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kirietown · 4 years ago

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With a Smile | Part II

pairing: all might x f!reader

summary: After all, he deserved to be selfish sometimes— and frankly so did you. It came with the wait, didn’t it?

content: toxic relationship, manipulative reader, 18+, size kink, fwb

[part one] [part two] [ao3]

word count: 3.1K

The day he was injured by All for One was a disorienting day for you. There was a weakness to his form whilst he laid on the hospital bed, his hair in disarray and bandages covering his injury. Sir Nighteye had already left hours before you came. You stood by his side and held his hand, and it was only when he opened his eyes and turned to you did you realize how they now sunk into his skull.Your Toshi was a skeleton of a man you once knew. His pretty blues obscured by the shadows of his own face.

He smiled, nonetheless.

You frowned.

“M-my powers aren’t strong enough to help this Toshi,” you said. You couldn’t help but stutter over your words— always a bad habit for you, one you thought you’d outgrown long ago. Once again, he brought out the worst in you even wrapped in bandages and in a state beyond repair.

He smiled still.

“Toshinori,” you had said softly. “How can you smile… Even like this?”

The two of you were lovers only physically, but you were damned to let it stop you from caring for him— even if you couldn’t help but feel bitterness in your heart for his selflessness.

He only looked back at you with an upward tilt of his thick brows and said the words that always managed to dig a knife deeper into your chest whether you heard it in person or through your screen.

“Because I am here,” he said— and you wished he meant it was with you.

A sick part of you hoped that his injury would mark the retirement of the symbol of hope, but he continued his work much to your contemptment.

It made you feel guilty for reasons that you’d never share with anyone.

As the next few years went by, you watched his body crumble. Once big and strong, he’d gone thinner to a point where he was practically skin and bone due to his new diet because of his (lack of a) stomach. Miraculously, he was able to create a muscle form for himself for short periods of time— much to your annoyance. The world didn’t notice any changes, but they were all you could see. His speed was just the slightest bit slower, his voice raspier, and frankly it always seemed he had to punch more in order to knock out a particularly tough villain.

Your bedroom habits didn’t change much, but you felt that he couldn’t bear to look at you without seeing his own mangled reflection in the pools of your irises. His thrusts were still slow and sensual, his breaths more ragged and his hands less adventurous. On some occasions, it was as if he were looking at you with disgust whilst he rutted his hips into your cunt.

At first— it hurt.

But it wasn’t until a few months after his accident did you realize his disgust was towards himself; it took years, however, for the two of you to address it.

Your fingers danced around his narrow collar bones in fleeting touches. Your eyes were shut knowing that if you stared into his drenched face long enough he’d turn his head, dipping it into the cusp of your shoulder. You liked knowing that he was holding himself over you, the feeling of his short breaths and whispers coming from above. It was boring at times, but you loved being encased in his arms. In fact, over the years he became an addiction to you; you prayed that he would suspect such.

A few things had changed now of course, considering his new form. He was still just as tall but tired more easily now. Though now you found yourself able to wrap your legs around his hips and bring him deeper into you— much to both your delights. His narrow hips allowed him to fit more snugly between your legs than in the past which you can admit was always an awkward issue.

You were calm, welcoming the stretch of his cock inside you until you felt him push deeper. A awfully loud moan escaped your lips in an almost surprise and his hips jutted into you harshly for a few strokes. He ceased his movements and pulled out suddenly. You shivered and clasped your legs shut as you felt the cold air reach your wet core.

“Toshi?” You asked tentatively, reaching an arm out to the hero who’d turned his back on you.

“Why?” He asked. A million answers flooded through your mind in response to his question, all under different assumptions of what he could possibly be referring to.

“Because I need you more than they do, and I’ll take you in any way I can.”

“Why what?” Your tone was playful. You moved to lay on your side, the blanket only working to shield your lower half. For a few moments he didn’t reply, instead choosing to gaze towards the window wistfully.

“I’m disgusting,” he said curtly. “I’ll make you disgusting too.”

If you had half a mind, you would’ve said: You already have .

“How can you possibly be disgusting Toshi?” You asked, feigning a miffed tone. You didn’t want to confront this, not today at least— you wanted more time.

You could feel the air stiffen as he stood up, his face obscured from view. His shirt, that he always insisted remained on, obscured his upper body but you could still see his narrow shoulders visibly tense from your question.

“Don’t play coy with me, Y/N,” he whispered. “You know exactly what I’m referring to. I’m barely even a man anymore; I don’t know why you stick around anyways.”

“Where’s this talk coming from Toshi?”

“Just s-stop avoiding it!” He snapped harshly. His tone was lower than you’d ever heard it. Toshinori still stood before you, but his obscured irises were focused only on you. For once you couldn’t tell where the disgust for himself ended and yours began.

You could feel your inner thighs slicken with wetness from his cruel eyes alone.

“What do you want me to say Toshi?” You asked. “Do you want me to mock you? Tell you that you’re no longer good in bed? Or- or would you like me to go off on a self entitled rant about how I wasted my life on a man who’s been reduced to his weakest?” Your words were harsh and perhaps he didn’t deserve it for his words today, but your anger was a build up of emotions you allowed to fester since you were just a young girl.

“Is that how you really feel?” If you had the foolishness to feel more valuable than you were, you’d kid yourself into believing that you’d broken him.

“No Toshi,” you said honestly. Your voice was quiet and soft, on a different night he would’ve compared it to honey; but you knew that the words brushed against his ears like sandpaper. You were standing now. Your breasts pressed against his shirt, hardened and straining against the rough cotton fabric. Your head moved to rest just under his shoulder, even at his lowest he still stood tall. “But that’s only because you were always weak,” and with that your hand moved to caress his stunned face. Your fingers traced over the slopes of his cheekbone and jaw before it descended to his chest, planted fondly over his heart.

Even at your most cruel, you couldn’t help but feign as his lover.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” he replied and you wanted to mock him. Your words were daggers and even when you pierced his heart with them, it was as if it was in his nature to take the pain and wonder if it healed your own.

“You’ve never fucked me once,” you whispered.

“What?”

“You always treat me like your fucking lover!” You shoved at his chest, and even in his weak form you knew that the way he stumbled back on his feet was out of respect. “After years and years, you hold yourself back— like you’re afraid of your own passions. No— that’s not it. You want to prove to yourself that you’re not just some force of destruction, and you use our time together as some form of escapism from all the destruction and carnage you choose to deal with every day.”

“I don—“

“No,” you stopped him. “Don’t act like I can’t see it in your eyes— that I can’t feel it inside me; you always held yourself back from me, to feign tenderness and weakness because your strength was your insecurity. And now that that very might is fading, you can’t help but want to prove you’re still that man who can destroy buildings with the flick of his finger.”

“You’ve always been so full of these delusions you’ve had of me, Y/N,” he said calmly but you could tell his words were strained due to the shortening of his breath. “I’m not as complex as you believe me to be… And if your words are true then if nothing is holding me back, what’s stopping me now?”

“The moment you stop the tender caresses, the loving whispers, and slow breaths is the day you admit to yourself—“ and to me “— that that man is dead.”

He left your room shortly after, and this time you were left unsure if he’d return.

His second battle with All For One left a mark on everyone. That was one of the things you had slowly begun to resent about Toshinori; you could never truly mourn him alone. His retirement announcement was what left the most of an impression on you— All Might had stepped down after decades of victories, and five harrowing years of being tormented by an injury that you could’ve dug your fingers into and truly ended his career.

His visit a few days after the victory was what truly did you in, however.

You had only opened the door when his body effortlessly dove down to press his lips to yours. In your state of surprise, you gasped allowing his tongue to push against yours. Instinctively your arms moved to circle around his shoulders. You couldn’t recall a time where his actions were this frenzied, and his shaking so feverish. You felt Toshinori’s hands squeeze your ass and shove you closer before sliding his digits under to cup your thighs. Following his hints, you leapt, your legs moved to circle around his waist, his fingers dug into the back of your bare thighs, your shorts had long since ridden up.

Questions buzzed around your head as he stumbled with carrying you— something that was never a problem for him in the past. You knew that if you spoke anything you said would sway him; you weren’t ready to lose him again. You barely noticed he had managed to hold you long enough to bring you to your dining room. A moan of pain crept out of your throat as he carelessly dropped out onto your wooden table, the thin table cloth doing nothing to protect your elbows as they made contact with the hard surface. You couldn’t help but look to his eyes, as if to check if he was bothered by your discomfort. Typically any form of pain you expressed would be enough to halt his movements; the idea of hurting you in any way was just always too much to bear.

His breaths were shallow when he finally removed his lips from yours. You couldn’t be sure if his ragged pants were from the strain of overworking himself or his rabid need; for now you didn’t care.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His large hand moved to squeeze your jaw tightly. You didn’t speak— you felt embarrassment at the way your cheeks squished under his fingers. “You just want me to treat you like a whore, don’t you?” His fingers squeezed particularly tighter, and in spite your moan of pain you could feel the familiar sensation of arousal pooling in your lower stomach.

With no regard for your comfort, the retired hero flipped you onto your stomach. Your ass and legs sticking out from the side of the table as he harshly grounded his clothed cock into you. The force caused your pelvis to painfully dig into the wood of the table. Though the pain wasn’t enough to distract you from the feeling of Toshinori pulling down your shorts. With only a shaky sigh escaping your lips, his fingers harshly groped your cheeks, spreading them roughly before shoving his fingers into your core. A gasp of pain shot out of your lips, the intrusion only making your hips to dig further into the rough wood.

You felt like a mess. You were panting uncontrollably as his large fingers fucked into your gushing cunt. To gain some control, you planted your elbows on the table, to lift your skull only for Toshinori to remove the hand that was gripping your hip. He shoved your head down without the slightest sense of hesitation. His fingers were thick around your head, his other one girthy inside your cunt, their speed quick as they dug into you whilst thrashing around in scissor motions. You could feel the familiar sensation bubbling deep inside you, but it was happening too soon, and it felt like too much all at once.

“I-it’s too much Toshi,” you managed to gasp.

Then it all stopped.

Your core was replaced with only emptiness, and all the moments where he halted because he had gone too far and ceased his movements played in your head. You wished you hadn’t opened your mou—

“A-agh!” The stuttered moan tumbled out of your lips repeatedly. You could feel the veins of his cock pulse inside you whilst your hips dug into the table.

“Is it too much now?” He mocked, and you could practically feel him harden more as he drilled himself into your wet cunt. His hips repeatedly knocked you further into the table. The wet slaps of your bodies colliding nearly obscuring the sound of the wooden legs scraping your floor. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You only moaned, his thrusts only increased in pace, and his hand only held your head down harder as his fingers curled through your hair. “I want you to say it— say that you wanted me to fuck you dirty.”

“N-no,” you managed to say before a particularly hard thrust caused an embarrassingly loud squeal to escape your throat.

“Say it!”

“I ne-needed you to f-fuck me—d-dirty,” you gasped.

“You’re disgusting, ” he raved. “Allowing yourself to be fucked by someone who looks like me… You’re so pathetic.” At his words you could feel his cock reach a particularly spongy spot inside you, tapping and tapping it repeatedly. A familiar bubbling sensation returned as continuous moans jumped out your throat. “I can feel you getting tighter— ack,” he paused in his words to rut deeper into your heat. “You’ve been chasing me fo-for years, hounding me for this, getting fucked by your washed up hero .”

You felt yourself clench, squeezing your cunt around his cock as he kept up his pace. The sensation of your pelvis rutted against the table turned numb, you could only feel him stretching your walls, and the curl of your toes as he brought you closer and closer to your peak.

“You’re more pathetic than I am.” His words were raspy, you could practically feel his tongue on your ear as he had pulled you back by your hair and lowered his lips to say the words you’d been thinking since you first laid your eyes on him. Your cunt pulsed as it squeezed around his cock, sucking him in deeper. Your moans only grew louder as you came, squirting down his balls and likely staining your panties that had only been pushed to the side.

Toshinori had only paused, and allowed for the feeling of your orgasm to clench around him before continuing his thrusts. A low groan bubbled out of his throat from the feeling of your tired cunt milking all its juices. It wasn’t long before he chased his own high, his release shot deep into you. Its warmth fluttered into your lower stomach, and suddenly you were hyper aware of the pain in your abdomen. When he finally pulled out and allowed you to stand on shaky legs, you felt the pain from the table intensify. You groaned before leaning back on the table, pulling your tank top up to inspect small bruising from the repeated slams.

Before you could even think to use your quirk to heal it, Toshinori’s hand gently caressed your lower belly tenderly before bringing you closer to his chest. Rather than shake him off and remind him of your ability, you allowed him to hold you and rub you softly. Perhaps you both shared the same comfort that came with pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His expression morphed into one of resentment, it was as if he gained clarity— or his words were simply out of obligation. “I didn’t mean to go too far… I-I hurt you… and those awful things I said… No woman should have to hear.”

“Well I wanted to hear it,” you replied. Slowly you turned, his hand resting on your hip, “I loved that side of you… Now that you’ve officially retired, perhaps I could see more of it… And of you.” Your (s/c) fingers danced over his chest before wrapping around his neck, pulling him down towards you.

“I-I could set more time aside in my schedule for us,” he stuttered. An adorable blush coated his cheeks as you brought him closer. His nose kissing yours whilst you only hummed in reply. “I want to make up… for all the time we should’ve spent together.” His words were now only a murmur, a ghost of the man who had just fucked you and left bruises over your thighs and stomach from his roughness.

“I would like that,” you whispered.

The words you wished to say were crushed down your throat as your lips met. Gone was the feral passion, and instead in its place were love and words that had long since turned empty for you. It took you years, but you knew, you always knew that one day you’d be the only one he could turn to when it came to little deaths.

As he caressed your waist and held you close to his heart, you couldn’t help but brush your fingers over the fabric that which covered his scar. A swirling tunnel of black and green, your fingers hovered over it for a moment before sliding up to feel his heart beat. Years of patience led to this moment, and the guilt subsided— but you knew it would always eat away at your stomach like a wound, just like his.

“Toshi,” you said. “I should be the one saying sorry,” (because I lied to you all those years ago). He only shushed you, and held you impossibly closer.

“My...” quirk... I thought you would’ve retired... “I hoped...” for it... I’m as selfish as you are selfless...

“Shush Y/N,” he cooed softly. “It doesn’t matter now, what matters is we’re here— nothing holds me back from you... I love you; I always loved you.”

“But,” you paused— you thought better on it. Stilling your ragged breathing, you inhaled his scent before rubbing your cheek into his chest. “I love you too...”

“I know...” He murmured. “I know... It’s okay...” His words caused you to pause— something shifted in your stomach and for an instance you wondered if the pain paralleled his own. A digging in your gut; one you may have deserved. No— he couldn’t have known, and if he did... it didn’t matter now. You finally had him in your arms— even for just this moment.

After all, he deserved to be selfish sometimes— and frankly, so did you.

It came with the wait, didn’t it?

—

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#all might x reader #all might #yandere #all might smut #bnha smut #yandere BNHA #toshinori yagi x reader #kirietownwrites

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kitkat1003 · 3 years ago

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Who Are You Really?

Chapter 3: To Mold; To Raise One

Summary:

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked. The warrior was forgotten by the hero. By everyone. And Macaque? He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Spirit Masterpost

If he had to say anything on the matter, he would have said they’re useful.

It hadn’t taken much, not really. He finds them in the woods, alone with nothing to their name but whispers of favors to powerful people and three eyes that stare through you. He finds them, appraises them, and despite the way their tail curls around their leg and despite the way they hunch down on themself, something is there. A little broken, but there.

Like a memory of a debt owed, Macaque knows he can fix them and is willing to try.

Convincing them isn’t difficult. They perk up at the word favor, ears pressed up against the sides of their head and their eyes wide and earnest. Desperate for a use, excited to have purpose—he dangles it in front of them and pulls them in.

There were more than a few roadblocks.

There is the anxiety, of course. Kid barely can stand the sight of their own shadow, much less the ones he can summon at the drop of a hat. He gets them used to the clones soon enough. Exposure works wonders, and if they don’t like it at first? Tough. The clones are a part of him, he says It wasn’t as if he could just get rid of them because they don’t like them.

A well placed guilt trip, and Kid stumbles over themselves to fix their error. Good.

They’re soft. Gentle. Caring for all the other living creatures almost to the point of those being above their own needs and wants. Careful of pretty flowers they don’t want to step on, kind to the trees and grass as much as one can be.

Wide eyed, but not doe eyed. Their eyes are something, though.

It’s interesting to watch the large pupil move, the smaller two following. They bounce around like ping pong balls, always taking in every detail. When they wink, they either close the large one, or the two smaller ones. Sometimes, when they’re trying to focus on something, they’ll close one of the smaller eyes.

“My vision’s a little lopsided,” they admit, when he questions. “It, uh, can make things blurry.”

Not doe eyed, he knows, when he looks at them. The furtive way they glance around. They look at dead animals far too long to be normal. Stare wistfully out at human settlements. And when they’re not looking at anything, their eyes look...tired. Empty.

Haunted, even.

Guess they call themselves Spirit for a reason.

It takes a while to teach them to stop caring about the petals you ruin in your walk, to crush bugs underfoot without thought. It would go faster if he taught them the hard way, with broken bones and bloodied fists, but breaking more than they already are serves no purpose. Beyond it all, Macaque wants a tool to use, and a tool shattered beyond repair isn’t useful. So he has to be patient about it.

Of course, his patience runs out sometimes, but they never complain. Maybe he gets used to yelling. It shuts them up real quick, so it works.

Training them is another matter. As much as he wants to beat all of the lessons he’d learned into them, he has to be patient. A warrior isn’t made on the first day, there’s a process. And they’re flighty, too. One wrong move and they might run away. Sure, he knew they’d come back, like a dog on a leash whenever the word favor was involved, but waiting would add more time to the process.

So he takes things slow. Somehow.

They have stamina. Running and jumping through forests day by day leaves them lithe and lean when it comes to muscles. They tower over him even when they bend over; they are always bent over. He forces them to stand up straight, just to get a measure of their height, and they loom like a tree in the forests surrounding them.

A good foundation, but their stance is so easily toppable that he barely has to push them and they stumble back, falling to the ground.

So he starts there.

“You need to be unmovable,” he says, using a stick found in the woods to prod at their limbs until they’re in the right position. “Rooted to the ground.”

“Like a flower?” they reply, turning their head around to look at him.

He smacks them on the side of the head with the stick for that.

“Like a tree,” he corrects. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a flower?”

He hears them mutter about how they think it wouldn’t be too bad to be picked, but they correct their stance and go silent before he can bark at them to be quiet.

