sold his soul for. But you had to get close or be exceptional with aiming. Sam always thought bow and arrows were cool, but Dean always told him that the large bow was unpractical. So traps and guns it was.

After carving the date, Dean grabbed his own gun and started to move quickly but quietly, and despite not hearing him, knowing that Sam was doing the same.

Dean felt a hand on his upper arm, but he didn’t flinch. All he did was turn his head, quietly relieved that it was just Sam, who nodded towards the left where three rabbits were twitching.

‘You take the one on the right,’ Dean mouthed to Sam, intending to take out the other two himself.

Sam nodded, and they raised their guns, but Dean held up a hand, hearing footsteps. Dean, having been more experience, was the only one who heard them. He was also convinced that Sam was partly deaf, or as he put it: “selective my ass”.

He turned his head to the side, and he could have sworn he saw a flash of white in the distance. Not a ghost, but still fast. Dean let his gun fall to the side of his leg, and Sam did the same, although more confused than his older brother.

“What is it?” Sam hissed, keeping his eyes on the rabbits in case they figured out they were there to shoot them.

“Shh,” Dean held up his pointer finger to his lips. Taking a step forward, he moved his head around, trying not to make any noise with his feet, in the opposite direction to the rabbits. Toward the King’s part of the forest.

“Dean!” Sam whispered-shouted, annoyed that his older brother wasn’t telling him what was going on.

“Sam, quiet,” Dean growled quietly, turning towards Sam then back again.

He could feel the gasp someone let out. It wasn’t uncommon for the King’s children to be out in his part of the forest because frankly, everybody in the village knew they were little shits. It was too small of a kingdom for secrets like that. But they were royalty. Whoever was daring the edge of the forest tonight obviously wasn’t expecting the resident hunters to be on that line too, with a gun pointing at them nonetheless.

The unknown royal peeked out from behind a tree, before quickly retreating. Curious, huh? Dean smirked to himself. To be honest with himself, Dean didn’t really like the royals much. He thought the whole system was rigged. This kid didn’t have anything to do with that but aimed his gun about five meters away from the tree the royal was at anyway, and fired.

Not even a second later even Sam could hear the footsteps running, and he caught up with Dean. “What was it? I hope it was worth it because you’ve scared the rabbits away,”

“Relax, Sammy. We’ll find something else on the way back,” he smiled at his younger brother, throwing an arm around his shoulder, despite Sam being taller. “Who knows, maybe I scared a deer right into our path,” Dean grinned, picking up his bag and humming.

#supernatural #supernatural au #spn #spn au #destiel #destiel fairytale #destiel au #destiel fairytale au #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #dean/cas #dean x cas #fairytale #fairytale!destiel #fairytale!destiel au #spnxmarvel-fanfic

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jo-the-schmo · 8 years ago

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Nameless

A/N: Sooooo, yeah this isn’t a hamilton fic. However! it does make references to him and his letters. This is actually a short story I had to write for my English class as an ‘end of the book’ assignment. The book is Uglies and it takes place just after the ending of the first book. If you haven’t read it, I would recomend it, it’s pretty good. But if you don’t want to read it but want to read this I will provide a short summary I wrote for Tayah to explain the events and give you what you need to know in order to understand what’s happening.

Summary: So basically what's happening in the story is that in this world it's the future and when everyone gets to a certain age they get surgery to look beautiful, the main character Tally has to go out and find her best friend for the government because she ran away so she wouldn't have to get the surgery. We find out that there's a secret rebellion against the government because the surgery actually causes people to have different, more obedient personalities. The government finds out where Tally and the rebellion is hiding, kidnaps most of them, kills the love interest's dad and forces the best friend to get the surgery and all of this is Tally's fault. Some of the rebellion escapes and the leader creates a 'cure' for the personality change but they don't know if it'll work and the best friend won't do it so Tally turns herself in so that she can get the surgery and take the cure to make up for her crimes

Wordcount: 3830

Warnings: Blood, angst, maybe gay??? I mean, it can be if that’s what you want (That’s kinda how I wrote it, depends on how you want it.) (it’s kinda gay)

Tags: @iamnotthrowingawaymyshit this is here since you want it my dude!! Senpai is awesome!

Nameless

Don’t think, just move. Don’t think, you need to keep moving. The sounds of the distressed patrol slowly faded from my mind, the obnoxious noises from New Pretty Town soon followed. Don’t think, just leave. The low hum of the hover-board beneath my feet was the only thing I could focus on. I’ll be back; I promise I won’t be gone for long. My cheek still felt hot from the scratch--if I didn’t know better, I would have thought the Middle Pretty used a hot knife when trying to stop me. Teeth grinding against each other, I kept going. Just get to the ruins, someone will be waiting. Grey structures were soon close to my field of vision. The varying sizes seemed almost unnatural, like there was some architectural hierarchy. Some buildings towered over the others, making them practically scream “Admit my superiority or rot!” And oddly enough that was precisely what they were doing, rotting. The smaller towers were breaking down faster than the taller ones, like they were being crushed under the other’s weight.

They were dying.

I felt no different, my world was just as corrupt and sad as these human walls. Everything was breaking, or was it already broken, and I just never saw the cracks forming until it was too late?

Leaning back up to slow down my speed, I came to a stop. This is it, this is what everyone’s been fussing about. The edge of The Ruins loomed over me, making me feel like a lump of rubble ready to be sucked down into the broken pavement and sneaking soil. I stepped off my board and took a deep breath. Waiting was the hardest part, I’m not exactly the most patient person and the idea of this whole thing being a myth made my skin crawl. Before the feeling of regret could overcome me I saw a flash of red go past me. I threw up my arms instinctively, my muscles almost completely tensed up. Then I noticed, hair, red hair. It was a boy, probably a little older than me, yet he was still an Ugly. So… this place is real after all.

“Welcome to the revolution, kid. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The boy called out, a bit too theatrically if you ask me.

“I’m looking for the Smoke. Are you gonna take me there or do I need to fill out the paperwork first?” I said, my voice as blunt as a rusty sword.

The redhead looked at me incredulously. “You don’t sound too happy. My name is Croy. And yeah, I’m here to take the new recruits to our base. Care to come along?” His voice slowly turned cold. The only response I gave was kicking my hover board back on. Croy stepped onto his own and he began to take off, I followed close behind.

“What’s your name, kid?” He spoke without looking back at me.

“Don’t call me kid, and the name doesn’t matter.”

He scoffed. “Alright, I’ll call you…” he glanced over at me, “Twigs,” Croy finally muttered. Typical. Names do not matter right now; what matters is getting answers. I can already tell Croy isn’t going to be the one who can give them to me.

Before I realized it, we had stopped in front of one of the many decaying buildings. We got off our boards and stepped inside. The interior was filled with equipment; it reminded me of the stuff at the doctor’s office, or at least what I saw from the few visits I actually went to. My light brown hair draped over my left eye - it was short and made me look more androgynous than what most people would like. A few people moved their gazes over to me but most didn’t seem to particularly care. “Hey Maddy, we got a new one!” Croy called out. An older woman turned to face us, for a moment I was caught off guard. She’s… a Middle Pretty? No doubt about that, but she looked like she was going over the edge. Her hair was disheveled and even though her skin was perfect it was still fairly obvious that she was exhausted. She smiled nonetheless though, walking over to me, a pretty smile stretched across her lips.

“Welcome to the Smoke.” Her voice was soft, it reminded me of a mother bird, a constant coo.

“Hey…” My voice came out quieter than I intended it to.

“What’s your name-” she began to speak but was quickly interrupted by Croy.

“I’m calling her Twigs. She wouldn’t give me a real name.” I rolled my eyes but the woman nodded, almost like she wasn’t surprised by that at all.

“Croy, you have to remember that not everyone is trusting right off the bat. A name is important, it identifies you, labels you, and it can mean security to some people.” She turned her big eyes toward me. “As long as you don’t have a name, you don’t have a face, and you don’t exist.” A chill ran up my spine as she spoke to me, but before I could fully wrap my head around what she was trying to tell me, a loud crashing sound erupted from a few feet behind me.

I quickly turn and saw an Ugly wearing an odd, patchy jacket. His eyes were red and puffy, it seemed familiar. Finally, he croaked out a coherent sentence that wasn’t blocked by his heavy breathing.

“Where’s Tally?” His voice was cold and sharp. Maddy turned to him with an obvious forced sympathy.

“David, she’s already left. Her and Shay both are in New Pretty Town by now. I’m sorry son but this was for the best.” She heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t believe you’d let her go through with that! You should’ve stopped her!” He yelled back, it might’ve sounded angry if not for tears streaming down his face. Maddy looked over to me and spoke as calmly as she could force herself.

“Twigs… This is my son David… David, this is Twigs.” The way she said it almost reminded me of how my parents acted when I was a littlie and someone came over for a visit. It was that ‘Play nice we have to look presentable’ kind of thing. David stormed off, not bothering to say a word to me or look down at me for that matter.

The rest of my first day I spent getting acquainted with how everything was running. I was told how to get more supplies and allies and all of that other stuff I didn’t really care about. By the time night fell I was far from able to sleep. I’ll come back for you. I would never leave you behind. I made my way up to the top of one of what I now have decided to call the ‘People Buildings’. I wasn’t the only one there however, if the sniffling and weeping didn’t give him away, the patches on the jacket sure did. It was David. I made quiet steps towards him.

“You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent.” I quoted these words, they were old but they meant something. It was really rare for us to learn about the people before the Rusties. I liked the history and came upon that quote, I always thought that it was oddly relatable for being so old. I honestly could’ve gotten into a lot of trouble if they had found out I taught myself about that stuff, by hacking into the systems no less but I wish I knew more. The first paragraph was always my favorite, but there were always certain lines that entertained my thoughts from time to time. She loved that letter, I found it just before she went to get the surgery. She told me it was the sweetest thing in the world and that I better recite it to her the second I got to New Pretty Town myself. David perked his head up and faced me with a confused expression.

“Excuse me?” He stated while using his sleeves to dry his tears.

“It’s a quote. That person that you talked about earlier, Tally, she stole into your affections and now she’s gone. The guy who said that, he was really far away from the person he was talking about. He was before the Rusties and they had to send messages to each other to stay in touch.” I made sure not to mention that the person the man was writing to apparently died before they could see each other again. I took a seat next to him and sighed, my emotions finally catching up with me. “I’m assuming she went to turn pretty…I’ve heard about the lesions from your people…” I bit my bottom lip, anger trying to seep out of my pores.

“She didn’t even say goodbye to me…She doesn’t even want to be pretty!” His voice kept cracking, he wasn’t too far off from how I felt. She’s gone, I need to bring her back to me.

“I understand, you feel trapped, like it’s your fault that they’ve changed. Because you weren’t good enough for them to want to stay the same. Even if you know logically that it isn’t true, you still feel like that.” That was the first time I had admitted to myself what I was feeling, loss, self-loathing, disgust. But knowing how to describe that feeling did not help me feel better at all. Didn’t want to be pretty? I decided to ask what he meant by that.

“She went so that we could test a possible cure for her friend, Shay. I told her not to but I guess she didn’t listen.” That word, cure.

“Wait! There’s a cure? You guys know how to fix the lesions?” I couldn’t believe it, I was hoping that they were working on it, not actually have it! This is great! I can save her! I looked over to David who at the very least looked a little better than he did earlier. “Do you think it’ll work?” I finally asked.