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked.

The warrior was forgotten by the hero.

By everyone.

And Macaque?

He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Once their stance is steady, he teaches them self defense. How to punch without breaking your fingers. How to kick without losing your balance. How to dodge, duck, strike.

Kid takes to it like a duck to water, with a few hiccups. The largest of which is a lack of want to land a hit.

Oh, they’re plenty strong. They can lift up half a tree’s worth of firewood with a bit of strain. They could likely kick harder than they punch, with how much they run, but to get them to do either is an uphill battle.

“C’mon kid, hit me,” he says, gesturing to his chest.

They pale, shoulders hunched, fingers rubbing against each other awkwardly as they keep them from becoming a fist.

“But-why? I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.” They frown at the thought.

Macaque laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, trust me. I’ve been hit by bigger and stronger people than you, kid,” he gives them a half grin and snorts at the thought of them being able to hit that hard.

“I don’t…” They draw circles in the dirt with their toe, glancing between him and their feet. “I don’t like hurting people.”

He sighs, long suffering. “You have someone you want to protect?” he asks.

They blink a few times. He watches their pupils dilate, shifting as they think. They don’t have the best poker face, but when they want to hide something, their face becomes carefully blank, a slate wiped clean.

It’s kind of creepy, in a way.

“Not anymore,” they finally mutter, forlorn. Ears downturned.

There’s something deeper there, but Macaque doesn’t have time to hear their life’s story. Especially when they’re training.

“Yeah, you do have someone.” He walks over and sticks his finger into their chest, poking them hard enough that they wince. “You. You want to stay alive? You fight.”

They stare at him, hard, and he raises a brow.

“Look,” he says. “You hate anyone?”

Kid glances down at him—he hates that they’re taller than him, even when they’re hunched down—and their gaze flashes to something dark.

He stares back.

“Yes,” they whisper. “Some. One.”

Macaque does not stiffen. There’s nothing haunting about how quietly, how gently, how angrily Kid says that.

“Alright then,” he takes a step back, arms splayed out to make himself a target. “Hit me like I’m that person.”

He watches them stare at him. They tilt their head to the side. Their pupils shift.

A minute passes, and Macaque is about to say something else, when they blink once, and then strike.

His clothes are ripped, a slash across his chest. Kid holds their hand out like it’s a weapon, claws bared. They took off some fur, too, but they didn’t go deep enough to break skin, though Macaque thinks it’s not for lack of trying.

Another blink, and they come to, yanking their hand back and cradling it against their chest.

“Oh-sorry-I-I was just doing what you told me, and, uh, I didn’t,” they mutter out more apologies, looking away.

Macaque laughs.

“No, no, that was great! We’ll have to get you used to punching and kicking, but using claws ain’t half bad.” He looks them up and down, seeing them in a new light. “If you like something sharp, then, well, we might as well get you a weapon, right?”

“A...weapon?” They look surprised that he’s not upset.

Macaque only yells when they make a mistake, though. And when they’re being annoying, but regardless. Why punish them for a job well done? He told them to hit him, and they did. Not exactly how he wanted, but as long as they’re more willing to fight, he wants to encourage the behavior. An inch of negativity towards them and they’ll jump a mile back from where he wants them to be.

“Something sharp,” he repeats. “Claws will only get you so far.”

He pulls out his staff, twirling it around a few times before holding it out, sideways, for the kid to look at. They peer down at it, tilting their head to the side. They close one of their eyes, to focus. Their eyes trace the spikes on the ends of the staff. They swallow, fidgeting, as their gaze ends at the sharp points.

“It’s...nice,” they say, a little nervous.

“We should go to a market. I’ve got a bunch of weapons we can test out, but your weapon has to be for you.” He pats the kid on the back, smiling.

“Shopping?”

He watches them perk up, eyes wide, a smile on their lips. There’s a certain charm to it. As tall as they are, they have quite the young face.

“Yup,” he says. “But first, I’m teaching you how to sew. If you’re going to tear my clothes, you’re going to know how to fix it.”

They duck their head sheepishly, embarrassed, guilty, but happy that he’s going to teach them something new.

Hook, line, sinker.

He takes them, first, to one of his caves, his hideouts. He has his stash of weapons there, so they can start training with them to get the kid used to weaponry before he buys them anything.

The trip takes a week, and during it he has to stop himself from strangling the kid every evening. They light up every two seconds, prattling on about every little thing they spot, skipping along with both their pack of things and his own. He thought making them carry his things as well as their own would get them tired enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to them chatter well into the night, but they manage to ask so many questions it makes his head spin.

“Do you think that anyone is going to like you if you never shut up?” he growls out, one night. “I can barely hear my own thoughts, you keep spouting out all of yours.”

They blink. Hunch their shoulders. Shift their gaze off to the side.

“I don’t know a lot,” they mutter. “I thought asking questions was how, uh, I learn? My mom always had me tell her what was on my mind, so she could let me know if I was thinking of something wrong.”

They shrug their shoulders, gaze off somewhere, or sometime else.

“Well I’m not your mom,” he snaps. “And neither is anyone else. Trust me, no one wants to hear your thoughts.”

The kid looks up at him, hunched over and sitting down. Their pupils shift, again. Their expression goes carefully blank.

“Oh,” tThey reply. “Sorry.”

Macaque lets out a huff. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here. Not only is it a bad look, it also makes the kid less likely to trust him. It’s a balancing act, where he toes the line. Sure, the kid can take a bit more attitude than most, but you kick a dog enough and it bites back.

If you kick a dog, and then feed it nice food for a month before kicking it again, well...it takes it a lot longer to think of biting.

“Look,” he sighs. “I’m saying this for your sake, kid. I’m patient, but most people aren’t. You think a regular demon will just tell you to shut up?”

He pauses, levies them an incredulous look. “You’d lose a tooth or something, or an eye.”

They flinch, when he says eye. He files that away for later.

“How about this,” He continues. “You get 3 random questions per day while we walk, and 2 random comments. Sound fair?”

Kid looks up at him, a little less despondent, and then they smile.

“Okay.” They turn to the fire, grabbing a piece of firewood from the pile and adding it to the fire.

They glance up at Macaque, after a bit. “Thanks.”

Macaque reaches over and ruffles their hair, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a fake smile on his face when Kid giggles and leans into the touch.

When it comes to weapons, the kid is clumsy.

Most long weapons are surprisingly difficult for them to wield. Their height should be an advantage in that regard, giving them more of a reach, but instead all their long limbs are good for are getting hit whenever they slip with a staff or spear in hand. They nick themselves a few times, and Macaque thinks he’s going to have to make a fuss with cleaning them up, but every time they get cut they pull out well worn gauze and some mixture, and carefully clean and wrap the wound themselves.

“My mom taught me,” they explain when he stares for too long.

Anything long is difficult for them to handle, so he throws those out the window. Now, short blades they do well with, but they don’t like to stab.

“Curved blades,” he suggests, handing them a pair. “They’re more for slashing. Like a couple of extra claws, but longer.”

They hold them awkwardly, but with some careful correction they do a few practice swings, glancing over at Macaque for approval.

“Looks good,” he says, because they seem most steady with the twin blades, and that’s something to hone in on.

The kid beams. Macaque finds himself smiling back.

They train for a couple months, not just with the curved blades. A jack of all trades is far more useful than a master of one, after all, and letting them have at least a rudimentary understanding of how to use most weapons will make it so even if they’re without their typical arsenal, they’ll be able to make do.

That, and between the hand to hand combat lessons, will make them a force to be reckoned with, though they still refuse to strike with a killer’s intent.

All in due time, though. Macaque would hate to waste all this effort to create something of use by scaring them off with his impatience.

They know of the Monkey King.

“I hear about him all the time,” they say, over dinner. “He’s a very famous monkey!”

“Sure,” Macaque grumbles, ignoring the urge to punch their teeth in.

It’s not their fault, he knows. Anyone who knows anyone would know of the Great Sun Wukong enough to—

“Have you met him?”

Now, there’s a question. Something dark and pleased rises up when he hears it, because he can’t ruin the reputation of Sun Wukong to the world, but starting small never hurts, and why not score some trust with Kid along the way?

“We were actually pretty close,” he explains.

The look on their face when he shows them his scar and tells them how he got it is just priceless.

Shopping with them is...something else.

He takes them to the market closeby, a few miles out from where they met in the woods. They’re like a kid in a candy store, bouncing between market fronts and looking over every random object with interest.

“Some of the people here owe me favors,” they whisper conspiratorially to him, waving at a few of the shop owners. “I helped them out! It was nice.”

“Mhmm,” he nods along.

Kid is very, very insistent on favors. The wording is important, and Macaque pockets it, pulling out the phrase whenever Kid starts to get too hesitant about doing what Macaque needs them to.

“What’s the whole favor business for, anyway?” he asks, because he genuinely is curious.

As much as Kid’s ramblings can get annoying, they do provide insight. Information on insecurities makes for a fun leverage.

“They owe me,” Kid replies. “I do what they want, and then they can’t hurt me.”

Short, simple, to the point. But oh so interesting, an insight Macaque files away. He can’t go around hurting Kid after the favor is done, then. That’s fine. He has plenty of time to get them to heel without yanking on the leash.

A few tugs will do well enough, anyway.

They reach the weapon shop, and Kid is enamored with a purple pair of their preferred weapon, fluttering over to them and tracing the shapes with their fingers. They’re practically bouncing on their feet, grabbing fistfuls of their pant legs to stop themself from snatching up their prize immediately.

They glance back to Macaque for approval.

“Not a bad color.” Macaque has always liked purple. Maybe that’s why Kid doesn’t annoy him as much as most people. They’re bright in personality, but wear the colors of shadows, and hide in the shade rather than stand out in the spotlight.

Kid preens at the compliment.

“Can-uh-is this what-can I have them? Please?” They’re vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and earnest as they hope for a yes.

“Maybe,” Macaque replies, smooth as silk. “It all depends on if you’re going to use them properly.”

That gives them pause. Their excitement diminishes into confusion as they try and parse out just what Macaque means, ears twitching.

It is almost charming in a way, how they always seem to be moving a little bit. Whether their tail is swaying back and forth, or they’re curling and uncurling their toes, or fluttering their fingers at their sides, they move.

“I...know how to use them,” they finally say. “You taught me.”

“Practically,” Macaque replies. “But you still won’t fight with them.”

Kid blinks again, tilting their head to the side. Genuinely confused, befuddled, uncertain of his words. He watches their eyes slide to the side, glancing around and trying to figure out what exactly he means.

“I…,” they start, haltingly. “I thought I was?”

Macaque sighs, more out of exhaustion than annoyance, but they take it as such, ears drooping low. Their tail brushes the floor.

“Intent, kid,” he says. “You can use the weapons, but you don’t fight with them. Not with intent.”

“Intent to what?” Kid asks, hesitant but insistent.

“Kill,” Macaque says, simply. “These weapons are for killing. If you aren’t going to use them like that, there’s no point in you getting them. No point in continuing the favor.”

He can tell the second part hits them hard. They stiffen, hands clasping in front of their stomach, tight. Their feet overlap each other, toes curled, shoulders hunched, tail coiled around their leg.

Fidgeting, tense like a coiled spring, Macaque waits, because he’s seen this before. Every time he pushes, they duck their head in quiet defiance for only a moment, before

They buckle, going limp.

“No,” they mutter. “You’re right. I’ll get intent, sir.”

Sir is new.

Macaque likes it.

“Good. Then they’re yours—” He gestures to the twin blades, with purple glossy handles and white grips. “Take them.”

Their smile is smaller than it was before, when they pull the pair from the rack. Their hands tremble when they hold them; they grip the blades tight to keep them steady.

Macaque pays for the blades, and ignores how still they’ve become.

With Kid’s preferred blades acquired, Macaque ramps up training. He pushes them farther, because he’s laid the groundwork, and now the only way to get them to bend is to force them into the position.

Starting small is important. Kid is still fit to scatter if he scares them. It’s like placing a frog in a pot of boiling water. It doesn’t work. You set them in the room temperature water first, and then turn up the heat. Slowly, still. If he cranked it up now, well, they’d still jump out.

So, they start with a shadow clone. Looks like a real person, but is detached enough from it that Kid won’t get too freaked when they attack it. No blood, no screams, just smoke and mirrors to get them in action.

Maybe he should be concerned that he’s teaching them to fight a visage of him, but Macaque knows Kid isn’t stupid enough to think they can beat him.

That would be ridiculous.

He guides them through the motions, hands on their wrists as he tugs their arms into the correct positions, jerking their hand forward in a slashing motion and letting go just as they make contact with the clone, dissipating it with a single strike.

Typically his clones are more powerful, but an easy win to start will embolden them to strike harder next time.

“Nice job!” he pats them on the back, hard enough that they stumble a little from the force of it.

They’re smiling though, small and secretly pleased. They love praise, he finds, desperate for approval. A few kind words can feed them for a week, if he plans it out right. Not that he’s always planning. Some do just...slip out.

“Now,” he summons another clone, placing it a few feet away. “Try this one on your own.”

Kid nods, turns, and settles into a stance. They charge forward and strike.

Macaque smiles.

From clones, comes animals.

After all, he explains, they have to eat. Sure, a true warrior eats less than most, but they still need to have food. Starving themselves when they’re in the middle of training, in the middle of gaining muscle and strength, is stupid. They need to bulk up.

“I don’t, um, usually eat much,” Kid says.

Macaque scoffs.

“That’s why you’re a stick.” He gestures to their general size, how their clothes hang off of them.

They fidget, shrugging a little.

“I guess,” they reply, which is their typical response when they don’t exactly agree but don’t have the courage to actually disagree.

“Well, I know,” he bites back, finding some sort of pleasure in how they shrink away from him. “We need to make sure you know how to make food anyway. You’re no use to me half-starved.”

He drums up options, glancing off into the forest they’re surrounded by.

“There’s plenty of food out here,” he says. “We can fish in streams, shoot for birds, and there’s a human settlement just out west a couple miles, so—”

“We are not,” Kid interrupts, interrupts, voice harder than he’s ever heard, “Eating humans.”

Their eyes are sharp. Angry, even. So rarely does he find anger in them, find fire where there is cool terror and anxiety. This is something noticeable. Kid likes humans, enough to fight for them.

They’re trembling, waiting for his reaction. Clearly, they’re terrified that he’ll snap at them, that he’ll shut them down. But they don’t apologize.

Interesting. How rare is it that Macaque sees them be brave?

“Fine,” he shrugs. “They scream too much to be worth it, anyway.”

That much is true. While he might not be showing off the six ears that beget his title, they’re still there, and shouting is nothing that he wants to deal with.

Kid relaxes, relief evident on their face that he’s not yelling at them. It’s good that they’re smart enough to fear his reproach.

“But, that means you’re gonna have to learn to gut fish,” he jerks a thumb towards the stream behind them.

Kid smiles, with all their sharp teeth on display.

“Sir yes sir!” They salute.

Macaque has to wonder who taught them such a motion as they jump up and rush to the water.

He stands and prepares the next lesson.

In the weeks following, they learn to fish with both a line and with their hands. He teaches them to use a bow for the birds, as well as the bears. They only kill one bear, because the amount of meat will last them ages and it’s foolish to waste such meat.

They trade some of it for spices in the human markets, once Macaque makes sure they know how to look human. Apparently, it’s the only form they can shift into. Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Kid takes to cooking with a gusto he doesn’t expect.

“I would help my mom with dinner,” they explain, setting up the fire one night. “I didn’t know how she was making what she was, but I loved all of it. I—”

They cut themself off, suddenly shy.

Macaque doesn’t pry. Half because he doesn’t care, and half because he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor. For most things, Kid can be cajoled into explanation, but if they truly don’t want to say anything, he’ll get nothing. Which, considering his secrets, is fair enough.

“I...like that I can make something nice,” Kid finally admits, turning away from him to grab some spices. “For you.”

Oh.

Somewhere along the line, Macaque stops finding them as annoying as they should be.

They smile at him like he’s a star, the sun, and years of being a moon, of being second best, makes that look something to covet. If that means he lets them drag him into the forest to look at some rare plants, if that means listening to them ramble about the medicinal properties of said plants, well.

It’s only because it ingratiates them to him. That’s it.

Physical affection, too, is something they desire. It’s a reward. That is it. A reward for a job well done, a pick-me-up when they’re too morose to be useful, a new tool in his set to fix them into something worthwhile.

Say nothing to the times they shivered in the cold, slowly shifting towards him, pressed against his back to conserve warmth. Macaque didn’t push them off because he was asleep. Say nothing to the days they would shiver in the day, lack of proper fur like he had to keep them warm, and he’d lend them his scarf. He didn’t need it anyway. He’s stronger than they are, he can deal with the cold. He’s setting an example.

He refuses to groom them. Grooming is something private, something reserved for people who are no longer around, who left, who left and took the whole of him with them. And Kid is not that someone.

Sometimes, though, he wonders.

Bright, like a star, they can shine in the darkest corners. Hands bloodied from a carcass, they’re always gentle with the animals they kill. Always certain to make the cuts clean and precise, so the animal dies quickly.

It’s a small mercy, but to choose to find that mercy and lean into it…

They’re not naive. Neither was he. Enough knowledge of a cruel world to understand hate, but enough kindness in a soul to push back against it. But that type of soul is flighty, off to the next weeping child to console, the next problem to solve, the next world to save.

That type of soul leaves, and doesn't come back.

Better to crush that type of soul, then.

“Mac!” Kid calls, holding a full net. “Look at how much fish I caught!”

Macaque fights a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks out and wishes it hurt less when he sees them flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” they reply. “I got excited. We’ll have food for weeks! I’ll dry some of the fish out for snacks, and I have some spices that would go really well with—”

They pause, flushing, ears pointed up and pink with embarrassment. They bite their lip.

“Sorry,” They say, again. “I know you don’t like me rambling…,”

Not typically, no.

But now…

“Well, if it’s about our food stores, it’s important,” he says, a justification that rings hollow. “So go on, kid.”

They brighten, eyes wide and happy as Macaque becomes their sun, again.

Macaque basks in it, just a little, and thinks he can wait a little longer.

They get very good at using the blades. Between traveling, getting food, making food, and training, they can hold their own pretty well.

Of course, they only really fight animals and clones. Whenever Macaque suggests they spar with him, they lock up, terrified by the idea. That’s fine, though, because Macaque wants them to be in top shape when they actually fight him, anyway.

They can manage against eight clones at once, dodging punches and slashing through them. Of course, the clones aren’t at their top durability or strength, because Kid isn’t Monkey King levels of powerful like he is.