“We aren’t really sure yet, it hasn’t been tested, that’s why Tally left.” His voice was somber but at least he stopped crying. I need to go back for her. A wide smile stretched across my face.

“David, I have a small favor to ask.”

“What is it?” He questioned.

“I have a…friend, who had the surgery a couple months ago. She needs that cure. I can go to New Pretty Town and get her if you keep watch, the security has doubled around that place.” He seemed hesitant at first but once I told him there may be a chance that we can find Shay and Tally he seemed a bit fonder of the idea.

“If she was here for a little while, it would take a few days for them to actually perform the operation. They’ll probably want to make sure they don’t mess up.” I explained to him, he was actually happy that there might be a chance to get to her before the surgery even happened. The sun was setting by the time we finally had a proper plan as to what to do. We decided that getting Tally and Shay would be phase two of the operation, we had to make sure that this was even possible before we could get them.

When twilight began to fade away we snuck out of the ruins and used our hover boards to make our way to New Pretty Town. I was only gone for a day and I’m already heading back. It’s been months since I’ve seen you. I’m gonna get you out of there and fixed! My heart raced as we inched closer to our destination. The fireworks were already going off like crazy, not only that but the guards were making the whole place pretty secure. This was unusual, even for them. I shrugged off the thought and turned to David as we came to a stop.

“Ok, I have a plan. Follow my lead and do exactly as I do. Got it?” I said a bit frantically. He nodded as I stepped off my board and made sure that my crash bracelets were still working. Looks like this should work… I grabbed the hover board and threw it up and past one of the few blind spots that the patrols had. I quickly ran after it, my crash bracelets, thinking I fell off, picked me up to my board as I dropped down into the grounds. David soon followed my example and repeated what I had done, a bit more gracefully however. To keep precautions, we hurriedly hid behind a couple of benches, Pretties walked past us, too bubbly and happy to even notice our existence.

“Alright, do you know where we can find this friend of yours?” David asked anxiously.

“Last time I talked to her…after the surgery she said that she’d been hanging out with some group, they wear masks. So, if we can find the masks, we find her.”

We moved along with the shadows to be as invisible as possible. It might be hard to believe but we stick out like a pair of sore thumbs in this place. It didn’t take us long to come across a mass-no a parade of people wearing decorative masks. Some looked like animals, some looked like they were trying to mimic flowers, some were simply just pleasing to the eye but a few of them looked oddly disturbing. Don’t ask why, I’m not even sure myself, but they gave me an eerie feeling. “Alright, she should be somewhere in there, if we go in one of the alleys up ahead we can hide and keep an eye out for her.” This was as best of a plan I could come up with.

We went up a few streets until we were 10 or so minutes a head of the pace of the group of mask wearing Pretties. Hiding in a narrow alleyway we waited for them to come through. It was loud and took some time for me to pick her out of the crowd. But finally I could see her hair, it was the one thing that the doctors said they would keep or at least make as similar as possible. It was a calming caramel like shade of brown, you certainly didn’t see it very often. Her mask was one of the weird, creep inducing ones but I ignored it as best I could. Throwing myself into the crowd for a second I grabbed her arm and pulled her with me back into the alley. She protested at first but once we stood in front of each other she could clearly see my face.

“Addie!” I jumped into her arms excitedly once she got over the shock of me saying her name after all these months. She was too confused for a second to say anything but once she regained her composure she smiled at me, it was even more beautiful than any of the other Pretties could hope for. Cold in my profession, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Sky, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you.

“It’s...It’s really you! Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here Short-stack!” She spoke so happily I almost forgot why we came here. I haven’t been called “Short-stack” since she left. It felt strangely great to hear it again. She pulled off her mask and took a deep breath, I wanted to hug her again and never let go...But we had a mission at hand. I shall only tell you that ‘till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you taught my heart to set upon you.

“Addie, listen to me okay? I am your best friend. You know that I would never in a million life times lie to you, right?” I spoke slowly and calmly. Her big, golden eyes stared down at me. She was actually a little taller than I remembered her.

“Of course I know that! We’ve been together from the beginning.” She paused, cocking her head to the side slightly. “Is something wrong?” Hearing her sound so happy and yet so concerned made me want to cry.

“Yes. There is. I know this sounds crazy, but the reason I haven’t gotten the surgery yet is because I ran away. I’m in that rebellion that’s been spreading like wildfire and- “

She interrupted me. “Why would you do that? You were supposed to come and be with me!” She almost sounded sad. I had to keep going. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done.

“The doctors, they’re lying! The surgeries aren’t just to make you look pretty, but also to make you think differently. I went to The Smoke because I wanted to help them find a cure. It turns out that they already have one! Come with me! We can get you back to your old self and-” At this point I had actually started to cry. It was so hard for me to tell her all of this, all she ever wanted was to be perfect. Why didn’t she know she was already perfect? Did I not tell her that enough? Her eyes narrowed a bit.

“Whoa, slow down there, take a deep breath. You’re gonna give yourself one of those panic attack things the teachers said used to plague people’s minds!” She didn’t realize how many of those things I think I’ve already had. Nevertheless, I did what she told me to do. Her voice by itself was enough to make me calm down a bit. Once she saw that I was a little better she spoke up again. “That really is crazy. Are you serious? They change the way you think? I knew that those rumors have been going around, but are you sure?” I understood her uncertainty but I didn’t have much time. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. David was getting nervous. Who knows how much time we had left until someone realized we’re here?

“Look Twigs, I know that it’s fun seeing your old “friend” but we really need to hurry up.” He reminded me. I needed to make this quick.