But, they seem to be doing fine, so he raises the intensity level a little bit. Has a couple of the clones level up, so to speak, to keep Kid on their toes. They can’t expect every enemy to be the same skill level every time. They have to be used to surprises.

Maybe he does it too quickly, because Kid ducks, slashes, and is unable to dodge the kick to their side that sends them flying.

Their head cracks against a tree trunk just outside the clearing.

When they drop, they don’t move.

Macaque is up on his feet in an instant. The clones vanish as he sprints across the clearing, at Kid’s side so fast his vision blurs with the motion.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Macaque lifts Kid up in his arms. They’re limp in his grasp, eyes closed, and they look dead but he knows they’re not, he checks their pulse and they’re fine, it’s fine. He wouldn’t kill them. Not like this.

He feels where their head hit the tree, and his hand comes back wet.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He reaches into Kid’s pockets, and finds that roll of gauze they always have on them. They buy a new roll every time they go to the market, just in case.

He hasn’t needed to wrap wounds in a while, considering his healing...style, but he remembers how it goes.

Blood drips onto the ground, even as he wraps the wound as best and as tight as he can. He folds Kid’s gangly long limbs so he can lift them up, and their forehead rests in the crook of his neck. He can feel their breath on his fur.

Good. They’re still breathing.

He squats down and presses hard against the dirt, lifting off the ground and speeding through the forest. There’s a demon market a few miles out, there’s got to be a healer there, they can fix this. They will, whether they like to or not. No one says no to the Six-Eared Macaque, regardless of circumstance.

He hears a shuddering whine crawl out of Kid’s mouth. A hand grasps at his shirt, as pained gasps reach his ears.

He can hear them so clearly. Curse of six ears. But, he can still hear their heartbeat, and even the gasps are a good sign. They can still breathe. It’s fine.

“Give me a minute, kid.” He whispers, forgiving the hand because they’re injured, that’s the only reason. “We’ll get you fixed up, just sit tight.”

They whimper and curl up tighter, as their wrappings on their head stain quick.

It takes Macaque twenty minutes to get to the market. Twenty minutes for eleven miles, as he rushed between trees, over boulders and hills, through towns. It would have been quicker, but whenever he picked up too much speed, Kid would whimper as the wind whipped at their face and head wrappings. So Macaque took it a touch slower, if only to keep him from hearing that noise.

They’d passed out a few minutes before he’d arrived at the market, though, so he’d managed to speed things up a little.

He slips between the shadows of market stalls, eyes searching for a healer. They’re typically at one end of the market or the other, to keep the stench of blood and pus and rot from infected wounds away from the rest of the market.

He finds the tent and dashes inside.

The healer is some sort of fox demon, tail twitching as Macaque enters. Sharp eyes fall on him and then Kid in his arms, and when Macaque speaks up his tone leaves little room for argument or reproach.

“They hit their head.” He doesn’t explain how. It’s none of their business what he does with his tools. “Fix it.”

The healer raises a brow, glancing at the two monkeys, one with sharp eyes and the other curled and trembling in the other’s arms.

“There is a fee,” comes a silk voice, near a hiss. They point to their price.

Macaque summons a clone and sets Kid in its arms, growling under his breath. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his coin pouch, digging into it and grabbing out the correct amount. He slams it onto the counter with a force that would have caused the coins to scatter all over the room if not for how tightly he grips them in his fist.

They trickle down onto the desk with a clatter. Macaque places his trembling fists at his sides, enraged enough that his eyes glow. If not for the fact that this healer is needed, their blood would paint the tent and everything inside of it.

The wary look the healer sends him is proof that they understand that.

“Fix,” he growls. “It.”

The healer gestures to the table off to the side, and Macaque has his clone set Kid down before dispelling it.

The healer moves Kid onto their side, lifting their head and glancing at the covered wound. With a careful claw, they cut away the bandage, a swirl of magic creating a small bubble over the wound, keeping the blood from spilling.

The lack of pressure, the new sensation of magic, gets Kid to stir.

They twitch, fingers and toes curling as their eyes blink open. Confusion paints their posture and expression, and they take in a hitching breath, ears swiveling to try and figure what is happening.

“M-Mo-Mac-h-hhhhhh,” they gasp out, trying to move.

The healer presses them gently back down onto the table, placing a careful finger to their forehead.

“Shhhh,” they whisper. “Rest, child.”

Kid’s eyes slide shut. They relax.

The healer first gets a rag and some water, carefully dabbing at the wound, cleaning away any dirt that may have gotten into the crack. They use their claws to align the tiny pieces of the skull that have dislodged both from the wound and from the journey. Then, they grab a jar off of the shelf, pulling off the lid and dipping their fingers in to scoop out an orange-yellow cream substance. Gently, they rub it across the wound, and then wrap it again.

They use a spoon to put more of that cream into a smaller jar, and hand it to Macaque, along with a roll of gauze.

“The wound will heal in a few days. Change the bandages twice a day and reapply the cream. It speeds up the process and prevents infection,” the healer explains. “The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate. Be aware.”

Macaque sticks the jar and gauze in his pocket and nods, picking Kid up. He’s gentle about it, supporting their head on his shoulder. They shift a little in their sleep, pressing their forehead against his neck. Their fur brushes against his chin.

Their tail curls around his arm, a comforting squeeze. The end wisps against his palm.

Macaque pointedly ignores how any of this makes him feel and heads off.

Back at camp, he sets Kid up with blankets and enough soft material for a pillow, making sure their head is elevated and kept away from the hard ground. He sends a few clones out to grab firewood, setting up a flame and throwing some stuff together for a soup.

Macaque, on a whole, doesn’t cook much. He’s content to chomp on apples and whatever fruits he finds. Occasionally, he’ll cook some meat. Otherwise, he just won’t eat often. Kid’s the one who makes all the different concoctions.

He hopes the mix of spices is good here.

Kid wakes up a few hours later, when stars dot the sky and Macaque shivers a little at the night chill. Bleary eyes stare up at the sky, pupils shifting to try and focus, though Macaque doesn’t see them settle.

He scoops a bowl of soup, still warm though the fire has died down, and shuffles to Kid’s side.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers.

Macaque is not a delicate man. But no one is here to see, no one who could matter, so he hooks an arm beneath Kid’s shoulders and lifts them up so they’re sitting up against his chest, though not fully considering the height difference. God knows they won’t be able to sit up on their own, and he refuses to waste good soup.

Bleary eyes blink, staring up at him. Recognition flickers in their gaze.

“Mom?” they croak.

Macaque. Freezes.

He carefully lifts the bowl of soup to Kid’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says, pointedly ignoring their comment.

Hallucinations, the healer told him. That’s all this is. Kid isn’t seeing him, after all.

Kid takes a few steady gulps of the soup, turning away to breathe. Macaque exercises patients by glancing up at the sky and ignoring how idiotic this is. He’s not a babysitter. He doesn’t do this. He isn’t their parent. He isn’t...

“Did Dad hurt you?” Kid turns back, looking up with eyes that stare through him rather than at him. “Your eye…”

They reach up, fingers close enough to brush the line where his scar is, hidden beneath glamour. Macaque pulls away, lifting the bowl up to Kid’s lips again in lieu of responding to that.

“Drink,” he snarls.

They flinch, nodding and getting the rest of the soup down. He helps them back to their bed, and their eyes stare back up at the sky with that same faraway look.

“I’ll be better next time,” they whisper, quiet but strong. “So you won’t get hurt.”

Macaque turns away, and doesn’t look back until he knows they’re asleep. Hallucinations, he knows. Hallucinations. That’s the only reason they’re saying anything like that at all. They don’t know him, he’s kept his heart under his cloak, never on his sleeve. That's why he’s their teacher, so they will learn to do the same.

He watches the fire sway in the night, until he can find it in himself to sleep.

The next day goes mostly smoothly, with incoherent ramblings occasionally from Kid that Macaque tunes out. He changes their bandages in the morning and then goes out, leaving a shadow clone to watch the camp while collecting food and other supplies.

They sleep through most of the day, but at night when he goes to change their bandages again, they start to squirm.

“Kid,” he starts, trying to hold them steady. The wrappings are already off, and he’s trying to keep dirt from getting in.

They kick and writhe, whispering and growling and making an assortment of whimpering noises he can’t make heads nor tails of. He grips them tight enough to bruise, to keep them steady.

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouts.

“YOU HURT ME!” they scream, and it sounds so much as if the words had been torn from their throat that Macaque is surprised he doesn’t see blood splatter out of their mouth. “YOU HURT ME!”

Their hand claws at his, and he drops them with a shout of pain as they tear off the skin of his knuckles. They drop to the dirt with their own short cry of discomfort, curling in on themself as Macaque backs away.

“You—” They cough. Their breaths are short and uneven. “You-it-it’s like an earthquake,” their voice is quiet and strained and quick. “Cracks beneath the surface. Snow, melting from inside. Inside out. Cracking. Melting. I’m-I’m-I can’t see it.”

They gasp it out, trembling.

The water is boiling. Why is Macaque the one burning?

They still.

“You don’t look,” they finally say, a hoarse whisper. “You don’t want to. You don’t want to see.”

Macaque swallows. Stares at the-the—

The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.

Child.

He shuffles forward, so, so gentle as he reaches toward them. They don’t move when his hand brushes against their back. They’re boneless when he pulls them toward him. As if every last drop of them was poured into their words, they’re empty.

He patches their wound. Sets them down. They’re silent, asleep on the bed.

He sits, watches the blood from his knuckles drip to the ground. It’ll heal on its own. He can heal on his own.

He doesn’t sleep.

The next couple of days are easy. Kid doesn’t say or do much, moving when prompted and sleeping when not. Macaque ignores the buzz in the back of his head that feels like guilt. He leaves Kid with a shadow clone and tears down a forest. Anger is easy to deal with. This is not.

A little under a week after the incident, Kid wakes up with a groan.

“Mac?” They rub at their eyes sitting up with a bit of effort.

Macaque fights the urge to tell them not to call him that. He’ll save it for later.

“About time you woke up,” he says, with an easy grin on his face.

Kid blinks up at him, confused.

“You hit your head,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “One of my clones caught you off guard. You were out for a few days.”

Kid blinks a few more times, tail and ears twitching. They tilt their head to the side in thought. They reach up and feel the back of their head, poking at the freshly healed wound. They wince.

“Oh,” they say. They smile up at him. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

They stand up on shaky legs, shuffling a little before they steady.

“I’m gonna see about some food. I’ll make you your favorite tonight!” They grin, all teeth, and vanish into the forest before Macaque can stop them.

He stares at their retreating form. He sends a shadow clone to keep an eye on them, in case their wound acts up.

He sits and ponders their smile.

YOU HURT ME!

Thank you for taking care of me.

The strange thing is, he doesn’t think they were lying either time.

He eases them back into training, and they fall back into it with ease, the injury fading from view as their fur covers it up. He’s still ever so careful the next couple of weeks. The last thing he needs is for them to get hurt again.

They’re too much like him. Too much like the sun, the hero, but the difference is that the hero could be like that because he was powerful. The hero could strike down any foe, the hero had power. It allowed him to be soft.

Kid does not have power. They can get hurt. They can die.

Their heart is on their sleeve. They smile. They curl up, sometimes, hiding their chest, but more often than not they’re splayed out, an open target. Wide eyed, not completely naive, but just hopeful enough to get them killed.

And he...he doesn’t want them killed.

It’s sad, he thinks. If they were stronger, maybe they could stay as they are. But they aren’t, so he will rip their heart from their sleeve and teach them to keep it hidden.

Whether they like it or not.

“You’re too...you. To be intimidating like I am,” he tells them, pacing. “But there are different types of scary. We’ll have to find the one that fits you.”

Kid is sitting on a rock, watching him pace. Their eyes follow his movements like a pendulum, swinging back and forth. They tap their palms on their knees, nodding along as they listen.

“Um, Mac?” They start.

He glares in their direction. They shrink down, shoulders hunched.

“Sir,” they amend, quickly. “Um, why do I have to be scary?”

It’s a valid question. Annoying, but fair, and an explanation will get them to further listen. Still, the fact that they don’t know, when they’re as old as they are (not that Macaque knows how old they are), is annoying.

“Because,” he stresses, rolling his eyes. “When you intimidate, people won’t fight you. Intimidation is making sure everyone in the room knows you’re the strongest one there. Even if you’re not.”

And they won’t be, more often than not. They’re crafty, and fast, but not strong. In a standstill fight, they’ll lose a lot. But that’s why the intimidation look has to be perfect.

“Oh,” they reply. “Cool!”

“Of course it is,” he shoots back, puffing out his chest. “Now, angry intimidation won’t work. You don’t have a good angry face.”

“I don’t get angry often,” Kid shrugs.

“Exactly. You don’t have it in you,” he rubs his chin in thought. “We could go for the ‘danger behind a smile’ angle.”

He takes a few steps toward them. With how they’re sitting, a rock as a prop up, he’s at eye level with them standing.

“We want a small smile, kid.” He reaches a hand towards their face, to help shape their grin.

They flinch back, and have their blades out in a flash. Their eyes are wide, locked onto Macaque’s outstretched hand.

Macaque blinks, startled by their sharp shift in mood, and Kid comes back to themself, lowering their hunched shoulders.

“O-oh,” They breathe, letting their hands drop. “Right. Y-you’re right. I think.”

They set the blades on the ground, shuffling their feet.

“...Alright,” Macaque continues. He knows they were hit by a clone of his, and, well, the clones are made looking like him. They might be more shaky than they say, over that. He certainly has taught them to be quiet. “Now, you want the smile to be small. Your eyes are wide, and your pupils are small. You want to look like you’re a second from ripping their heart out and eating it in front of them.”

Kid makes a face. “That’s gross,” they say.

“It’s an analogy,” Macaque groans, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his eyes. “Just do it.”

They try it, and Macaque has to give them a few pointers. No, your smile is too wide. Don’t fidget. Keep your tail still. Don’t look away. Keep eye contact.

Finally, they have a good look.

“There,” he says, stepping back. “That will make sure nobody messes with or hurts you, kid.”

Their expression drops away into something blank, and Macaque stills. He wouldn’t tell them, but when their expression is empty it’s far scarier than their smile. Better they not know that lest they use it to an excessive degree.

“Um,” they start, a little shy. “But, you do this. And you got hurt?”

Their eyes trace the scar hidden beneath glamour. Macaque turns so that eye is out of view.

“It doesn’t always work,” he mutters, casting a glare in their direction. “Because some people know that they’re stronger than anyone, so intimidation doesn’t work.”

“What do I do then?” they ask, with all the wide eyes of a student expecting their teacher to have the perfect answer.

“You claw at any part of them you can reach,” Macaque replies. “And you run.”

He ramps up their training. Any time they aren’t traveling is spent sparring, practicing, cooking, hunting, no free time. No time to play or joke around.

They’re confused, at first, by the change of pace. They try the same tricks, the same comments. Macaque does not budge.

“Quit it.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

They quiet, eventually. Learn to be smaller and less bright, keep their light within themself so it doesn’t attract too much attention. They learn to keep their thoughts inside, following orders with a blank face and the occasional grin.

They still get overexcited, and sometimes Macaque bites his tongue. If it’s just around him then it’s fine in small doses.

It’s not because he’s scared of their light going out. It’s not because he likes it when they ramble and drag him along until they get him to grin. It’s not.

He gets them a new outfit. Their old one is worn, the fabric thin and worn and ripping. They sew up the patches and clean it as best they can, but considering the age it’s soon to be a lost cause.

They do love shopping, so he strings them along.

They sprint through different styles. Everything is new and interesting to them, as if they spend time outside of the present and are then shocked by the new future. He trails them along different stalls, pulls them away from items they shouldn’t touch, and critiques outfit after outfit.

They find the right one, though he’s quick to tell them how rare that is, so they don’t get a big head. Besides, with how tall and gangly they are, finding something that fits them is pretty difficult. It takes them two hours to find something right, two hours better spent training, moving around.

He goes up to pay for it while they spin around and jump excitedly in their new look, and his eyes widen at the price.

“Enchanted pockets,” the tailor explains. “They hold up to a full pack’s worth of items without showing it.”

And, well, Macaque didn’t expect to spend this much. He turns around, because they don’t need those pants, they can carry a pack just fine, and—

Kid sees him looking and waves, gesturing to their new outfit and striking a valiant pose.

Macaque sighs, softens, and pays.

They tell him the flaps on the side are just like his, something excited and happy in their tone, and he grins. If they’re just like him, then they’ll be smart. If they’re just like him, they won’t make silly mistakes like trusting people, like getting attached, like getting hurt.

The issue with that is when you stare at a person who is functionally a mirror, you start to see all your flaws.

His final challenge isn’t supposed to work.

Kid has barely been able to spar with him, when he gives them his challenge. They spar and they don’t fight hard, and Macaque always wins.

But then they say they have to go, and Macaque knows they’re not ready (secretly, they’ll never be ready because they’ll never be powerful enough, but if he keeps them within arms reach he can make sure they stay away from him) so he picks something he knows they can’t do.

Kill.

He expects them to get to where that demon is and balk. He expects that they’ll try but their fears will halt them in their tracks, and they’ll come back with their tail tucked between their legs and apologies spilling from their lips. He expects that he’ll smile, and say that they’ll just have to stay with him, then, now won’t they? And then they will, and everything will be fine and good and right.

He doesn’t need or want anyone, but...he doesn’t mind if they’d stay.

He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know what they’ve lived through, what they’ve done before. He doesn’t know how deep their ties to favors run. He’s never asked, he doesn’t know.

Two days after he tells them to kill, they come back with a severed head.

They’re smiling, when they do. Their tail curls around their leg and they’re trembling, but they’re smiling like they always do. Macaque is supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying, and he’s supposed to know them and read them like an open book, but Kid smiles and it looks real.

They’re trembling. He barely hears what they’re saying, over the sound of their thudding heartbeat.

The eyes on the head are sewn shut. He asks, and they give him an excuse, and he doesn’t press because he never has. He’s never cared enough to ask about their past, their feelings, never dug deep enough. He thought they were surface-level, because they’re quiet, and they don’t talk about themself too much beyond comments about their mother. He’s staring at a stranger he’s known for over half a year.

He’s not supposed to be caught off guard. So self-assured, he plans his schemes with the knowledge that he understands all the moves the player will make. Now he’s in the dark, lost with the simple sight in front of him.

Macaque doesn’t understand, but if Kid’s a stranger he’ll keep them as one.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two gifts. He’d gotten them months ago, finding a jeweler who could enchant the token, and a book binder at the market that could create a tome practically infinite in space but small enough to be a notebook.