“Addie, please! I need you to come with me, you have to trust me on this!” I tugged on her arm, but she pulled it away from me. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. Her eyes, they didn’t look right. They were darker. They burned more than the scratch on my face did. I hadn’t noticed it until that moment, a tube. There was a thin tube connected to her mask. Behind her was a small canister, the tube was connecting to it. Gas? Why is there a gas canister attached to her mask? And why is that thing strapped to her back like that? I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked back up at her. She looked angry. I’ve never seen a Pretty mad before. It was terrifying. “A-Addie? What’s wrong? Are you ok?” My voice shook. Why am I so scared?

“You will not take me. This is not protocol. You are breaking the law. We will not hurt you unless we have to.” Her voice changed too. It was cold and sharp. She’s never sounded like this before. David tried to pull me towards him but I shook him off. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me.

“Addie? It’s me…Short-stack? Remember me?” I took a step towards her. Please don’t do this to me…not you. Please don’t leave me. I reached out to her, maybe if I could help her remember she’d come with me. My fingertips reached the edge of her hair, it wasn’t her real hair after all. Then it hit me. Pain. Sharp. Burning. Blood. Stomach. But both for your country’s sake and for my own I wish the enemy may be gone from The Smoke before you arrive and that you may be obliged to return and share the fortunes of your old friends.

I looked down, her hand was embedded in my abdomen. I wanted to scream but the words wouldn’t even come up. She retracted her hand, it was covered in blood. My blood. “Message from Special Circumstances: Tally Youngblood cannot be saved. The Smoke will burn.” Her voice was just as frozen and methodical as it was before. This carries with it an air of preference, which, though we can all truly say, we love your character, and admire your military merit, cannot fail to give some of us uneasy sensations. But in this, my Dear Sky I wish you to understand me well. The blame, if there is any, falls wholly upon Special Circumstances. I fell back slightly, David quickly picked me up. Things flashed by me, sounds were everywhere at once. Hover board hums alongside fireworks. Addie’s voice, it’s so pretty, her old voice.

When I opened my eyes again it was just me and David, a little away from the ruins. His hand was pressing down on the gaping hole in my stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. He looked frantic, I was losing all the feeling in my body, fast. I’m sorry Addie. I couldn’t save you. Forgive me. My eyes were beginning to shut; I couldn’t stop it from happening. I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the enclosed letters. I hope they may be recent. “Hey...Twigs…don’t…stay…eyes…” David’s voice was fading as I looked up and saw the People Buildings again. So…They really did drag me into the soil. Don’t worry Addie, take your time meeting me…I’ll wait an eternity for you… Then everything went black.

In this I have succeeded, but I have done more. I have gratified my feelings, by lengthening out the only kind of intercourse now in my power with my friend. Adieu. The Smoke will live on. They will free us all. Twigs, Short stack, whatever you knew me as, none of that matters. As long as I might one day see Addie again, that’s all that matters. Don’t stop, keep moving, I miss you already. My name was Sky Welding. But, at least to them, I will forever be nameless.

#uglies #uglies fic #tally youngblood #do with this what you will

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pengychan · 8 years ago

Text

The Mind Cage, Ch. 14

Title: The Mind Cage Summary: In another world, Stanford Pines places a metal plate in his skull far too soon. In another world, Bill Cipher is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Characters: Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford McGucket Rating: T Click here for the first chapter, warnings and links to all chapters up so far.

A/N: So, the “epilogue” got longer than expected, and I ended up splitting it in one proper chapter and a short epilogue. But hey, time to wrap this up, so here’s the chapter. I’ll post the last part on Saturday at the latest.

***

For the rest of his life, Stanley Pines would repeat himself the same mantra whenever faced with an arduous task: ‘I punched a demon of chaos in the eye. I can do this’. It was a good mantra, really, and it usually worked.

The day he stood before the door of his childhood home for the first time in over ten years, the window of what had been his and Stanford’s bedroom looming above him like an empty eye, it wasn’t working at all. Everything looked the same - not the stuff in the front window, which had probably been long since sold and replaced by different things, but the house itself was just as he remembered, down to the doormat and the mezuzah by the doorframe.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he found himself saying, and would have stepped back if not for Stanford’s hand on his upper back. Because he was right there by his side, and not up there at the window to turn away and close the curtains on his last plea.

“Of course you can. I wrote them - they know you’re coming,” Stanford said. In the weeks that had passed since Bill’s demise, he had changed so much he hardly looked like the walking skeleton Stan had seen when he’d first knocked at the door of his house in the woods. His hair had grown back a bit more to hide the surgery scar entirely, and he was well on his way back to a healthy weight. He was still a bit pale, but the dark shadows under his eyes were gone, despite the occasional nightmares they both had to deal with.

Stan’s own involved the water tower, and his brother, eyes gleaming yellow, throwing himself off it as he stood on top of it, unable to move or do anything to stop him, unable to even scream. He would inevitably awaken with a start the instant before Stanford’s body hit the ground, and truth be told it was a blessing, like he was being spared the worst of it.

As for Stanford’s… who knew. He never remembered them, or so he said, and Stan had never wanted to press on: if he did remember them, it was clear he didn’t want to talk about them. Either way, the bad nights had become fewer, more and more peaceful nights between one nightmare and the next. One day, hopefully, they would fade.

We can handle this. We can handle anything.

Stan drew in a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

The echo hadn’t faded yet when there were steps, quick and steady; dad’s steps, just the way he remembered them. Stan had a few seconds to panic and consider a quick retreat before the door swung open.

The man standing before him stood a couple of inches taller than him, a similar built, strong jaw and features that looked like they had been set in stone. And it wasn’t Filbrick Pines.

“… Shermie?”

Sherman Pines squinted, but other than that his face showed hardly any change. He had their father’s dark green eyes, the only one out of the three of them to inherit them; fitting, considering that he had always been the one to resemble him the most. Ten years their senior, serious and steady as a rock, he’d been a real bore. As kids, before he moved out to be on his own, the twins had tried all they could to get him to crack a smile, and the few times they had succeeded it had felt like they had scored a major victory.

“He’s just allergic to fun,” Stan had said once, before their mother had revealed him Shermie’s secret: he joked his own way, with a perfectly straight face, so that everyone else would be left wondering whether he was serious or not. To him, watching others squirm was the real fun. Which made him kind of an ass, but not a totally humorless one.

And, as he spoke now, he did sound perfectly serious. “Hello, Stanf– oh, wait. It’s the other one. What’s the name again? Sheldon?”

Yeah, sure. Like this is gonna work on me now.

Stanley suppressed a scoff and let his face fall into an identical mask of indifference. “You got it wrong as usual. It’s Steve, remember?”

“Sorry, Scott,” Shermie replied without missing a beat, and turned to glance over his shoulder, inside the house. “Simon, go tell your grandma that Sean and Stuart are here.”

There was a childish laugh, and a shrill voice. “Daa-aad, my name is Samuel!”

“Don’t talk back to me, Spencer.”

Another laugh, the sound of feet pounding up the stairs - holy Moses, was the one talking really Sam? He had been just a baby when Stan had last seen him - and Shermie turned back to them, expression still unreadable.

“And I assume that, after leaving me to deal with the old man and his shop for ten years, you want to be let in. With that hair, no less.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Shermie stared back at him, face stony. “I am beside myself with joy,” he said, deadpanned. “You still haven’t given me a reason to let you in.”

Stan grinned, sizing him up. He’d always been bigger than him, but now that he was an adult himself he was pretty confused in his chances. And, besides, he had punched a demon just two weeks earlier. “You know I could punch my way in, right?”

That did get him to crack something remarkably similar to a smile. “You? Hah! Hardly.”

“Wanna bet?”

Shermie shrugged. “I could take on your offer and grind you to dust, but then I’d have to clean up. And our mother may or may not lodge a complaint. So I’ll be generous and let you in behind proper payment,” he added, and glanced at Stanford. “Three?”

Stanford chuckled, and nodded. “Seems fair enough,” he said, causing Stan to frown.

“Three? Two wha– ow! HEY!”

“Ribs,” he heard Stanford saying behind him when Shermie caught him in a bear hug strong enough to make at least a couple of his ribs creak. Or maybe three, hard to tell.

“Okay, okay! Enough! I paid my due!” Stan wheezed, and felt more than he heard Shermie’s scoff before he let him go. Okay, so maybe he had been wrong thinking he would be able to punch his way through him.

“You thick-headed animal,” Shermie muttered. “Why the hell haven’t you come back sooner?”

“You know why. The old man–”

“To hell with the old man. You could have come to my place.”

Stan grinned, hoping that would be enough to hide the way his heart clenched at the realization he really meant it. “Aww, you do care,” he said instead, to an expressionless face.

“I can neither confirm nor deny–”

“… Stanley?”

Oh. Oh, God.

His mother has spoken softly, but her voice may as well have been loud as a gunshot. The moment the name was out of her mouth, Stan winced and Shermie immediately stepped away from the doorway like a trained soldier - leaving him to face his mother for the first time in over ten years, at least in the real world.

She had grown older and a bit thinner. There were gray wisps in her hair, signs of aging at the corners of her eyes and mouth, some wrinkles starting to show on her neck - and yet the look of wonder on her face made her look her younger than ever. Plus, she still absolutely rocked that red dress.

All of a sudden, every single one of the small speeches Stan had prepared in his mind during the long trip to New Jersey - made even longer by the necessity to avoid at least most of the states he was banned from, or wanted in - vanished from his mind like smoke.

“Hey, ma,” Stan found himself saying, his mouth dry. “You look great.”

Maureen Pines opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then reached cover it with her hands, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “Flatterer,” she managed, but Stan hardly even heard her: even as she spoke her eyes had filled with tears, and he couldn’t stand watching that. He just couldn’t.

So he closed up the space between them in two strides, and hugged her tight. Just like in Ford’s mind she seemed so tiny, even in heels.

My little free spirit, her memory had said. Not so little anymore.

“I missed you, Ma,” he choked out. When had he started crying? Dammit, he didn’t mean to cry.

“Oh, Stanley. I missed you too, so much. Please, forgive me.”

“… Huh? Forgive you for wha–” Stan began, only to trail off when she suddenly pulled back and slapped him across the face, hard enough to make his head whip aside. Through the smack ringing in his ears, he faintly heard the sympathetic hisses coming from his brothers. Somewhere on his left, a childish voice - Sam? - muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘ouch’.

Ah well. Not the first woman to do it, anyway. Marylin’s slap in Vegas when he’d found her trying to steal his car, with the cheap ring still at her finger, had been a lot worse. What his mother said, however, stung a lot more than anything she could have done.

“Over ten years! Not even a phone call! Not one, Stanley!”

But I called you, ma. Used my one phone call from jail once. I was just too ashamed to speak.

“Mom…” Stanford began speaking, but Stan wouldn’t have him speak on his behalf now. So he straightened himself, faced his mother and gave his most sheepish smile.

“… Sorry it took me so long, ma. I got you flowers,” he added, only to realize a moment later that he had forgotten them in the car. But it didn’t really matter, because of course his mother wouldn’t have cared if he’d showed up on a white steed, with all the roses in the world and all of the cash money ever printed. He could have showed up in rags for all she cared, and it would have been enough. He was enough.

“Flowers,” she repeated, and laughed. Her laugh hadn’t changed, either: it still had the same girlish quality to it. “Gone ten years, and you got me flowers.”