He holds it out, and then they smile so wide he thinks it could crack the porcelain of the mask of indifference they’re wearing so perfectly. They strangle their tail as if it were their neck, and he knows that must hurt.

They have blood, staining their feet. Every part of them is pristine, but the dried blood is crusted on their feet, covered with dirt.

He watches them go, tired eyes and bloody feet.

He makes his dinner by himself. He makes the fire by himself, he sits by the fire by himself. He sleeps by himself. He travels by himself.

There is no voice, pointing out different flowers. He doesn’t hear about this certain mixture that can cure this illness. He doesn’t get any anecdotes, he doesn’t hear the patter of feet as they run ahead.

It’s quiet, save for the typical sounds of the forest. As it should be.

The Six-Eared Macaque walks alone.

Just like a warrior should be. Isn’t that why they left, to be alone? Isn’t that what he wanted?

Macaque ends up back on that cliff, where they stared up at the sky on New Year's. He never cared much for the holiday, but the Kid was insistent, so he'd let them drag him along.

He closes his eyes, and for the first time when he thinks of fireworks he doesn't see Wukong's smile. When he opens them, the sky looks devoid of stars.

The moon looks lonely, without them.

Centuries later, a silver token with amethyst gemstone eyes buzzes in Spirit’s pocket.

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid oc #monkie kid #monkie kid macaque

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octania · 4 years ago

Text

YANDERE Obi Akitaru x Reader/ Joseph Vulcan x Reader (NSFW)

Word count: 2.8 k

Warnings: yandere,smut,NSFW, abuse, manipulation, possessive behavior, toys, underwear theft, stalking.

Short description: How would yandere Vulcan and Obi treat you.

Joseph Vulcan x Reader

You would never suspect his warm smile and big green eyes that almost radiate with kindness, that behind that welcoming and friendly posture lays a dark beast that decided to stick his claws into you.

He would not make a direct approach, he would let you come to him. It would not take you long to notice a fine built tattooed man that is so crafty with his hands, edgy with his style, specially the skull mask, but yet so polite and well mannered when you talked to him. He even loved animals. What could be a better sign of a soft and cuddly bear than that?

There was no surprise in the fact you two started dating shortly after you met, and everything was going so smoothly, it even had a fairy tale touch. He took you for a nice romantic walks, make you laugh, was a good listener, brought you flowers…. got you gifts.

The most cutest gift he gave you was the necklace that he made himself. A white choker made from thin strings with a cutest little head of a pink bunny in the middle, because that was his favorite nickname for you. His little bunny.

When he put it on you, it seemed a bit too tight and the strings got some strange feeling like they were from some kind of rubber but you did not pay it no mind, you were too melted by the fact he made this for you. When you turned to show him how it fits you, his expression was strange, like he relaxed somehow, got a sense of relief. You thought it was because he was worried will you like it and will it fit you, so you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek to show your gratitude. Sadly, you will not be thankful for long…

You were just having a normal conversation with your friend that came to visit you at your station. He was not even planning to see you, but he was near the base and thought it would be nice to say hi. You talked in the lobby for a few minutes when suddenly a quick feeling of pain spread around your neck and shoulders, making you almost jump from shock. Not even realizing what happened and after your friend asked you what is wrong you had no good answer, you brushed it off. But it was not long after your muscles clenched and started aching like sharp needles were sinking right into them. The unpleasant feeling lasted a couple of seconds, making you tense as it traveled all the way to your collar bones and spine. When it finally stopped and you let out a sharp whine, you realized the spiking irritation was concentrated mostly around your neck. More precisely, under your necklace. You excused yourself, leaving the lobby fast, going around the corner in the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, trying to get the damn thing off. Your hands were more sweaty and shaky with every passing second that you failed to get the necklace off. As you were messing with it, you noticed a red mark under it, like you got burned. In panic, you started pulling, trying desperately to break it as your eyes got watery with tears.

“I made that for you bunny…why would you do such a heartless thing and try to break my gift?”- two emerald eyed emerged behind you, staring from behind the door of the bathroom in your reflection in the mirror.

Scared, you turned, pulling the necklace up to show him the red marks. “Vulcan! It burned me! I don’t know what happened! Something is wrong! Please, help me take it off!”- innocent and clueless as you were, you pleaded to your boyfriend for help, but his expression just got more sinister, as he pushed the door and they closed with a loud bang. Slowly, he walked towards you, his eyebrows narrowed, eyes dark and threatening like a raging sea in the storm. You shivered, as he leaned in, trapping you between the sink and his wall of flesh. “V-vul..Vulcan?”- you stuttered, just to be shattered by his cruel answer.

“Yes…something is wrong..but I am here to make it right, and if you take your necklace off I won’t be able to do that. You need to learn how to behave, bunny.”- he spoke in a shallow tone, pulling your small hand off the necklace, just to place his on it. His hand was so big compared to your small neck, he almost managed to wrap his whole palm around it, pressing the thing even more on your skin.

“Why would you talk to another guy? Am I not enough for you bunny?”- your eyes widen in shock, as a low sound of you trying to answer almost escaped your lips, but the sharp and painful electric shock again made your muscles clench. This one made you bent down, trembling under the grip of electricity coming from the collar. When it stopped, the skin under the thing was now sore and it burned like someone pressed a fiery brand on it.

Tears strolled down your face while you were paralyzed by fear. He knelt in front of you, cupping your face between his wide palms.

“No, no, no..shhh bunny, it is ok, this is for your own good.”- he removed the strains of hair from your face, squeezing your cheeks to force you to look at him. “I will train you, show you how to be good to me, don’t worry. I love you, I just want us to be happy.”- he started petting your head, pushing his left hand in his pocket and pulling something out. A small remote with two buttons. “I don’t want to shock you again with this my bunny, so please be good.”- he smiled lovingly, kissing your wet cheek that was glistering from tears.

With time it only got worse. You needed to drop all the male contacts you had, and you still would deserve a shock or two when you would even talk to the captain. You kept your answers short, hiding the pain and despair.

Even the giggling of your female friends while you all were talking got him thinking all kinds of things. Surely you were talking about some guys. It got him on the edge, furry rising in his chest like a tide. They could not be trusted. You could not be trusted when you are alone with them. So, he made you another gift.

You screamed and cried as he showed you the thing he had wrapped in a red box with a white bow. You could sense it was wrong, not wanting to come near it let alone wear it. It is sad that you even thought you had a choice.

He pulled the gift from the box. Panties. Pink panties made from the similar material as your collar. You tried to run out from the room, to escape this, but he gabbed you by the waist, picking you up and throwing you on the bed. He grabbed your wrists with one hand, while he reached under your skirt for your panties. He tore the material in a second, exposing your intimate parts to him, just so slide the new pair of panties on you. You violently wiggled, trying to break from his grip and pull the thing off, but a familiar burn around your neck made you calm down. You started sobbing, begging him to stop, but he ignored your pleads, petting your tights with his hand. “If you will be good, nothing will happen, I promise bunny.”- he pushed his hand up, softly stroking your clothed pussy. “I would never harm you, I am helping you.”- he pinched your clit softly as you cried out. “This is mine, I just need you to remember that.”

And he did made you remember. Every time you went out with your friends, you tried to stay away from every male person around, but unfortunately, even if that was not hard enough, because even ordering a drink from a male waiter was a punishable crime in his eyes, every time one of your friends mentioned some dude you would pay the price. A sharp vibrating sensation coming from your panties made your legs shake. You tensed every muscle in your body, trying to remain calm and still, but the vibrations only got worse. There was no point of you even trying to get up and try to reach the bathroom, your legs were too weak. Shaky material irritated your clit, making it over stimulated, almost making you cum, but before you could, it stopped, leaving you hot and bothered, tortured like a sex slave deprived from a sweet release. A beeping sound came from your mobile. A message, from him.

“Does talking about other man makes you wet? Is this what you would like for them to do to you? Would you bunny? – another wave of vibrations, almost making you moan from pain and the pleasure in the same time, just to be even more degraded by the slight shock on your collar. Only God knows how you managed to stay quiet.

“Are you imagining how they are licking your cunt now? Does these vibrations get you going like they would?”- he would not stop for the whole night until you return home. You could not walk home, your friends needed to carry you, as you lied you are not feeling well. Your pussy swollen from the constant irritation and not even one orgasm, just so he can fuck it after he carries you to the bed, making you almost faint from the over stimulation and exhaustion.

Obi Akitaru x Reader

A well respected and compassionate captain, with a kind of body that is only seen on ancient Rome sculptures, got his eyes on you. What could possibly go wrong when the man has such long list of good deeds behind him? That pleasant caramel colored eyes could not possible be stained with mad obsessions and perverted desires.

No one would suspect Obi when the victims of cruel and brutal beatings started to pop up on the news every other day. Men’s teeth being smash beyond repair, countless broken bones, skin painted with gruesome bruises…and dead silence about the one who did it. Not even one of the victims dared to speak his name, he made sure they know that even worse things would happen to them if they did. After all, they did deserve what happened to them. They dared to look at you, approach you and speak to you.

When it came to you, he believed in the saying- “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.” . You could not possibly understand how deeply he cared for you, you needed to be protected. This world was cruel, too raw for a delicate and pure creature like you, and he swore nothing will harm his precious flower.

Being able to protect in that way requires being able to see you at every moment. He would install cameras in the base, explaining how it is for the safety of the whole team, but the only one being monitored was you. He would have an app on his phone where he could see everything that happens on the cameras, at any time. Oh, and how he loved seeing you doing your daily chores and just living your normal everyday life.Seeing you cook and clean made him have fantasies that you two are married, how you are just working around the house, waiting for your husband to get home. His eyes were glued on you figure as you chopped the vegetables, imagining how he is behind you, kissing your neck and gently holding your hips. He closed his eyes and inhaled, getting agitated on the fact that he could not smell the thing he wanted. He needed your scent in his nostrils while he was lost in his fantasies.

First he thought a simple shirt would be enough, just something of yours that he can have in his hands, smell when he wanted. But sneaking into your room at night to collect the desirable thing quickly resulted in him lifting his appetite on the next level.

Gazing upon your sleeping face, wearing nothing but a big t-shirt that looked like a oversized dress made him wonder what is under it. He bit his lip on the thought of lifting the t-shirt, feeding on the sight of your perfect body, the body that belongs to him, and will be touched only by him. But he did not want to do it while you were not aware, he wanted that moment to be shared, so he can look at your eyes while he fills your pussy with his cock, so he can hear you calling his name while he satisfies your every need.

The blood flowed in the lowers parts of his body, making his dick hard, lifting the material under his jeans. He pushed the hand down, giving it a few strokes over the jeans, staring at your tights. An idea crossed his mind. There is a way he can fulfill his quest and his perverse need.

Quietly approaching you, he leaned on you, carefully pushing his hand under your t-shirt. Your tender skin under his rough palms made him almost lose it, grabbing your legs violently, spreading them and placing himself between, so he can enter you then and there. But he managed to restrain himself, finally finding the thing he was looking for. He cautiously pulled your panties down, sliding them off your legs, getting on his feet and leaving the room in a hurry.

This piece of clothing became his favorite thing in the world. He could still feel how warm there were in that moment when he took them off, how the material was soft like your skin was. Finally, he can have his fantasy fully. He brought his hand to his nose, inhaling deeply, gathering every possible scent off that thin fabric. A sweet fruity smell of your shampoo made him wonder would your pussy taste like strawberries under his tongue. How he would enjoy licking your juices like it was an icing from a cake, resulting in the most delicious thing he ever tasted. A moist feeling on his nose made him realize that there is something more of you on that material. He lowered his hand, letting the moonlight from his window fall on the material. A small wet stain in the center of the panties. You were wet.

His heart started beating from excitement, making it almost impossible to think straight anymore, as his dick was now painfully swollen and demanding a sweet release.

A red spot appeared under your desk. A light from the hidden camera he had installed along with the others, but this one was special, and it was the first time he used it.His strong chest going up and down in waves as he stared at your naked butt. When he left you half naked, you turned in your sleep, lifting the shirt enough to expose your ass and pussy. Laying on your belly, you spread your legs, finding the most comfy way to continue your slumber, while unaware that someone is more than enjoying the view.

His strong hand tensed, as his biceps popped out, while he was gripping on his huge cock, stroking it fast. Your panties in his hand in the same time, trying to get your juices on his smooth skin. His eyes glued on your pussy, imaging how soft and wet it would be, how tight it would feel around his fat cock. His pumps became shallow, more intense, as he was zooming the camera as much as possible. He ended up cumming on the screen, lost in the fantasy that it was actually your skin.

The more his obsession grew, the more shameless he became. He would hack your social media profiles, erasing and blocking your guy friends one by one, doing so patiently so you would not notice. Same went for your contacts on your phone. All the numbers you had from your male friends got erased. He needed only a moment, when you were going to make some coffee for the team or eating lunch, leaving the phone on your work desk. He felt no remorse, after all, the only man you need is right there, watching your every step.

#fire force #obi akitaru #joseph vulcan #obi x reader #obi akitaru x reader #joseph vulcan x reader #enen no shouboutai #enen no shoubotai headcanons #enen no shouboutai obi #enen no shouboutai x reader #obi akitaru smut #yandere #yandere obi akitaru #yandere vulcan #yandere fire force #yandere obi #yandere enen no shouboutai #obi akitaru headcanons #fire force headcanons

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quinncupine · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Never Easy

Word Count: 2,272

Link: A03

Summary: "I lied to her." His voice was just a broken whisper. "She...she asked me if she was going to die, so I lied."

Young Pro Hero Deku deals with his first civilian death and a certain retired hero helps him cope.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood.

Notes: I wanted to write some Dadmight because I love their dynamic and I wanted to explore that. I've never really written Dadmight before so let me know what you think. Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy friends!

Quinn's Masterlist!

...

Izuku trudged into the empty apartment and sluggishly pulled off his boots, tossing them haphazardly on the floor then stumbled to the sofa where he plopped down. He hadn't bothered with the lights, preferring the darkness, it was easier to hide in it than face reality at the moment. The street lamp glaring through the window provided the sole source of light, though it was far from comforting.

In the darkness he finally sunk down into the sofa leaning his head back into the plushy cushions. A grimy hand ran through his messy green locks as he let out a shaky breath. All that raw emotion he'd somehow managed to suppress for the last few hours was dangerously close to crawling up his throat. It had taken everything in him to keep it together, but now that he was in his apartment- alone and in the dark- that wall he built was crashing down faster than he could say disaster.

The silence was quickly becoming overwhelming. Hands covered his eyes as a stifled choke slipped out. That scene just kept replaying over and over and over in his head and each time he kept going over all the things that went wrong, all the things that he did wrong. For each mistake, a thousand other possibilities of what he could of done differently, but as much as he wished, he couldn't change what happened. This train of thought was only driving him deeper and deeper and there wasn't a reverse gear to back him out of this miserable pit he'd driven himself into.

A buzz in his pocket startled him out of his morbid derailment and he reached for his phone, barely glancing at the name before turning it off and throwing it on the couch next to him. He knew people would call, he knew they would want to talk, but he didn't. All he wanted was to just sit in the dark, to suffer a little longer in his own guilt. It's what he deserved, at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Wait a minute...

He froze, eyes darting over to the phone. The name of the caller suddenly clicked in his mind. All Might. He'd just hung up on All Might, or as the older man kept telling him 'Toshinori.'

With a small groan, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and sat up, debating on whether or not to call the man back. All his emotions were so scattered at the moment. He wanted to talk and not talk at the same time. He wanted Toshinori to be here and yet he also wanted to just be left alone. He wanted the world to just stop closing in on him. He wanted everything to be okay, but that was never going to happen.

Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath, then another, then another. After a while, his breathing evened out and he closed his eyes, resting his head back on the couch and straining his ears to hear the distant echoes of the trains that ran near his apartment. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep.

A loud knock on the door nearly sent him toppling off the couch. Fingers fumbled around for his phone, turning it back on, and flinching at the too bright light that glowed over his face. It was nearly two in the morning, he'd only been asleep for less than an hour. Once his phone had fully powered back on, the small device flooded his notifications with several missed calls and numerous text messages, most of them being Toshinori. Another pang of guilt dripped into his chest at the thought of ignoring his mentor. He didn't want to be rude, something he feared might happen if the retired hero found him in this sorry state.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and all his muscles immediately complained. They were overworked, not that it was really any surprise, the still rookie hero always went overboard on missions. This time, he welcomed the pain. It gave him a nice distraction as he stumbled to the door. On the other side was exactly who he was expecting, although the timing was a bit late, or, he supposed, rather early in the day.

"What are you doing here?" He didn't realize how rude that sounded until it actually came out. "I mean," he sighed. "It's two in the morning All- Toshinori."

"You weren't answering." The older man simply said. "I was getting worried."

Izuku finally took the time to look the man over. He was dressed in a plain pair of sweats and a heavy coat, holding some sort of small box. His hair was a mess and his face, although always sickly and pale, seemed even more so tonight.

"I wanted to check on you." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. "Maybe...talk a little?"

Talking was the last thing on Izuku's mind, but he couldn't just shut out Toshinori, no matter how upset he was. The man even drove all the way here in the dead of night. It would be downright villainous to turn him away. With a sigh, he stepped aside and let the man in.

Toshinori knew the layout of the apartment well; he'd been here enough times by now to have it memorized, but the complete darkness was making it hard to navigate. His hand smoothed along the wall until he found the switch and suddenly the apartment bloomed to life. It was a basic place with just the necessities and of course all the All Might merch Izuku had acquired over the years. Once a fanboy, always a fanboy.

"Um, Izuku," He said quietly, slipping the coat from his lanky form. "Why don't you go change and I'll make us some tea." Toshinori hesitated before continuing. "Maybe take a shower, that might do you some good."

The young pro blinked and looked down at himself. His costume was filthy and littered with dirt smeared cuts. The most glaring issue was the giant blood stain that ran from his torso down to his right leg. Even more disturbing that the blood wasn't even his. He'd been too lost in his thoughts when he got home that it didn't even cross his mind what he looked like.

"Yeah, okay." He murmured, carding his hand through his tangled hair.

A shower actually did sound pretty good at the moment, so he trudged to his room and stripped the soiled garment off, well tried to. The blood had fused the fabric and his skin together so he slowly peeled it off, trying not to look at the mistakes that were literally written in blood and woven to his skin. When he finally did get it off, he stared at the fabric lying limply in his hands. It might've been beyond repair this time, or maybe it was that he just didn't want to see the tainted suit ever again.

The warm water felt nice on his sore muscles, but the moment he looked down and saw the water pooling around his feet turn red he had to steady himself against the wall and take a deep breath. Those haunting images popped back in his head again so he turned the shower on the coldest setting and stayed there until his skin felt raw.

It was about ten minutes before Izuku came back out, flat hair dripping down onto his hoodie, and hands shoved into the pocket of his sweats. He would've looked comfortable if not for the permanent grimace on his face.

Two cups of tea had been set out on the dining table with Toshinori behind one, gingerly sipping the dark liquid. Izuku slipped into the empty seat and stared at the steaming cup.

"Feel better?" Toshinori wrapped his hands around his own cup, savoring the warmth it brought.

"I guess."

A tight silence settled over the two. Usually Izuku was all smiles with Toshinori, the man was his idol, how could he not be, but tonight was different. Tonight held a heavy, more somber mood, one Toshinori was well acquainted with, just not on his protégé.

"What's that smell?" Izuku perked his head up, his curious nature taking over as the scent of cinnamon wafted through the room.

"Oh, right." Toshinori hurried into the kitchen and came back out with a plate full of sweet smelling desserts. "I picked these up when I was in Kyoto the other day. I thought you'd appreciate them."

He set the plate between them. "Yatsuhashi?" Izuku picked up one of the crisp sweets and examined it, glad to have something else to focus on. "Thanks."

"Izuku, my boy," Toshinori gingerly sat back down. "I saw what happened on the news, but I...I wanted to...are you alright?"

Alright wasn't even in the same universe as him. He squeezed the yatsuhashi between his fingers, the hard shell cracking under the pressure. A grim frown pulled at his lips. "How did you handle that...the first time it happened?"

Toshinori folded his hands on his lap and pursed his lips. "Not well, I can tell you that."

That surprised Izuku. To him, All Might could handle anything, no matter how big or small, and always with a smile. The man seemed invincible, even after his retirement, it still seemed like he could accomplish anything. That was probably all the biased sentiment he held in his heart for the man who had filled a role much bigger than 'mentor' could even encompass. Growing up without a father had left a blank spot, something he was able to ignore for a long time, but it was one that Toshinori seemed to fit into perfectly.

"Listen Izuku," he took a deep breath and forced the boy who wasn't so much a boy anymore as he was a young man, a prospering hero, to look him in the eyes. "There are inevitably going to be times where you can't save everyone. That doesn't mean you failed as a hero."

Giant green eyes searched Toshinori's bright blue ones. "Not to her. To her, I did fail." He dropped the crushed treat back onto the plate and sunk his head into his hands. "I lied to her." His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

"Lied?"

"She...she asked me if she was going to die. She was crying. She was bleeding out in my arms and crying. I've never seen someone so terrified, so I lied." All that emotion he'd somehow been suppressing came rushing to the surface and he choked back a sob. "I had her, I had her in my grasp and I still couldn't save her. What kind of hero can't even save one life?"

"Did you forget about all the other lives you saved today?" Toshinori set a bony hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "If anyone gets to call themselves hero, it's you Izuku. Out of all the people I've ever met you are the most selfless and determined person to ever walk this earth. I know I made the right choice in you Izuku, you are the truest version of a hero."

When Izuku didn't respond, he knelt next to his chair, grabbed the boys shoulders and pulled them up gently so he was facing him. "I know exactly what you're going through my boy. I've been there more times than you can count, but carrying around that blame, that, that guilt will only weigh you down." Izuku could only stare at him through tear stained eyes. "I'm so proud of the hero you've become. I'm certain that one day you'll be the very best and all the world will know-" he tapped Izuku's chest- "that you are here."

There was a moment of silence before Izuku lunged forward and collapsed into Toshinori's chest with a crushing hug. They both nearly toppled to the ground before Toshinori managed to regain his footing. It didn't matter that it was an awkward position to kneel in there was no way he was letting his boy go. His gangly arms wrapped around his boy.

His boy.

His son.

The one person whom he considered family, someone to call son, although he couldn't recall a time he'd ever actually told Izuku that, or anyone for that matter. It was more of an unspoken understanding, at least, he hoped Izuku understood. Toshinori never had any family ties and before he met Izuku there was a void he'd buried in the recesses of his mind, but now he couldn't even think of a life without Izuku in it.

"I'm sorry." Izuku sniffed into his chest and Toshinori ran a hand through his still wet curls. "Thank you Toshi...for being here."

To say that that simple nickname hadn't affected the old man would be an outright lie. Izuku had always tried so hard to be respectful, which was why he always had trouble calling Toshinori by his name instead of his title. This might've been the first time he's ever used that nickname and Toshinori, no, Toshi only squeezed tighter.

His heart couldn't help but swell and he smiled, but it wasn't his generic 'All Might' smile, no, this one was reserved for only one person. This was a smile that he could pour his entire being into. A smile that could say so much more than he ever could. This was a smile for his son.

"My boy, you don't have to thank me. It's what family does."

#midoriya izuku #pro hero midoriya #yagi toshinori #All Might #bnha #mha #slight angst #comfort #pro hero Deku #dadmight #izuku midoriya needs a hug #dadmight to the rescue #deku #crying #this boy just needs so much love #can we please get some love for poor Izuku?#he's the best

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utxpri · 4 years ago

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I know you write for diabolik lovers too, so let's make some boys cry.Let's say Quartet night and the sakamaki triplets switched places. Like, instead of those three,it was quartet night. How do you think they'd be, growing up in such a household, with such a horrid mother? Which role would each of them play? What sorts of trauma would be inflicted? How would their personalities and mindsets differ in this scenario? How would they interact with the other brothers? want to see these boys ~squirm~

Oooooooh, this is fun. OwO I’m going with Cordy still being mom, but everything else is gonna get messed around with.

It’s also uhhh... interesting to have two Reiji’s. We’ll assume that he has a different name within the Au, but I’ll still use “Reiji” here so we know who we’re talking about.

. . .

I don’t think that the exact roles would be mirrored, especially since there are four of them instead of three. Instead, things are a little more... versatile. Cordelia still has her “heir”, who in this case, I think would be Ranmaru. He’s the one who Cordelia sees the most potential in, since Reiji is too good-natured and doesn’t take things seriously enough. Ranmaru is the one who bears the brunt of having to be the “best”. And it fucks him up about the same way that it does Ayato.

His rough, coarse nature is heightened to a dangerous extent, with him paralleling Subaru in terms of violence and lashing out. At the same time that he’s a violent asshole who takes his frustration out on everyone around him, Ranmaru still has triggers. His mother terrifies him— and failure is worse. If he feels like he’s messed up on something, he spirals. Just like Ayato, he acts like he’s the best person in the world to cover up how he feels like he can never measure up to what’s expected of him.

Camus is her “toy”. Since he most resembles Karlheinz out of the lot of them, Cordelia picks him to use. Camus grows up with the same warped view of “love” that Laito holds, but instead of turning into the happy-go-lucky pervert as Laito does, he goes cold. Camus puts on his mask so that no one knows how broken he feels. He does become something of a womanizer, easily seducing his prey and using the sex appeal he’s learned against them. It makes sense for him to put on that warm, friendly, polite front instead of showing how frigid he is. Even his brothers see more of that side than his true nature.

Camus actively dislikes acting like “himself”, since that was never what got him places with his mother. He has a very cynical, jaded view of the world just like Laito, believing that there’s no such thing as love and genuine bonds between people.

Reiji is one of the ones who mostly goes forgotten. Cordelia just plain doesn’t like him. As a child, he’d fight for her attention by being clingy and trying everything to get her eyes on him. He was very social and just wanted people to like him. But much like Shuu, he wound up making a human friend to fill the void... who Cordelia killed herself so that he’d “learn”. That fucked Reiji up. Like Camus, he’s very two-faced. He still acts like himself, but inside, part of him has died. His perpetual smile and teasing, jovial nature covers up the fact that he’s completely empty on the inside.

It’s impossible for Reiji to believe that there’s happiness in the world— or at least, that it would ever come to him. He still loves his family and feels strongly for all of them, but there’s a distance in the sense that Reiji never really opens up. He’s got some disturbing tendencies behind the back that he uses as coping mechanisms, and some of these include a fixation on humans and how they live.

Ai, meanwhile, also went mostly forgotten. What it did to him was make him shut down. Behaving almost robotically, Ai is a creature of logic whose feelings have left him. He has trouble mustering up emotional responses to anything and exists in a state of merely responding to what happens around him. He wanted his mother’s attention when he was very small, but in the end, he gave up on it and turned himself into something unfeeling.

He likes to “experiment” with humans and vampires alike and has a bit of an obsession with studying and learning about the emotions that other people have. To others, he appears creepy and vacant, almost not with the world. No one can really get through to him. Nothing matters to him. All Ai cares about is living one day to the next and satisfying his instincts however he sees fit.

As for how their sadistic natures work, Ranmaru is the violent sadist. He resembles Subaru and Yuuma in a lot of ways, but he’s not as tsun as Subaru and a lot smarter and more calculating than Yuuma. He’s a cruel, vicious type who wants to see everyone bow before him and obey.

Camus is cold. He acts amiable and proper... right up until he has his prey cornered. And even when he’s got the mask up, his true tendencies often shine through. He simply doesn’t care what his prey feels. He’ll use them to his amusement regardless of what it does to them or how they respond. All that matters is getting what he wants.

Reiji tends to be just plain fucked up. He’s fixated on human nature and how they work and enjoys pushing his prey to their limits just to see what they’re like when they break. Subconsciously, he wants to make everyone he hurts feel exactly as broken as he does, so he does things that are intended to shatter them beyond repair. He acts cheerful and friendly until the moment where it becomes apparent that he just wants them to suffer.

And lastly, Ai is the Kanato-like, disturbing one. He conducts experiments into human emotions and responses... which mostly amount to torturing people just to see what happens. He kills his prey quickly and has that same tendency to play with their corpses until he gets bored.

When it comes to interacting with each other, the relationships are strained. Reiji is generally disliked for how hyper and bubbly he behaves. Camus isolated himself from the others because he simply doesn’t want to interact. Ai is on fairly neutral grounds with the other three, although they do find him to be creepy. Ranmaru looks down on his brothers and treats them more like servants and lessers than family. That said, they had a strong bond as children, and this still kicks in once in a while. They do care for each other deep down. If one of them is truly suffering or in trouble, the others will step in... even though they have to preserve their pride when they do it.

#Utapri #Uta no Prince Sama #Ai #Mikaze Ai #Reiji #Kotobuki Reiji #Ranmaru #Kurosaki Ranmaru #Camus #Headcanon #Diabolik Lovers

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captainkingsley · 4 years ago

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The scent is becoming familiar — warm, earthy tea with a hint of spice. It's imported from Aurora now that the waters are regularly traversed, ships bringing the tea with so many other new things for the people of Albion. Logan finds that it's a large improvement for everyone involved and can't help the swell of pride that his younger brother has done so much in his time as king. He's helped only now that his temperament has settled, and each week after spending countless hours helping in the halls of the castle and beyond, he and Cedric sit for tea and talk.

They don't have the time to update each other on what's going on beyond their work, so Cedric shuffled their schedules until he was able to secure an hour at the end of the week for just the two of them. It's more than Logan was able to do when he was king — he'd become so distant then, that he and Cedric had become unfamiliar to each other. Now they were determined to be brothers again, even if only for a short time each week.

Logan stares at Cedric as he stirs a small amount of sugar into his tea, and then raises a brow as he scoops another three into the steaming cup.

Some things never change.

"So," Logan begins, breaking the quiet, steepling his fingers as his elbows rest on the table, "You and Benjamin Finn."

Cedric, with the cup against his lips, makes a sputtering sound as hot tea splashes his face with the force of his sudden exhalation.

"I'm sorry?" Cedric says, a strain in his voice. Logan adjusts his posture and dips his spoon into the sugar bowl, looking at Cedric with nothing but seriousness in his eyes.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm saying," he chides, "I've seen the way you look at him."

"Look at him," Cedric questions, incredulous. "I don't—"

"Please. You stare at him like Griffin at dinner." Logan says, and at his name, Griffin's ears perk up. The dog looks hopefully at the food on the table, proving Logan's point perfectly.

"I look at him as a friend," Cedric says, setting his cup down with a gentle tap, lifting his chin to look away from Logan's accusing stare.

"Cedric. I've known you since we were children. I can read you — and you're lying right now." Logan says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Despite the teasing — and the truth behind it — Cedric finds some comfort in Logan's laughter. It shows he's improving, that he's getting used to expressing emotion outwardly once more, and Cedric can't help but crack a small smile. Logan catches the shift in his expression and immediately points it out, linking it instead to Cedric undoubtedly thinking of Benjamin.

"Actually," Cedric corrects, "I was thinking about how glad I am that you're well enough to tease me about these things now."

Logan blinks, shocked at the change in conversation, and fiddles with the handle of his teacup. He is feeling more like himself lately, no doubt thanks to how much he's been pushing himself to work and help repair the damage he'd done to Albion. It helps also, he thinks, that people are beginning to get to know him beyond just being the former king. They see something in him, now, that hasn't been seen since he was the young prince standing at his father's side. The world has gone from being the endless expanse of suffering and gloom that he had seen in his time under the Crawler's influence to something bright and full of hope. Thanks to Cedric for the work he's put in and the slaying of the darkness in the past year, Logan has felt as though a veil has been lifted from his eyes and he sees the world for what it truly is.

But more to the point — Logan has started something here that he intends to finish. He clears his throat and covers his mouth with one closed hand as he does so.

"Still. I'm not letting you change the subject." Logan says, and Cedric rolls his eyes as he leans back in his seat. Griffin, beside him, steps up to rest his snout on Cedric's knee. Absently, Cedric ruffles the dog's ear.

"Well, you're not getting me to admit to anything." Cedric says, stubborn.

"But you admit there's something there by saying that." Logan points out, and Cedric narrows his eyes.

"That's — what are you playing at, Logan?"

"Just looking out for my little brother. I don't want to hear that you've gotten your heart broken by a straight man or anything—" Logan says, waving his hand. "You have a bad habit of that."

“So I’ve had bad luck in the past with this sort of thing. The reason I have feelings for Ben is because he’s straight, isn’t that what you’re getting at?” Cedric crosses his arms. On his knee, Griffin looks up with his big brown eyes as though begging for scraps. He likely is.

“You don’t know what he is or isn’t,” Logan says, finally taking a short sip of tea. The warmth of it makes his nose heat up, leaves a gentle bit of heat lingering on his cheeks and in his throat. “But you just admitted it.”

"You sneaky piece of shit," Cedric laughs, the words an affectionate jab in the way brothers are wont to do. “Fine, okay, yes. I’ve got a bit of a thing for Ben. Nothing’s going to come of it.”

“You don’t know that.” Logan says. “Despite the fact that I know he dislikes me and I find him a little too loud for my tastes, I want you to know that should you pursue Benjamin, you have my support.”

It’s strangely comforting, in a way. With both of their parents gone and Walter as well, the only family Cedric has left is Logan ( and Jasper, but Jasper has found a home for himself in the Sanctuary ) to approve or disapprove of his choice in partner. Not that he’d listen to Logan unless he was extremely adverse to a choice — because if Logan denied someone for him so adamantly, he’d have to listen as to why. Cedric stares down at the cup of tea he’s left sitting on the table, the deep brown-red color soothing in its stillness.

“Thank you.” Is all Cedric can say for a long few moments. He’s not sure if Logan knows just how important his opinion is to him.

Silence draws between them. It’s peaceful. Logan stirs his tea, the gentle clink of metal against ceramic like the rhythmic ticking of a clock. Griffin huffs out a long sigh and Cedric pets him once more, ruffling the fur on the top of his head. His collar jingles as the dog pulls away and goes to sit in his bed once again, resting his head on the cushioned edge of the bed.

When the comforting silence has drawn on for longer than Cedric expected, he breaks it with a lopsided smile as he says,

“So, you and Thomas?”

Then it’s Logan’s turn to sputter as he sets down his teacup, eyebrows drawing together as he glares at Cedric.

“No.” He says, short and simple. Cedric grins, much like a cat who’d gotten into what it’s not supposed to.

“Oh, come on. You spend all your free time in the library—” He says, and Logan tilts his chin up.

“I’ve been helping ship the duplicates of books to Aurora.” Logan states.

“Mm-hm.” Cedric leans onto the table, putting his chin in his hand. “And that requires you being in the library late at night?”

“I—” Logan starts, his cheeks coloring.

“I’m sorry,” Cedric says, shaking his head. He looks down at his cup once again, the sugar in the bottom not fully dissolved. His hair falls in front of his face. “I won’t bother you about it. But I do want you to know I’m happy you’ve made friends, and that you’ve found someone like Thomas.”

Logan stays silent, watching Cedric as he tilts his head to smile at his brother.

“Even if it’s frustrating as hell that you found him after I’d sent numerous suitors your way and you never told me—”

“That was you?!” Logan says, his voice raising. Cedric laughs, throwing his head back as he does. Logan stands from his seat, mouth dropping open and closing again, three times before he swallows harshly. “One of them didn’t leave me alone for two days!”

“I’m sorry!” Cedric says, his voice still caught between bouts of laughter, “I just wanted to make you happy, I thought I knew what I was doing!”

Logan can’t find it in him to be mad after that. He lays his hand flat against the table, leaning against it as he stares down at Cedric, who’s wiping his face after his fit of laughter. Without thinking, he reaches over with his other hand and ruffles through his hair, grown out longer in his time as king. The motion is familiar, bringing back memories of their childhood and days spent without a care or thought of what was awaiting them. His heart feels warm, fuller than it has in quite some time.

“Hey, Logan?” Cedric says as Logan’s hand withdraws.

Logan hums a questioning sound.

“If you marry Thomas, you’d better let me help plan it.”

“And let you ruin my color scheme? I don’t think so.” He says, tilting his chin upward in a show of fake pompousness. But Cedric can hear the affection in his voice, the subtle playful tone.

“I’ll find a way to meddle in your wedding.” Cedric says. And it doesn't even matter to Logan that he's barely past getting to know the man who would be joining him in this hypothetical wedding — the idea of anything past asking him to dinner hasn't crossed his mind in the slightest. What matters in the moment is only that Cedric is back to poking fun at him, just as when they were young.

Logan snaps back with a remark about the possibility of Ben Finn joining Cedric at a wedding and the tables are turned, with Cedric protesting any possibility of such a thing happening.

They jab at each other back and forth until someone comes to steal Cedric away to talk in front of some representatives from a village across Albion. They part ways and Logan puts it into his mind to keep an eye on Ben's actions around Cedric the next time he's around, just in case.

"Logan!" Cedric calls over his shoulder as he's headed down the hall. Logan looks up.

Cedric waves a hand at him.

"I love you!"