“Yep. I think they’re in the car, though. Maybe I should go get ‘em? They probably need water and–”

“Stanley Pines,” she cut him off, holding out her arms. “You are going absolutely nowhere for the next two weeks. Neither of you is,” she added, and smiled again through tears, holding out her arms and glancing at Stanford. “Come here, both of you.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. It had been a snug fit in her arms when they were both children; now that they were both grown men and easily taller than her it felt pretty crowded, but still just as good. No, even better: Stan had never needed a hug more, and he was rather sure the same went for Stanford. It felt as though nothing and no one could ruin that moment.

“I almost thought you were dead,” Maureen Pines choked out, holding them both. Stan opened his mouth to speak, but someone else got there - Shermie.

“She’s being overdramatic. Of course she used her amazing psychic powers to know you were fine.”

Stan snorted, glaring at him over his mother’s shoulder. “You’re still an ass.”

“Stanley! Not in front of Samuel!” she protested, finally pulling back. “I taught you better!”

“Yeah, watch your language in front of my fucking kid.”

“Sherman Pines!”

Stanford rolled his eyes with a sigh and Shermie showed no reaction at all, but Stan couldn’t hold back a snicker - and neither could Sammy, standing right next to his father. He was a cute kid, with brown hair and the same green eyes as his dad, and he was on the small side for his age. Still, having last seen him as a wailing infant the night he’d been thrown out, Stan couldn’t help but marvel at how much he’d grown.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, crouching in front of him. “You don’t remember me, but I’m your Uncle Stan - I babysat you plenty of times. Nice to meetcha,” he said, and held out his hand. The kid smiled, and immediately reached out to shake it.

“Is it true that you wore Groucho Marx glasses at your Bar Mitzvah?”

Stan laughed. There was an odd relief in realizing that he wasn’t a complete stranger to that kid, that he hadn’t been entirely written off the family history. “You bet! Your grandpa was not impressed, but then again he never is, huh? Hey, aren’t you about eleven now?”

“And a half! My Bar Mitzvah is next year! Will you and Uncle Ford come?”

Stan smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, kiddo,” he said, and he meant it, he really did. “You know, I think those Groucho Marx glasses might still be around here somewhere. If you find ‘em, they’re yours.”

“Cool!”

Shermie raised an eyebrow. “Samuel, I forbid you to wear anything like it in the temple.”

Sam pouted up at him. “You forbid me to do stuff all the time.”

“It’s my job. Yours is not to listen.”

“But then what’s the point?”

“So that I’ve done my duty as a parent and am therefore free to complain about kids these da–”

“Maureen? Who is it?”

The voice cut off Stan’s laughter just as it cut off his brother’s sentence, causing a sense of dread to spread in his chest.

No. Nope. Not ready. No siree, not at all.

The thought of turning and bolting out of the door did cross Stan’s mind, but he didn’t - if anything because he suddenly found himself unable to move. He just stood there, glued on the spot, when Filbrick Pines appeared in the doorway - or at least, someone who looked a lot like him did.

The man he remembered stood straight as an iron rod, his jaw always set, his suit impeccable, a hat always on his head and with shades to cover his eyes. What he found himself facing was an old man shorter than himself, back curved and leaning heavily on a cane, thinning hair and mustache gone from light brown to iron gray. The hat was gone and so was the suit, replaced by an old man’s a housecoat; without the shades, his eyes looked larger than they had any right to be. His gaze, no longer hidden, seemed horribly vacant, in a way it had never been before.

Stanford had warned him to expect as much, of course, and Stan had thought he’d been ready, but he could tell now that he wasn’t. How could he be? He had left behind the unyielding head of the family, and had returned to a lost old man.

“Dad,” he found himself calling out, his mouth dry, and that vacant gaze paused on him. Filbrick Pines narrowed his eyes, in a way that made clear the gears in his brain were turning, if slowly. His gaze, now not so vacant anymore, shifted between him and Stanford for a few long moments, then - finally - he spoke.

“… Stanley,” he said, then paused again. “You…” he added, and frowned. Now that made him look a lot more familiar, Stan thought, and opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself from whatever accusation he was about to throw at him. If he dared bring up that damn money…!

“Listen, I–”

“You’re late for lunch.”

“… Know that last time we met you said I wouldn’t be– huh?”

Filbrick Pines nodded, as though he had heard nothing of what Stan had just said. “You are late for lunch. Isn’t he? Maureen?”

That vacant look, again. Stan heard his mother stifling a sigh before walking up to him and reaching to take his arm. “No, dear. It’s not even midday yet.”

“Oh.”

“You should sit. Sammy is going to help you to the armchair, all ri–”

“Not him. Stanley. Where’s Stanley?”

Sometimes Stan had imagined returning home without the money, of course. He’d imagined his father’s coldness, the kind that told him loud and clear with no need for words that he was a failure. He had imagined that would hurt. This was worse, because at least he could have tried to hate his old man if he still had his wits about him; now he reached for his anger and found nothing but a handful of ashes and long dead embers.

His mother turned to look at him, a mute plea in her gaze. “Stanley, dear, would you be so kind…?”

Acutely aware of everyone’s gaze on him - and the touch of Stanford’s hand on his shoulder, just for a moment - Stan forced himself to give his most convincing smile. He’d had to fake plenty in the past ten years, after all. This one was the hardest to keep up.

“Sure, ma.”

Filbrick’s favorite armchair was still exactly where it had always been, but it showed the signs of having been used a great deal more. Stan helped his father sit and stood there for a few moments, not quite knowing what to do or say. In the end, his gaze fell on the cane.

“… Hey, is that the whalebone walking stick that guy from Wisconsin tried to trade in exchange for a set of ceramic dishes with weird faces painted on them?” he asked, more to say something than because he really expected his father to remember anything. He didn’t, in fact. How would an old man with dementia remember something that had happened at least fifteen years befo–

“No. That was the mother of pearl carriage clock.”

“… Huh?”