He turns the corner. Logan shuts his eyes and smiles, feeling — finally — like proper family once more.

#Cedric #Logan #fable 3 #i reread the stuff i wrote earlier multiple times #and had to write a bit more #this also. contains the mention of the oc I'm shipping w Logan #not sure how i feel about the flow of this one but #I wrote it in one day so of course it's a bit clunky #anyway have these brothers being brothers again #very much postgame and about a year or so after #Logan was convinced to stay in albion bc cedric made a big deal abt how much he'd miss him #cedric has a big ol crush on Ben but refuses to act on it #also Cedric's dog was named by my fiancee #and hes a german longhair pointer

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maple-writes · 4 years ago

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WHG 14: Boat 4

tagging: @concealeddarkness13 (Nesri, Triel, Zenith a little) @ratracechronicler (Rebecca) and @pen-of-roses

so this might be kinda long but oh well

###

Asher was already asleep again by the time we got back to our room, small under the heap of blankets he’d buried himself under. Good. He’d been looking tired lately, despite his attempts to try and convince me otherwise. I only half registered when Triel left the room, gone to try and work a time to push the president overboard that would work now that we knew about whatever it was that was making the others think we were their enemies. I sighed and leaned against one of the walls, letting some of the others take the beds. It was all too complicated.

I looked up though when Nesri stood, announcing she was hungry and going to get something to eat and slipping out before anyone could respond. An uneasy feeling like a damp blanket over my shoulders settled in and I kept my eyes on the door. What were the chances she was about to do something rash? Something she didn’t want anyone to know about? I bit at the inside of my lip. She’d told me not to worry, not to get involved but could I? That’s what Asher had said too. I hadn’t listened then and it, it hadn’t been good but what would have happened if I hadn’t shown up?

Rebecca didn’t seem convinced either. “So,” She looked over to me. “Are you buying that whole ‘hungry’ excuse or you think she’s up to something.”

I shook my head. “There’s something going on.” How much should I tell her? I hadn’t told anyone about Asher until it was almost too late… “Don’t tell her I told you this, but she might be in danger. It’s about that magic guy.” I wasn’t going to repeat that mistake again.

She made a face. “Well. I don’t have any magic. But I do have a sword. If one of us’s in danger, we all are.” Finally someone with sense. “Think we should stick our noses in other people’s business?”

“Absolutely.” I pushed off the wall, eyeing her blade. We might need that. “Take the sword, I think she went this way.”

“Hold up.” She turned around and went straight for Elvira for a peck on the cheek. “I’m gonna go meddling.”

Despite the looming dread, I couldn’t help but grin, just a little bit as she came back with her sword after her goodbye kiss. Sweet.

We hurried down hallways looking for where she might have gone, but no luck. Maybe she was just hungry after all. Maybe we were worrying about nothing. But then we turned down an isolated corridor and both of us froze.

Triel pinned Nesri against the wall, her hand tight on her throat and voice menacing. “…What was that, hun? You think I’m lying? How do you know? Are they ever real around you? Do they ever really care? How do you know?” Nesri struggled, but it was in vain.

Triel? I raised my head, standing tall and demanding. “What’s going on?” Was this how Triel treated her crew when no one was looking?

She turned towards us, a friendly smile on her face but her hand still firmly on Nesri’s neck. “Oh, nothing. Just a chat.”

“Looks like it,” Rebecca exaggerated, gripping her sword in a pointed display. “How’s about your remove that hand from that neck or I remove the hand from your arm, pal?”

I couldn’t agree more. Friend or not Triel better do as we asked before both of us took turns wishing she had.

Nesri tried to shout something, but Triel cut her off with a tighter grip and cocked her head. “And why would you care about this broken creature? We took her when she was eight and gave her the magic. She is our property. And she is broken beyond repair. That is why I must take her back.”

Oh no, this wasn’t Triel. This wasn’t Triel. This was Churi.

He laughed over Nesri’s crying. “Oh, you should have seen our artwork.” He rounds to Nesri’s other side, pulling down the top of her collar to show shoulders criss-crossed with scarring. “It’s not as pretty now.”

I was going to kill him.

Rebecca was faster, darting forward and slicing her sword clean through his wrist. But the hand didn’t move, firm like a clamp over Nesri’s neck.

“Now, that was rude.” He reached up and reattached the hand. “As I was saying, what is she to you? How much would you sacrifice for a piece of broken property?”

“Get away from her!” I yelled and lunged, grabbing a handful of his hair and digging my other hand into his arm to pull him back, away from Nesri.

She fell to the floor and Churi slipped my grip. He turned to me, smiling. Too pleased.

“Fine.” His shape shifted, dissolving like mist off a morning pond and rematerializing again into a form that made my stomach twist.

Asher. An exact copy all the way down to the way each hair fell unkept over his face.

He crossed his arms, a cruel glare spreading across his face. “You disgust me,” He spat, “clinging to anyone who tells you pretty lies. You’re so easily deceived. You’re pathetic.” He grinned spreading his arms out to his sides. “Did you think I really loved you, let along Nesri?”

Asher laughed, sharp and jarring and I couldn’t move. He didn’t mean it. He never meant it. But, but… It wasn’t right. There were no horns. No fangs, no claws, just Asher. Just Asher in his most honest state.

“They’ve all been lying to you. They’ll never care about you.” He bent forward at the hip, jeering. “Even Striker. He’d rather you were gone, and I agree with him.” He straightened up again, gesturing loosely to Nesri, still watching from the floor. “Of course you fell for Nesri’s lies; both of you are too scarred to be anything more than a pretty face.”

He’d never been like this looking like that. Just out of nowhere. I swallowed. But it wasn’t Asher, was it? But… But how else, how would Churi know? How would he know if he didn’t, if he didn’t know something about him? How would he know if there wasn’t some truth to it?

Asher dropped his shoulders, looking me straight in they eye. “You worthless excuse for a son. Of course your mother doesn’t want you back. And she never will.” He stepped towards me, again and again until he was almost right against me, staring up with sharp mockery. “You will be along, begging for her forgiveness like you have month after month after month.” He lowered his voice to a cruel hiss. “Don’t you ever wonder why she never responds? Why no one ever comes for you? No one will listen, no one will ever care about you Cirrus.”

For a moment he lingered, watching as if daring me to say something, daring me to try and defend myself. But the words wouldn’t come, couldn’t find their way through my locked jaw.

He drew back, laughing under his breath. “Stop fighting against the inevitable. Give up and help me take the rest of your fake friends into custody. It’s the only thing a pathetic excuse like you can do.”

“Stop.” My voice shook, too much, enough he must have noticed. “Stop that’s, that’s not true.” It wasn’t, it couldn’t be.

But all Asher did was smile, sweet and condescending. “Still trying to pretend like it’s not true. Pathetic.”

He turned to Rebecca and his shape shifted again. He said something to her, something mocking and cruel but I could barely make out what he was saying anymore, staring and trying to pretend my legs didn’t shake. That my throat hadn’t tightened just a little bit. I could still almost see him, standing there in the rain spitting and growling and cursing anything around him.

Churi shifted back into Triel, leaving Rebecca crushed with her sword hanging uselessly in her hand.

“See hun?” Churi turned back to Nesri with Triel’s face. “I own your friends now. I will take anything that you think you can have. You will have nothing. Your once-friends will hate you and hurt you. You are all mine.”

Nesri was still shaking, still cowering on the ground where she’d fallen, but when Churi started to shift again something snapped. Magic buzzed through the air and the next second Churi was gone, tiny crystals littering the floor where he stood.

That was it? I stared at the scattered crystals. He was gone? I shook my head out. Nesri. I turned towards her. “Are you okay?” My voice shook more than I thought, strained out of my throat.

Nesri attempted an unconvincing smile, watching from her spot on the floor. “Don’t worry about me, what about you two?” She took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to do much to ease her trembling. “It’s my fault anyway. You—you should hate me. I understand. I did something stupid.” Her words came faster, sharper. “I tried to stop him before he hurt any of you, and I only made it worse. I’m a stupid girl who won’t think. Instead I just rush in, damn the consequences.” She cut herself off, guilt wrenching itself hard across her face. “But—are you okay?”

Rebecca still stared at the crystals, stiff and shaken. “I dunno. I dunno if I was okay before, now. I’m all… I just don’t understand.”

“We’re fine, I think.” I tried to even out my voice and stand up straight. Steady myself at least in front of the others. I’d dealt with this before, I could handle it again. First things first we had to get out of the open where anyone could walk in on us. “Come on, lets’ get somewhere out of the way.”

No one spoke as we made our way back to our room. Churi’s words through Asher’s voice kept replaying, replaying overlaid with what he’d said back then by the lake. He’d said it just to hurt me then, he hadn’t meant it then, but then… How would Churi know anything he’d say if Asher hadn’t told him? How? I took a deep breath and tried not to think about it. Later maybe, but not now.

We stepped in through the door and Nesri blurted a rushed “I’m sorry” and all but fled to one of the corners of the room.

The few people in the room glanced between her, me and Rebecca, but stayed quiet. I sighed, soft to myself. What was she apologizing for? She sat, curled in on herself and hiding her head, small and scared. I glanced at Rebecca, but she didn’t seem up to helping just yet. She leaned against the wall, stone faced with a firm grip on the hilt of her sword and a cautious gaze. Maybe it would be best to give her a second to herself, to figure out her thoughts. If she still looked like a stalked rabbit later on I could try saying something to her then.

I left Rebecca by the wall and quietly joined Nesri in the corner, sitting on the ground beside her. As much as I wanted to say something, I couldn’t think of anything. Nothing that would probably make her feel any better anyway. So I just held out a hand, offering it to her if she wanted to take it.

But she ignored it, fresh sobs racking her shoulders and fresh tears running down her still-wet cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for fucking it up. I just wanted to protect you. But I was so terrified of him, I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. You should hate me.”

Rebecca sighed, her head thumping against the wall she leaned against. “Look. Maybe we should. But I don’t. You fucked up. We all three kinda did. It’s what people do. We fuck up, and then we, uh… Forgive each other.”

I nodded, grateful that she seemed to have a better handle on helpful words right now than I did. “I mean,” I leaned back, “if we didn’t care we wouldn’t have followed you either.”

“I don’t understand. Why do you care? I’m everything he said I was.” Nesri gulped and I did my best to try and hide the way my jaw clenched. “Thank you both so much. I care deeply about you. I haven’t lied to you about that.”

“So does that mean everything he said about us was true too?” If she said whatever he said about her was true, she must imply that it was true about us. I sighed, trying to calm down again, and lowered my voice to something gentler. “Between us, Asher’s said those things to me before. Doesn’t mean it was true. Doesn’t mean he meant it.” So it doesn’t mean whatever words he put in Triel’s mouth would be true either.

Nesri tried another smile. “You wanna spar to blow off steam?”

She was trying to deflect that, wasn’t she? I shook my head. “Absolutely not.” She wasn’t going to convince me everything was fine that easily.

Her face squished. “You’re a meanie.”

“Hey, so, Elvira says…” Rebecca blurted. “That someone can get forgiven when the person they hurt or wronged or whatever—or even if you just think you hurt or wronged them—when they don’t expect anything else from you in order to write that wrong. So, I think what we need to do here is… Tell each other what we need from each other so that we can trust each other, really trust each other and not worry about whether we’re using each other or secretly don’t care or whatever. What do we need to do or say or promise? Does that make sense?” She paused, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Or do you not wanna do that?”

Nesri smiled again. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, and I’ll do anything you need me to. But you two don’t need my forgiveness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And what she did wasn’t some grave sin either. It was stupid, but it wasn’t like she meant for any of this to happen. For Rebecca’s sake though I kept quiet. If It was going to make her feel better so be it.

“Well, I’d love some sort of affirmation that I’m accepted even though I’m not all bright or proper, y’know, just a little something to boost the ol’ spirits after getting dragged by a monster wearing my ex’s face instead of everyone pretending I’m perfect and I never do nothing wrong, which I do, so it’s making me more suspicious, but that’s beside the point.” She sounded sarcastic, but at the same time I was glad I held off on protesting. “Anyways. I think demanding that you don’t go off on your own or whatever is kinda against the whole thing. You want independence. From those creeps, the uh,” she faltered a moment until she remembered, “Shades, and I want that for you too. So I won’t ask you not to go off after them… And it sounds like there’s more, and you’ll have to deal with them, and maybe the rest of us will, too. So what I’m going to ask you to do is stop beting yourself up againb it, first of all. Blaming yourself for what they’re doin’s just gonna weaken you, and you’re our best shot at stopping them, so that’s not helping anyone. Second of all , just… Let us know what we can do to help. What we can do to fight them. If you don’t know anything now, that’s fine, but, like, if you learn anything that’ll help us non-magical folks stand a chance against those guys, let us know. And if you do go after them, maybe try to have some sort of plan.” She snorted at the last part. “That’s what I’m asking of you. What do you think?”

Nesri nodded. “I just mean, in this moment, you didn’t do anything wrong, following someone who was going to get herself hurt. I mean, you certainly aren’t perfect. We’ve still got to work on your popcorn-catching skills.” She smiles again, a little more sincere this time, but it fell again. “I’ll try to not beat myself up. But it might take a little while. I don’t know how normal people can fight against the Shades. I didn’t even know I could use my magic on them. But if I find anything out, I’ll let you know. And I’m not the best at making plans, so I’ll consult you before rushing in.”

Clearly, she wasn’t lying about that last part.

It seemed enough for Rebecca, and satisfied, she came up to us and offered Nesri a hand. “And I’ll come to you for lessons in popcorn martial arts. Thanks Nesri. I officially forgive you.” She shook her hand and glanced at me. “And what about you?”

Right, my turn. I crossed my arms, trying to come up with something that Rebecca hadn’t already said, but there wasn’t a lot left. “I think you beat me to it.” Then I sighed, turning to Nesri. I couldn’t help but remember another conversation I’d had, with Asher, where maybe I hadn’t been direct enough. “I don’t want you to think you have to face anything alone. Don’t just brush off whenever someone offers to help you.” Anger made me cross my arms tighter, creeping into my voice. “And don’t just pretend everything’s fine just to make us feel better.” I could have went on, but stopped myself with a glance up at Rebecca. “Is that too much?”

“I’ll,” she nodded, “I’ll try. You might have to remind me though.”

“Anything we can do to help,” Rebecca said.

Nesri started to cry again, tears welling and her breath catching. “Thank you so much.”

“Okay, what the hell happened?”

I looked up as Triel stood arms crossed in front of us. Uncharacteristic panic flashed across her face as she stood, looking down at us expecting an answer.

“Shit.” Nesri quickly stopped crying, pushing it back as she stood up. “Churi was on the yacht, so I felt I had to confront him, and Rebecca and Cirrus were suspicious of what I was going, so they followed me. But we’re not hurt.” She was smiling too wide, too nonchalant.

“Except the psychological trauma,” Rebecca chimed in. “We’re working on it.” Thank goodness for her bluntness. Straight to the point without letting Nesri dance around it.

Triel’s eyes widened and she looked back to Nesri. “You waited until I was busy on purpose, didn’t you? Shit, Nesri.” She sighed and glanced at me and Rebecca. “I’m sorry about that. I probably should have briefed everyone on what the Shades could do. It slipped my mind. Do you need anything.”

That was a pretty big slip of the mind, but nothing could be done about that now. I shrugged. “Some help talking sense into her?” It would be the next best thing.

“Hey!” Nesri gave me a light punch in the arm.

Rebecca brightened like a lightbulb went off in her head. “Can we maybe hunt down some popcorn?”

Triel laughed and assured us it would be done before disappearing to wherever someone was supposed to get some popcorn around here. Nesri sat down somewhere and I decided to give her some time alone this time, now that she’d seemed to calm down a little bit. Instead I laid out on one of the beds, stretching my arms up and behind my head until Triel returned.

She went straight for Nesri, putting a hand on her shoulder and speaking softly to her. I sat up, only half watching as Nesri replied. Something still nagged at the back of my mind, something nervous. As much as I knew Churi wasn’t Triel, I could still see her with her hand on Nesri’s throat threatening her and demeaning her in the hall.

When Triel sighed she spoke a little louder. “Why the fuck would you think that no one cares about you? Shine doesn’t throw machine parts at just anyone. I don’t give flattering nicknames to just anyone. And these idiots woud’nt go after you because they were concerned if they didn’t care. IF you let those lifes poison you, I really will make you as seductive as a fish next time I dress you up.”

“I heard that,” I crossed my arms at Triel, but the tension eased from my shoulders. That sounded the like the Triel we’d gotten used to. “The idiot part. Everything else is true though.” Nothing like Churi.

Elvira entered with popcorn in hand and the mood shifted to an exhausted relief. Almost as soon as she had it, Nesri returned to her popcorn-throwing ways. She and Rebecca hashed it out and this time I reluctantly joined in. On Rebecca’s side. Altercation with a demon or not, we weren’t going to let her win this time.

Zenith and Asher returned from preventing Lynn and Lynne from escaping just as the war was winding down, both of them surprised and frozen for a moment before they figured out what was going on. Whatever they’d done, according to Asher it’d been a success, and they were still on the ship safe and sound.

Eventually the popcorn stopped flying and I sat back down, leaving Rebecca and Nesri to discuss whatever throw strategics there were. The heaviness settled back on my shoulders and I turned to stare up and out of the little window to the late afternoon sky. How many Shades were there? Could there be more still on this boat that none of us even knew about? I leaned against the side of the bunk. How did he know about what Asher had said? How did he know? It wasn’t true, right? It still wasn’t true.

Someone sat next to me, close enough our arms brushed together as I sat up again. Asher. He leaned forward and tried to find my face, eyes dark and tired.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

I sighed. How did he always know? “I’ll be alright.”

He thought for a moment, eyes flickering from me to Nesri and Rebecca. “Did something happen?”

“Let’s take a walk.” I stood, watching as Asher followed. If we were going to talk about it, I didn’t want to do it here.

In the main room people still milled about for the after-dinner programming hosted by the man who seemed to have all but a monopoly on the hosting business. I thought I saw Asher shoot him a glare when he thought I wasn’t looking, but if he did he stopped as soon as I noticed, going back to picking up a slice of cake from the table. We found a standing table by a corner, where most were passively watching the performances or staring deep into someone else’s eyes across untouched drinks. No one would be paying much attention to us here.

Asher took a bite of his cake and looked up at me. “So, what happened?”

I took a long sip of my drink, an overly milky latte with too much cinnamon. “I don’t even know.” I set it down on the table, but kept my hand on the edge. I ran my finger up and down the ceramic. How much should I tell him? Nesri probably didn’t want everyone to know or she would have told them herself. “It’s between Nesri and someone else. We handled it though.”

He nodded, cutting out another piece of cake with the side of his fork. In the dim overhead lights he looked exhausted, dark circles starting to show under his eyes, shoulders rounded and head down. His face was starting to look gaunt too, the lines just a little sharper than they were the day of the reaping. It had been weeks now since then, hadn’t it? How had it been that long?

“Did you get hurt?” Asher looked up again. “When it happened?”

“No, not really.” I took a deep breath, staring over his head at the crowd gathering around some new platter being presented at the serving tables.

He didn’t seem convinced, poking at his dessert for a moment as if thinking of how he wanted to say something. When he finally did speak it was quiet, unsure. “You haven’t looked me in the eye since I got back with Zenith.”

Hadn’t I? I tried to bury the guilt gnawing at my stomach with the latte, but it didn’t work. He was right, wasn’t he? I’d barely greeted him when he returned, and all but ignored him after that. But what could I say? What could I say that wouldn’t worry him, wouldn’t make him feel like he had to help me? I set my drink down again with a long sigh. Was I a hypocrite, for telling Nesri not to pretend everything was fine and not even attempting to do the same?

“Listen, I don’t want to get into it,” I mumbled, probably hardly loud enough for him to hear clearly. “Into what happened I mean. But you don’t hate me, right?” I all but winced. What a stupid question.

“What?” Asher’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open until he spoke again. “No, no of course not. Never. Who told you that?”

I shrugged. “Some bastard who was after Nesri.” I rested my elbows on the table and leaned forward, balancing the side of my head in my hand. “A shapeshifter. He turned into you and said, well he said a lot of things and I, I think I know none of them are true but…” I sighed again. “It hurt. I know you never mean it when you say those things, when you need some help, but it, I wasn’t expecting it.”

Asher nodded, almost to himself. His eyes dropped and he sighed. “I’m sorry, I really am, for putting you through that.” He looked up again, hair falling dark in front of his face despite all Triel had done to try and style it. “Whatever he told you though, whatever I say like that, it’s not true. You’re my best friend Cirrus. I don’t know what he said to you, but I don’t hate you. You’re not awful.” He smiled, shoulders dropping. “You’re patient at the very least, dealing with my problems this long.”

I didn’t answer right away, letting my gaze wander over the other guests. He was right, I knew he was, but it was nice to hear him say it. Hear him say something like that after what Churi had said with his voice. He hadn’t changed his mind about me, hadn’t been keeping anything from me. It’d been stupid even to worry about it. He’d never been good at hiding what he felt. Not as good at it as he thought he was anyway. If he didn’t like me, I’d know. Nesri though, I didn’t know. He’d said Nesri’d lied to me, that she’d never care for me.

My latte was near cold by now but I kept drinking it anyway. “He said something about Nesri too.” Why was I telling him this? This was stupid. “Do you think she actually likes being around me or is she lying to get me to trust her?”

“Really?” Asher laughed, quiet and under his breath but enough I could still hear over the speakers on the other end of the room. “She’s been bugging you for attention this long and you’re not sure if she likes you?”

Maybe it was a dumb question, but cautious doubt still lingered. “Okay, fine, but she could just be like that with everyone.”

Asher pointed his fork at me. “Not with me. We hardly talk. She’s nice to everyone but you don’t see her chasing them around all the time.” He stuck his fork back into his cake with a boyish grin. “You like her don’t you?”

I almost choked on my latte. “What?”

“Come on, you think I didn’t notice?” Asher’s grin widened and he leaned over the table. “I’ve only ever seen you blushing when you have a crush.”

Was it that obvious? Cursing myself, I could feel myself flushing yet again and could only hope the low light would hide it. But he was right. Again.

“Are you going to tell her?” Asher asked.

I look away. “I don’t know.” Would it even be worth it? What if I was wrong, or if she didn’t feel the same way?

Asher took another stab at his desert. “She seems to like you.” He shrugged. “Even if she doesn’t I can’t see her being mean about it.”

Maybe. “I’ll think about it.”

He seemed happy enough with that, going back to finishing the last few bites of his cake. As he finished, he glanced up at the stage set up across the room and Ceasar playing host to some kind of programming.

“Cirrus,” he started quiet. “Can I ask you a favor?” His eyes flicked to me as I nodded, trying to figure out where he was going. “Tomorrow when we’re escaping, I want to scare him a little. I’m not going to push it too far but I might need you to come get me when it’s time to go.”

I followed his gaze, watching Ceasar on stage. Toying with him certainly did sound like fun especially after his role in terrorizing Lynne, Amy, Lynn and the rest of us. “Sure.” I nodded, turning back to him. But then Churi’s words ran through my head again and I sighed. “Just, try not to do or say anything fucked up in front of Nesri, okay? She’s had a hard time.”

“Of course.” Asher nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Good enough. I finished my latte with another glance at Ceasar. As much as I probably shouldn’t be encouraging Asher to take risks like this, I liked the idea of shaking the performer up a little bit. It was just too bad I’d be too busy tomorrow to see it for myself.

I probably should have gone for decaf. Everyone had gone to sleep ages ago, Asher curled up and sleeping with his back warm against my side. With so many of us to one room there wasn’t much choice other than to share beds but it wasn’t that bad. Staring up at the bunk above me, I’d been trying to sleep for what felt like hours. At least sharing a bed with Asher told me what I already knew, that he didn’t hate me. If he didn’t, and wanted nothing to do with me he wouldn’t have chosen to share with me instead of someone else, Zenith maybe. If he hated me he wouldn’t be all but lying on my arm.

On the other side of the row, someone sat up, quiet in the dark. I squinted for a moment before I recognized Nesri’s silhouette and propped myself up on one elbow. “Can’t sleep?” It didn’t take a genius to guess why she might still be awake.

She shook her head. “I think I might need some fresh air. If you can’t sleep too, why don’t you join me?”

“Gladly.” It wasn’t like I was getting to sleep any time soon either. I slipped out from under the blanket, gently laying it down over Asher so he hopefully wouldn’t notice I’d left. “It’s too stuffy in here.”

We ducked out of the door and into the quiet hall, just the two of us. Alone. No one else. I tucked my hands into my pockets, thinking back to what Asher’d said. She’d invited me along, did that mean he was right? That she liked me too? Or was I overthinking this?

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” Nesri broke our silence, soft and caring. “Are you doing okay?”

I sighed, quiet and almost to myself. “I’ll be alright.” And I would, this wasn’t the first time something like this had gone wrong. “There’s just… There’s a lot to think about.”

She smiled up at me. “I could help you forget it.” She said as she bumped my arm with her shoulder.

My heart skipped and my words failed. What did she mean? Even in the low night lights of the hall I could faintly see red creeping into her cheeks. I smiled, hunching over to be closer to her eye-level. “Have anything in mind?”

“I—I…” She blushed deeper and her eyes wandered everywhere but mine. “You know what? We could throw popcorn at the fish!”

Popcorn again, I should have knon. Still, “could be fun.” My smile stayed. It did sound nice, both of us on the water. “This time of night we might have the deck to ourselves.”

Not many seemed to be up this late as we found a little popcorn and walked together toward the open air upper deck. Nesri passed the bag to her one hand, and tentatively reached for mine with the other. I hesitated, nervous and melting at the same time. Slowly, I held her hand back. It was warm in mine, softer than I would have thought.

We stepped out onto the deck, lit up with soft lighting running along the underside of the railings and the far-off glow of the Capitol’s lights on the shore. Our footsteps dinged softly against the metal and the boat rocked in the gentle waves as we found a spot along a secluded railing. Nesri threw the first piece, watching it fall all the way down to the inky water. Something moved and maybe it was a small fin that breached the surface and the kernel got sucked down so maybe there were fish to feed after all. I joined in, only half paying attention to where I was throwing between trying not to be too obvious with my glances at Nesri. She looked so happy, leaning over the edge of the railing to watch shadowy fish snap up our offerings. She shifted, leaning against my side instead. I laid my arm over her shoulders and went to rest my head against hers but she suddenly stiffened and pulled away.

She sucked in a deep breath and couldn’t look right at me. “I—I’m not as put together as I seem. The Shades—they tortured me mentally but also physically. You saw a little bit but it’s all down my back, my stomach, my upper arms.” Was she talking about the scaring? “I’m broken. I’m not pretty. You’d probably be scared off if you saw my scars. So, I wanted to tell you.”

If she thought that way about hers, what would she think of mine? My face fell and I turned away, leaning against the railing. “I guess that makes two of us then.” Was I lying to her, deceiving her by not telling her? I took a deep breath before I could talk myself out of it. “I had a run in with Asher’s father once. He burned me, and it…” I hesitated. “I try not to look at it too much.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Nesri took another sharp breath. “We were supposed to be trying to get our minds off of painful stuff, and here I go—” She cut herself off and attempted a smile. “For the record, I wouldn’t think you’re any less handsome.”

“Easy to say.” I mumbled. Of course she would say that. She didn’t know what I looked like and she didn’t want me to feel bad. I pushed off the railing and faced her. “May a well just get it over with.” If she was going to change her mind I’d rather she do it sooner rather than later.

I undid the buttons on my shirt far enough to show the scarring across the left side of my chest. I should have been grateful it healed as well as it did and I still had decent movement where it crossed my shoulder, but it was still so obvious. So prominent. Nesri tentatively brushed her fingers over it and I looked away. I didn’t want to see her face, her reaction.

But even just out of the corner of my eye I could see her shake her head. “You’re still as handsome as before.” She breathed, mind not changed, nothing changed.

Before I could say anything though, she backed up a little and pulled up the edge of her shirt. “Showing all of them would be a little inappropriate, but here’s most of them.”

Her stomach and back looked almost like more scar than skin, old knife wounds haphazardly inflicted. I couldn’t help but stare. They were everywhere, some looking like they must have at one point been deeper than others, but still scarred the skin. How long had she been tormented like that? No wonder just seeing Churi shook her like that. Who could do something like that?

“You survived all that?” I tore my gaze away from her scars and looked up at her face, trying to hide some of the horror at the thought of what that must have been like. “That’s… That must have been hard.” And to still be optimistic as she was today?

“Seven years of it. They thought I should get special torture because they couldn’t control me as easily as they could the others.” She let her shirt down and threw the last of the popcorn into the water before squeezing her eyes shut. “But I understand if you don’t want to be around me. I—I think I might like you, but it’s fine.”

My breath caught, trapping anything I would have been able to say. She really liked me? I shuffled closer, gently draping my arm over her shoulders. When she didn’t stiffen this time, I held her, warm against my side. Did she really think I wouldn’t like her if I knew how she’d looked, what she’d been through? Had I been stupid to think she would change her mind about me for the same reasons? Maybe.

The boat turned, changing direction on it’s seemingly endless loop around the harbor. Twinkling lights shone from the shore, towering high on buildings and catching Nesri between them and the soft glow from the railings. Some of the makeup had smeared around her eyes since our dance, after getting caught by Churi, after everything that happened tonight. As pretty and shiny as it had been all in place under the hall lights, there was something so, endearing, so personal. How she’d let me be there when everything went wrong and hadn’t tried to hide it away this time.

I smiled, warmth finally melting away my frozen voice. “You know, when we danced earlier, that was my first kiss as a human.”

She blinked, flustered and wide eyed. “W-well, I hope you didn’t hate it.”

“Well I didn’t. It was nice.” I swallowed and took a breath, trying to keep up my nerve. “Except for the location.”

She hesitated, maybe even thinking the same thing I had. “Would this be a better location?”

Was this happening? I lowered my head a little. “Much better.”

“Uh. Now? Or…” She glanced down at the bag in her hand. “I guess throwing popcorn at fish isn’t entirely romantic.”

I guess not. “I don’t know.” A nervous laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. “I’m not so good at this.” I’d never gotten this far. What came next?

“Well, I wasn’t either with Kiryth,” she babbled, starting to fluster as much as I felt. “Triel said that’s hwy it didn’t work. But Triel’s also said there’s a trick, and she told me about it.” She gave me a nervous look, as if not sure what came next either.

“A trick?” I blinked. If Triel came up with chances are it was legit. “She does seem to know a few things.”

A heartbeat later and her hands gripped my shirt collar. She brushed her fingers over the skin and pulled me down and kissed me. I froze, heat flooding my face, but quickly kissed her back and wrapped my arms around her, warm and close. For now it didn’t matter we were stuck on some hellish yacht party, that tomorrow could go any kind of way, for now it was just us.

#whg 14 #writeblr hunger games #cirrus

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years ago

Text

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 29

Author’s notes: I’m sorry this is coming out so late, but im combating a shit laptop, shit family, and shit health on this one babes.

Chapter 29

You didn't dream for the entirety of your rest.

As before, you had no conception of time. But this time, you weren’t hovering in and out, instead lingering in a deep sleep state without straying from it. Your body needed the time to heal, to regain what it lost and repair the damage. And it had seemingly gotten its chance. There was no doubt that Nero had kept to his word, safety being found and allowing you to finally begin the process of gaining back your strength. Seconds, minutes, or days could have passed beyond your knowledge, but it scarcely mattered. Oblivion was a welcome thing after all the pain, allowing you to escape from thinking about the poet and the cold, grey eyes of his fully formed counterpart again.

The Void was strangely quiet after how vocal it had been through the few days of travel. The whispers had gone quiet, no longer clattering around your skull and saying things that only added to the pain. That wasn’t to say that the Void was gone, your power was still swirling in your gut as it always did. Now calm, regaining energy again and no longer fighting you. After all, the mission was done, what more did it have to sense? You weren’t sure you could ever accept the power of the Foresight again after all it had done to hurt you. Like it was being controlled directly by the Deity’s hands, like puppet strings.

That was your first thought upon awakening, only this time you gradually pulled yourself out of the pool of sleep bit by bit. You woke up to significantly less bodily pain, the rippling agony now dulled to aching all through your limbs. Like you had spread yourself way too thin, which was the truth. You registered the smells of tobacco and metal, knowing in an instant just where you were. It was punctuated by the rumbling engine, your body jostled slightly whenever Nico had to swerve to avoid something on the road. It then occurred to you that your head was resting on someone’s lap, a hand rhythmically stroking your hair and cheeks.

Warm. You felt secure for once since V left you, like you were being protected. The familiars only added to the sensation, their energies wrapping around your mind in an attempt to cushion the reality of the situation a bit. They were trying so hard to help you, it almost made you want to cry. They could only do so much once the memories and emotions started coming back, your heart aching far more than your body was. V’s face was fresh in your mind, that final kiss you shared replaying over and over like a film. Why would he bother kissing you if it didn’t matter to him? Why do any of the things he did if there wasn’t emotion involved?

But...did those things matter? V was gone, Vergil was here in his place. And there seemed to be no trace of the poet in him at all save for Vergil remembering the nickname V called you. But the love, the affection...that was long since departed.

You kept your eyes closed for the time being, ears registering quiet conversation between everything in the van. It was your only distraction, the only thing keeping you from falling back into the despairing thoughts.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Nico was hissing, her voice filled with annoyance as a light whap traveled through the van--she had whacked someone, “Kyrie is gonna murder us both once she figures out how many energy drinks your dumb ass has sucked down in the past week…!”

You heard the sound of a can being crushed, tossed to a small trash bin you knew to be tucked behind Nico’s driver seat. There was a recollection of Nero sitting at a dining room table, surrounded by empty cans of red bull and the words “dead weight” written on his forehead. That was the day you woke up from your punishment, getting drunk with the girls and sharing a bed with V, his body curled behind yours and...and…

Stop thinking about him.

The familiars seemed to echo the sentiment, feeling your distress and sorrow and growing restless. You felt bad--your emotions and traumas were now their burden too, which you wished wasn’t the case.

“She won’t figure out if you keep your mouth shut,” Nero huffed in reply, pulling you back into reality once more, “Besides. If you pull an all nighter I pull an all nighter.”

“She isn’t stupid, psycho!” Nico groaned in complete, unbridled annoyance, “All it’s gonna take is one look in the fridge and seeing no more energy drinks to tell her just how many was taken.”

Something about their sibling-like banter made you fight a smile, no matter how small that smile would be. It was...relaxing, to hear things so normal in the face of all the absurdities. You preferred it over the silence, their strange worry over Kyrie being upset about the energy drinks so trivial compared to a god damn demon tree. And Nico was right--Nero had consumed for more drinks that could ever been considered healthy. How he hadn’t collapsed with a heart attack by now was a straight up mystery.

You finally allowed yourself to slowly blink open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling of the van in a sort of daze. The vehicle was dark with night, the occasional street light flitting through the windows and casting dancing patterns on the interior. It was easy to guess that you were on the couch, the leather pressed to the bare areas of your legs a little too warmly in cramped space. But you didn’t mind, it was welcome compared to the thorough cold the Void had left within you. After inhaling a deep, measured breath, you decided that your lungs felt normal enough that you didn’t want to go back to sleep again.

It became apparent who was stroking your hair as soon as you tilted your head back. Lady’s beautiful face was staring down at you, a small gasp leaving her when she saw you now looking right back. She looked a bit tired as well, you had to wonder if she had slept at all since you saw her last. How long had you been out? When had Nero made it to the van?

“Look who’s finally awake,” Lady breathed, smiling softly down at you and putting a hand to your forehead, “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

You blinked your eyes a few times, savoring the warmth of her skin on your own as you tried to form a reply to her question.

“Physically?” You whispered softly, voice holding several layers of sorrow in it as you tried to swallow it back, “Or mentally?”

Lady gave you a knowing look, starting to stroke your hair again with a soothing, gentle touch. She felt closer to a mother than anything you had felt before--even amongst the brief wisps of memory you couldn’t recall your own mother ever doing something like this for you. Lady was staring down at you with soft concern and worry, knowing full well just how awful you would be feeling if she had any indication of what happened in the tree. And if Nero was here...she definitely did.

“Let’s start with physically,” She murmured, multi-colored eyes steadily meeting yours, “You were in bad shape when Nero brought you back. How do you feel now?”

You slowly lifted an arm, feeling a soreness in your muscles as you flexed your fingers. You belatedly realized that the gauntlet you wore before was now gone. Someone must have pulled it off of you. To be completely honest, you were further along now than you thought, that was unless you had slept for over a day. Which was doubtful.

“I…” You mumbled, slowly putting your hand back down again as you replied, “I’ve...been better. But...I’m not as bad as I thought I’d be. The pain is mostly gone, just...sore.”

Lady nodded, helping you slowly sit up and bracing you with a hand to your back. You fought a groan, each muscle in your body aching painfully and straining with just that motion. Okay, maybe you weren’t as well off as you thought.