Unaware of his stunned expression, Filbrick Pines nodded. He was looking at the wall behind him, his eyes not really focusing on anything, but his voice was suddenly louder and surer than minutes before. “Yes. Mother of pearl, worth about a thousands bucks if working. Except that it did not work, because… because…”

“His kid had smashed it,” Stan finished for him, trying to ignore a sudden sense of unreality. The memory came back to him in bits and pieces, a cloudy afternoon when Stanford was still buried in his book and he’d gone downstairs to watch his father handling business. “That was why he tried to trade it for something else. He had tried to fix it with, like, tape…”

“Superglue.”

“Yes, you’re right! It was super glue and… how did you realize that again?”

“He had small burns on his fingertips. The kind the glue he tried to use leaves on skin.” Under Stan’s incredulous gaze, Filbrick Pines slowly nodded. “Yes, superglue. The clock was well worth the cane even broken, but the way he tried to lie - he said it would work again once charged, and we both knew it wouldn’t. I was–”

“Not impressed,” Stan finished for him, and caused him to blink.

“How did you guess?”

Stan ignored the question and just laughed, suddenly elated. He felt like he’d just found out an old broken clock could be made to work again, after all, if you just knew what made it work.

So we just gotta talk business? Very well. Let’s talk business.

***

There was a lot of talking during lunch because, after all, there was a lot to talk about - even taking in account the many things Stan and Ford could not tell them. Ford was glad to talk little of his research and let his brother do most of the talking, covering a great deal of his ten years away from home.

Stanley’s account wasn’t entirely honest, of course. There was no mention of prison, for one, and hardly anything about the activities that had gotten him in trouble more than once; whenever his enterprises had failed, he chalked it up to bad luck, and said nothing about having to live in his car for long stretches of time. But there were still stories to tell and, Ford had to admit, some were rather amusing - like his forty-eight hour long marriage in Vegas to a woman who, as it turned out, was only aiming to scam him out of his car.

To be entirely honest, Ford couldn’t help but think that Stan and this Marilyn actually sounded like a good match. Beside him, his mother was leaning forward, paying hardly any attention to the food, as though she couldn’t get enough of the sound of Stanley’s voice. At the moment she seemed torn between amusement and indignation at the thought anyone would try to scam her baby.

“… So she got away with the ring but hey, it was gum-machine stuff I got with a quarter. Imagine her face when she tried to sell it!” Stan was saying, causing their mother to laugh so hard she had tears streaming down her face. Stanley laughed as well, giving her a few pats on the back, then turned to glance at Ford and winked.

Watch this, he mouthed, and turned to their father - who was barely lifting his eyes from the dish in front of him, having ignored Sam’s attempts at getting him to play some kind of guessing game. “Hey, dad. Remember that chick who walked in here with a ring that turned out to be just a piece of painted tin and glass?” Stanley called out.

Filbrick Pines looked up, blinked, and frowned. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you have any idea how many divorcees walked in with rings worth nothing?”

Stanley had used that trick a few times throughout lunch, and it had worked every single time: for a few minutes, they would get a glimpse of their father as he used to be. As long as he was talking business, he sounded incredibly normal - even recalling details from trades and sales he had made a couple of decades earlier.

“Yeah, good point,” Stanely conceded. “Say, remember that old nightstand we bought? The one with the creepy porcelain doll inside? Blue dress, one eye missing? I found it in another drawer and put it in Shermie’s cereal, remember? Made him shriek.”

“You shrieked?” Sam asked, looking up at his father with a grin and causing him to scowl.

“Thanks again for that, Stanley,” he grumbled, but everyone’s attention stayed fixed on Filbrick as he spoke again.

“Yes. Had it fixed up and sold it for… about two hundred bucks, I think.”

“Ma had a bad feeling about it, didn’t she?”

This time, Filbrick Pines rolled his eyes and glanced sideways at his wife. “Could very well be. Your mother always had a bad feeling about everything antique I ever bought or sold.”

Taken as she was by the scene, Maureen Pines forgot to even protest, and Ford felt a sudden impulse to turn and hold her tight. She had lost one of her sons ten years earlier, then Ford had across the country and her husband had begun slipping away as well; he couldn’t imagine what it had to feel like, having them all back at the same table like a family.

I should have come more often. I shouldn’t have assume that Shermie and Sam living in the same town would be enough to keep her company.

While watching her, Ford failed to realize that his father’s gaze had lost a the vacant quality it usually had - and not only when Stan was speaking to him about business. By the end of the lunch, which took the best part of the afternoon, there was nothing in his demeanor that gave any hint about his condition. Had he noticed, he’d have recognized it as one of the lucid moments he used to have until the previous year, the kind that could last for hours. It had been a while since last time he’d had one.

Instead, he only realized what was going on when the last of the dessert was gone, and Filbrick Pines stood. “I am going out.”

His wife, in the middle of telling her sons about the latest story involving her nosy neighbour - who, to be fair, was no nosier than Mrs. Pines herself - trailed off to blink at him. “Are you sure, dear? This is usually when you sleep for a couple of–”

“No. I’d rather go out.”

Shermie looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Not in your housecoat, you’re not.”

“You don’t say,” his father said drily, reaching for his cane. “Do I look that far gone?”

“Honestly?” Sharmie challenged, causing Filbrick to snort.

“I’ll change and be out of the front door in ten minutes. Stanley, you’re coming with me.”

And with that he was gone, leaving his family to stare speechlessly at the doorway.

***

It wasn’t a long walk to the beach, and that was a blessing: not only because his father had to lean so heavily on the cane that from time to time Stan found himself reaching out to steady him - something he stubbornly refused to let him do - but also because it was awkwardly silent. By the time they reached the seafront, Filbrick Pines hadn’t said a word. He stayed silent for another full minute after they sat on an old wooden bench, half-rotted by years of wind and salt.

The old swing set was gone, Stan noticed, and there was a pang of something in his chest that he couldn’t quite name. Not that he had time to dwell on it for long.

“I kicked you out,” Filbrick finally spoke, his voice even, and Stan winced. He really hadn’t expected him to bring it up; until then, it had looked like he didn’t remember that part.

“Well… I guess–”

“That was not a question,” he cut him off. He kept staring at the sea, the setting sun reflecting on the shades that were now back on his face. His hands were folded on the handle of the cane. “How long ago was that?”

“… A little over ten years.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, and for a few moments it seemed that would be all he had to say on the matter. It was not. “I had thought you’d be back in a few weeks, once you learned a lesson.”

“Yeah, Stanford told me. Look, about… about all the millions I costed us–” Stan began, but his father lifted a hand to shut him up, and he fell silent.

“Millions that would have done absolutely nothing to keep my brain from rotting.”

“Hey now, it’s not so bad– ouch!” he yelped then Filbrick Pines used his cane to whack him on his arm. “What was that about?”

“Don’t patronize me, Stanley. I only ever speak one way, don’t I?”

“Very frankly,” Stan found himself saying, his voice like old paper, and his father nodded, hands folded on top of the cane. Its planted itself in the sand once again.

“Exactly. You take more after your mother on this aspect, so if you can’t speak frankly even now, don’t speak at all and let me do the talking. My brain is rotting, whatever fancy medical term you want to use to say it, and I don’t have many lucid moments like this. No telling when it might happened again or how long it will last, and I have a lot to cram into it. Talking too much was like canal root treatment before, let alone now,” he added. From anyone else, it would have sounded like a joke. Coming from him… it was hard to tell. “So. A lesson to learn. What did you learn, knucklehead?”

He’s too strong. I couldn’t even land a punch or–

So throw another. Isn’t that how a fight works? You don’t stop hitting just because the first punch wasn’t enough. You keep going until you’re on the ground or they are.

“… When life hits you, you punch it in the face twice as hard,” Stan found himself saying, then turned to his father. “Not something about responsibility, if that was what you wanted, but it’s still something. Punch life back. I kinda dreamed of punching you in the face, too. Several times.”

“And you’re not going to?”

“No.”

“Would you, if I were any less pathetic?”

“You’re not–” Stan began, only to trail off when his father lifted the cane again, just slightly.

Don’t patronize me, that single gesture told him. Don’t you dare.

Stan thought back of when he had seen him in Stanford’s memories, the vicious satisfaction he had felt upon socking him in the jaw. If he tried now, said jaw would probably shatter. “You bet I would,” he finally said, his voice akin to a snarl, and to his utter surprise Filbrick Pines laughed. It was brief and sounded all the world like an instrument that hadn’t been used in a long, long time, but a laugh it was.

“Hah! Well. Speaking frankly, aren’t you? About time,” he said, and tapped his cane a couple of times against a rock half-buried in the sand. “Good. You knew I would have taken you back in if you returned groveling, don’t you? If anything for your mother’s peace of mind.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t come back.”

“Wasn’t gonna grovel.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Stubborn as a mule and too proud to return empty-handed. I should have known you wouldn’t have come back,” he said, and turned to look at him. Stan found himself looking at his own reflection in the shades. “I wouldn’t have, either.”

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Years ago, that would have gained him a sharp command to close his mouth before birds began nesting in it; now his father just looked away, back at the sunset. They stayed silent for a full couple of minutes.

“Do you want an apology?” Filbrick finally asked.

Did he? He wasn’t sure. There had been daydreaming of coming back home filthy rich, making him rue the day he had turned his back on him. When he imagined that, there were plenty of apologies. He had imagined they would be satisfying to hear. But in his fantasies, his father was as he remembered him: standing tall and unmovable as a rock, not an old man with dementia. Did he really need - did he really want - an apology now?

“No,” Stan said, more to himself than to his father. “No. I’ve got no use for apologies,” he added, then, “You were wrong.”

You were wrong to kick me out. You were wrong about me. Wrong. Deny it all you want, but–

Filbrick Pines nodded. “Yes.”

“… Wait. What?”

“You’re not deaf, I hope? I said yes. I was wrong.”

Stan blinked. “… Okay. Yeah. Your brain is rotting.”

“Glad you’ve caught on,” his father replied, no hint of humor in his voice. There was another minute of silence, then he sighed and stood, leaning heavily on the cane. “Well. Was that all you needed to hear?”

Yes. No. I have no idea.

“I guess,” he found himself saying instead, and stood as well, holding out his arm to steady his father. “Let’s go home.”

Filbrick shook his head and shrugged his arm off. “A drink first.”

“What?”

“Get your ears checked. I said I want a drink first. Come morning I’ll be babbling nonsense again and drinking warm milk. May as well use this chance while it lasts. Hell knows if and when there will be another.”

“But mom says you shouldn’t drink.”

Before his incredulous gaze, Filbrick Pines laughed for the second time in the space of maybe ten minutes. “But mom says,” he parroted him.

Parroted him. His father. Was. Parroting. Him.

Oh, what the hell - let the old man have what he wanted. They could share at least one drink. Last time they had seen each other, Stan wasn’t even old enough to do it legally.

“Okay. You know what? Fine. We’ll go and drink, but you’re paying for it,” he said, holding up his arm to help his father walk on the sand. This time, he let him help.

“Fair enough.”

“Just one drink and we’re leaving.”

“Of course.”

It was more than one, but they did make it home to a rather baffled family after some fumbling, and Stan considered it a success. It was their first drink together, and would be the last.

So he had to make it count.

***

[Back to Chapter 13]

[On to Epilogue]

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #ma pines #filbrick pines #shermie pines

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