“Griffon came out at some point and told us you needed something to help boost you,” Lady replied, rubbing slow circles on your back, “Nico had something we could inject you with, it seemed to help a bit.”

That made sense at the very least.

You looked to the side, seeing Trish staring at you from the seat across from the couch right as the other two up front noticed you awake over their bantering. She didn’t look tired like the others, but maybe that was because she wasn’t human.

“Holy shit she’s awake!” Nico gasped from up front, making you glance at her next as her head bounced between looking at you and looking at the road. She looked tired and frazzled, more so than normal, “Howdy sugar! Welcome back to the land of the livin’!”

You managed to muster an exhausted smile for her, noting the relief in her tone as you replied softly, “How...long was I out for…?”

“All night,” Nero replied before the mechanic could, peeking his white-haired head around from the passenger side and holding a new can of sugary caffeine, “We got back around seven and it’s about to hit five in the morning now.”

A whole nights rest...it felt strange to think about it. Even resting with V you slept in short bursts broken by nightmares, not having a truly restful sleep in a long time outside of the forced coma the Void caused. Those times when you’re being erased. Thinking about that was a mistake, one that sent a shiver down your spine and a sickly feeling in your stomach. Had all those things really happened? Meeting and traveling with V, losing him, the Deity forcing you to watch then trying to force you back to the Void? They felt so strange, your God’s actions completely foreign and odd to you after serving him for so many years.

Why? Why had he done such a thing? The Deity had given you the rune to aid in the mission, only to force you to watch V get absorbed back into Vergil and unable to do anything about it. And then there was trying to take you back to the Void itself--why had he waited until you were there with Dante and the others? There was a significant span of time where you had traveled up the Qliphoth alone to get there, perfect opportunity to snatch you back with little to no resistance. With how weak you had been, it would have been a cake walk. But the Deity had instead chosen to wait until you were among allies.

But...why? It didn’t make sense. Just like how everything with V didn’t seem to make sense either.

Lady seemed to sense your growing distress, her arms wrapping around you from behind and her chin resting on your shoulder. The embrace felt warm, startling you a bit out of the downward spiraling thoughts.

“It’ll be okay,” She said softly, giving you a light squeeze in her attempt to soothe you, “Just breathe for now, we’re all here with you.”

You felt your eyes drift downward, threatening to burn with more tears as you gripped the bottom half of your blouse with tight fingers. You could feel everyone in the van staring at you with varying levels of concern, even Trish who wasn’t as close as the others were. It felt both strange and soothing to have so many people now worrying about your well-being.

“Don’t worry, toots,” Griffon’s gruff tone added to the show of support, his consciousness rousing from the corners of your head as he squawked, “Just focus on getting better for now. You feel like you got hit by a fuckin’ truck. Not ideal.”

“...I know.” You whispered, voice holding every terrible thing you were feeling in that moment as you replied to them both at once. You knew that thinking about it wouldn’t help anything in that moment, not with everything so fresh. It was only serving to keep you down, but you didn’t know what else to do.

Focus on the good things you had, right? There was nothing more to be done, everything wasn’t for naught. Nero, Nico, Lady, and Trish were here. They all cared about you, they wanted to help and were trying their best. You had the familiars now, they were a part of you and a constant, driving force keeping you from falling too deep into that pit of despair. Considering how hard things had been, and all the aching agony you had been through...you didn’t come out the other side alone and afraid like before, all those other missions where you had been abandoned. Their support was so warm, a fresh change of pace that made your heart ache in a way that wasn’t painful.

But...it didn’t take away the grief that came from losing the man you loved. That you doubted would ever leave you.

The room fell quiet for a moment while you processed your thoughts, trying to find the will to pull yourself back together. So used to being the one to hold things in, keeping your head held high to support others who needed it. But for once...the one who needed it was you. And the others seemed ready to take up that torch.

“Do you like pancakes?” Nero asked suddenly, breaking the silence and making you blink in surprise.

The question was so normal, so out of place that it derailed your train of thought completely for a second. Pancakes?

“Y...yeah…” You replied with a soft stammer, turning to meet his gaze with a confused one of your own, “I suppose I do.”

That seemed to please him, a smirk quirking up his lips as he took a deep chug from a can of energy drink. You half wondered how many he had consumed in the evening alone, it was worrying for his health. And like before, he was bound to crash at some point.

“Fan-fuckin-tastic,” He said after swallowing, turning his gaze to Nico’s face as he added, “Jack’s opens at what, five thirty? Willin’ to bet it won’t be packed being this close to Redgrave.”

Jack’s? The way this conversation had gone confused you, that was for certain, but it seemed to cheer both Nero and Nico up considerably. Your stomach growled lightly at mention of food despite how uneasy you felt upon waking--You hadn’t eaten since V was with you last, and that time seemed so far away. Not to mention snacking on the occasional granola bar and fruit during the day hadn’t done nearly as much for you as you thought it would.

You also realized his mentioned it being outside of Redgrave, which made you look out the window. Eyes blinking, seeing buildings now that weren’t broken and falling to pieces. How bizarre to finally see some semblance of normalcy after days of being around what equated to be the apocalypse. Why didn’t you realize sooner that the tree’s reach only extended so far? This was out of the city, but judging by the barricades and sealed doors this area had been evacuated on the off chance that the roots came out further.

“We’ve already left Redgrave?” you said softly, eyes watching as streetlight after streetlight passed by, the sky already hinting at the sunrise, “But...Where is Dante and…”

For some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to say Vergil’s name. Nor could you shake the worry that came for his well being. How pathetic, that even after everything he did to you that the sensation of wanting him to be safe wouldn’t leave?

You want to believe that V exists as a part of him, somehow.

It was true. You knew what V had said, the vulnerabilities he had shared and the aching need for affection he had. If that was a part of Vergil, even small...What were you supposed to do? There would never be a chance of the surly male seeking you for anything, even if he shared V’s memories. It was madness. You had to accept that, to finally move past the aching desire to seek out the part of him you had fallen for. Because in reality, it would never be the same--You didn’t fall in love with Vergil, you fell for V. The poet, the one with his lilting voice reading from his book and that determination driving him forward.

V was gone. No part of that man remained.

Right?

“Dante and Vergil stayed behind,” Nero said with an annoyed sigh, turning his gaze away to glare through the windshield. You saw his left hand clenched into a fist, knuckles turning white as he added through gritted teeth, “Goddamn idiots. They went to hell to cut down the tree, and seal the portal it left behind.”

“Thus sealing them in hell.” Trish added, the first she had spoken since you woke up. You met her steady gaze, feeling a bit wary considering that you now knew exactly what type of information she had withheld from you. She knew what V was, knew what was to happen to him. But...you didn’t feel angry with her--What had happened was your own carelessness, not hers.

I don’t blame you.

But right now...that wasn’t what should be focused on. They had both just told you Dante and Vergil would be sealing themselves in hell, thus implying that they would be trapped. Judging by the furious look they both wore, the situation had definitely become more dire. You started feeling numb as the realization sunk in, mind reeling now that it became all too clear that you may never get the chance to see Vergil ever again. So learning anything more about him, finding out the truth you so desperately ached for...it was never going to happen.

There would be no closure. None at all.

“They won’t ever be coming back?” You whispered, voice and expression mimicking the numbness settling inside. You didn’t know what to do, how to feel. This didn’t feel good, it wasn’t a relief to know Vergil would not be back in your life to cause more pain.

It shouldn’t have hurt this badly to know that.

Lady squeezed you softly again, tucking your head against her neck as she replied soothingly, “It’s not a guarantee. We just have to wait for now, and see what Dante does. He’s gotten out of worse scenarios.”

You wanted to believe that, wanted to think there was some way of this problem being resolved. But it was hard to find hope for anything. You closed your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts together and stifle the conflicted emotions rolling through your head. Why did you feel this way? Why wouldn’t you just let go, try to move on and clamp down on all the conflicted feelings? Vergil was not the same man you had fallen for, he wasn’t even close. He didn’t care about you, didn’t love you, couldn’t even spare you more than a passing glance and some hurt.

But...you couldn’t let it go.

“Don’t worry about them,” Nero huffed, trying to change the subject as your grew to look more and more crestfallen. He turned around, offering you a comforting half-smile as added, “We’re gonna stop for some food, then haul our asses to Devil May Cry to drop off Lady and Trish.”

You looked at the woman behind you, feeling a little disappointed as you asked, “You’re leaving?”

She smiled softly at you, looking a little sad too as she pressed her head to the side of yours.

“We have to keep the business up and running with Dante gone,” She replied with a sigh, giving you a firm squeeze and kissing your temple in a cute, over-exaggerated way, “Don’t worry. I’ll be stopping by Fortuna to see you first chance I get.”

Fortuna? You blinked, realizing right away that must be where Kyrie and Nero lived. You didn’t know much about the location other than the Order of the Sword stories the devil hunter had mentioned. An island off the coast, where you would be staying with the others now and helping out with the orphanage. You felt a bit nervous, not used to having a place to go, hoping that Kyrie would at least like you when she met you. Her opinion was so important, you wanted to be useful to all of them to make up for causing so many problems.

Regardless, you tried to bite down on the anxiety and let things come as they were supposed to.

You could tell that the others were trying so hard, doing their very best to keep you distracted from the pain. They took you to a little diner right around where the large buildings of the city started turning into a small town, Jack’s diner. It was a quaint little place, filled with an old fashioned vibe that made you feel oddly relaxed. Just as Nero said, the old man still kept the little restaurant open despite the danger level. There were few to no customers, but that was preferred considering the state your group was in. You all definitely looked like you just got back from fighting demons, not that the owner minded.

Nico and Nero kept the chatter up through the meal, Nico with an arm slung over your shoulder and Nero sitting across from you both with Trish. Lady managed to squeeze into the booth on your other side, seeming content to just watch and listen while everyone conversed. You didn’t really have the energy to keep up with it all, but Nico wasn’t letting you sit by quietly. They told you about the small group of kids at the orphanage, each of their names and personalities so you would be at least somewhat equipped for meeting them. Both seemed to really care about the children, which was very sweet. You watched Nero carefully while they all talked, noticing his level of exhaustion and realizing fairly quickly he was trying to distract himself too.

The past few days had been just as unkind to him.

You entered a strange, dazed state as the day went on, letting the flow take you with it. The pancakes served at Jack’s were delicious to be sure, your body not realizing how hungry it was until you were eating. You ate the whole plate, feeling a bit better once something solid was on your stomach. Normal. Nero was impressed you could knock back a five stack so quickly, and Nico was the encouraging force urging you to chug a second cup of orange juice in a contest with her. It felt juvenile, fun in a way. There was camaraderie in the air and it lightened the weight on your shoulders enough to let you smile a bit.

It was just too bad that you wished V was there sharing in these moments with you.

As much as they distracted you, that heavy sorrow remained weighing you down. Every moment where happiness tried to peek through, it felt hollow without him there. Smirking lightly, watching the group talk and laugh and finding enjoyment in it. Or had he? Was that smile just a front? You couldn’t be sure, and thinking of it only made things worse.

Nero and Trish ended up splitting the bill, the blond haired woman rolling her eyes when Nero tried to refuse her money. She practically shoved it in his face, standing up from the booth and sauntering out to the van again. You exchanged a glance with Lady, who only smiled and shrugged as she pulled you out of the booth as well. You kept some leftover bacon and sausage in a little box to give to Shadow and Griffon later, because lord knew you couldn’t bring two demons out in public.

From there on out...all that was left to drop off the two women before heading to Fortuna.

You noticed upon traveling further away from the city, seeing normal society made you feel a bit odd. People walked along the sidewalks, on their way to early morning destinations. Their lives seemed so normal in comparison, human and peaceful. You couldn’t remember a time before the Void, before selling your soul. Finding that sense of normalcy seemed so impossible.

But...you tried.

Griffon and Shadow came out once the van set off again, Trish eyeing the mighty panther with wary eyes until it leapt up on the couch with your, draping themself across your lap like an overgrown cat. Lady was sitting next to you, so she took a few tentative pats at Shadow’s fur. They were on their best behavior, seeming to like the attention.

“Can’t believe everyone is gettin’ in on this now,” Griffon huffed from his perch on the back of the couch, his strange beak snapping by your ear in that familiar manner, “You’re gonna make the big killin’ machine soft at this rate.”

You let out a little hum, handing him some food that he eagerly snatched and gobbled down.

“They’re having fun,” Your tone was soft, adoration in your eyes as you met Shadow’s slow, blinking gaze, “And that’s what matters.”

Nero yawned from the front seat, his feet kicked up on the dashboard and chair partway reclined. You could tell the energy drinks were wearing off, that much was pretty certain as he grumbled, “The kids are gonna love the cat, that’s for sure. Maybe I should warn Kyrie beforehand?”

Nico snickered, still somehow wide awake despite not sleeping at all along her drive, “Nah, let it be a surprise. That along with your new baby arm.” Her brows waggled with her words, mischievous eyes darting back to the arm in question. That was another thing explained to you, how accessing his new Devil Trigger form healed back a bright, shiny new limb. You learned not to ask questions in regards to things like that.

“Maybe I could soften it?” Nero continued to mumble, words sounding very tired indeed, “Tell her I’m bringing home pets?”

“I’m down. I’ll back you up, psycho.”

All you could muster was a single shake of your head at their antics, feeling a bit bad for Kyrie in regards to all of this. You hoped to god you weren’t imposing or causing them trouble, the very idea made your energy swirl nervously in your gut.

Griffon sensed it, nosing the side of your face again and saying gruffly in your ear, “Shut off your brain for a few hours at least, toots. You bein’ all sad makes my feathers ache.”

You jolted, immediately trying to swallow down those thoughts as guilt bit at you next. You kept forgetting Griffon and the other familiars were a part of you now, such things affected them.

“S...sorry…” You whispered in reply, focusing as hard as you could to not think about all the bad things.

Griffon let out a soft squawk of realization once it occurred to him that saying such a thing did not help at all.

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” He sighed, sounding a bit awkward as he shuffled closer, laying his head on your shoulder, “Just...tryin’ to help you not focus on all that garbage left over. Shit will improve, we all know that, right? Right.”

You smiled at his brisk, hurried way of speaking. Like he was trying to will you into feeling better with energy alone. It wasn’t nearly that easy, but his effort did make you feel a bit better in a strange way. Shadow was also trying their best, purring loudly and reaching a paw up to pat your face with it. Being this close to the familiars with no barriers now was so relaxing, putting your aching heart slightly more to ease. It was just...hard, though, considering who they were connected to before.

You miss him. And no matter what you do, that will not fade.

The only reason you hadn’t collapsed back into sorrow and despair again was the group surrounding you with support. You didn’t want to burden them with your pain, crying around them would only serve to make everyone just as sad as you were. So you managed to bite it back, holding it in until you started to feel numb from it. Doing so surely wasn’t healthy for your mind, but...there seemed to be no other choice. You refused to burden them when they were trying this hard, ready to keep the tears and pain at bay for days until needed. But even then...did you even have the right to cry?

It was you who caused this. You and no one else.

“Toots...” Griffon began in a warning tone, seeing where your thoughts were going and not liking them at all. But he didn’t get the chance to continue.

“We’re here.” Nico announced, the van coming to a skidding halt and drawing you out of your dull way of thinking. You didn’t realize how much time had passed while you were drifting in and out of thought--or maybe the mechanic was just driving fast. The latter seemed heavily likely.

You looked out the window to see a tall, brick-laden building. Above the doors was a sign just like the one on the van, only larger and glowing with red instead of that neon blue. This had to be the main Devil May Cry building, there was certainly no mistaking that. It still felt so strange to think a man like Dante actually ran a business--he was a certified mess of a man at best.

You blinked, turning to look at Lady and Trish as they both stood, Lady yawning lightly and stretching up her arms. The dark-haired devil hunter looked tired, you felt awful that she had stayed up all night to wait for you to wake up. But...there was also a part of you that desperately didn’t want her to leave, her support being such a needed thing that you almost started to cry there and then.

But you held it back.

I can’t keep being selfish.

“Thanks for the ride, Nico,” Trish said to the mechanic up front, looking between her and Nero, “I’ll call you if Dante shows up any time soon. If you need us we’re going to be here.”

Nero gave her a small salute with his fingers, seeming pretty tired as he replied, “Sure thing. Thanks for helpin’ out, it was a blast.” There was definitely sarcasm lacing his tone there at the end.

Trish scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning to the van door. You saw her pause, standing by Lady and watching you both as the woman pulled you into a firm hug. The motherly embrace Lady brought with her was definitely making it hard for you not to cry, that was for certain. You clung to her for a moment, pressing your face to her shoulder and letting out a slow breath. She had done a lot to help you mentally through the past few days, you wish that you could spend more time with her. But there was work to be done, and a mess to clean up after what Vergil did. You knew your place.

“I promise I’ll visit you in Fortuna soon,” Lady said firmly, squeezing you tightly to her almost to the point of it being too much. She skewered Griffon and Shadow with a glare, tone firm as she told them, “Keep her safe or you answer to me.”

Griffon let out a snort, shaking out his feathers as he replied in a standoffish tone, “You don’t have to tell us that…!”

Lady huffed, leaning back from you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, managing to muster a smile for her before she had to leave. You wanted her to think you would be okay, wanted to be as strong as she thought you were. And all you could do was try.

“Everything will be okay,” She said softly, meeting your sad eyes with steady ones of her own. You took a moment to take in just how pretty her different colored irises looked, one red and one green, “I know you can make it through what happened...there is still happiness for you to find beyond what happened with V.”

Hearing her say the poet’s name made you flinch, like the reality of it had hit you in the face. She knew exactly what you had been feeling, that uncertainty and pain a lot more obvious than you anticipated. Or maybe...Lady was just good at reading others. You lowered your gaze, smiling sadly as you tried to push back another wave of that stubborn, heavy emotion that threatened to drown you again. You were grateful to have a person like Lady in your life, she was a big part of the force holding the broken pieces of you together.

“I know,” You replied softly, feeling several sets of eyes watching you but not finding the will to care. You mustered up another fake, brighter smile, looking back up at Lady and adding, “I’ll see you when you come visit. Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Lady.”

The older woman smiled, cupping your cheeks once before releasing you entirely. She turned, exchanging a brief look with Trish before pushing open the van door. Seeing her go was...incredibly hard, but necessary. You couldn’t rely on others forever, that was for certain. Trish paused for another moment, looking at you again with her sharp eyes and meeting your gaze. What was she thinking about while making a face like that, dancing on the border of concern and exasperation? Of all the people in the van, she was by far the hardest to get a read on. There was definitely an emotion there, but one you could not identify.

When she opened her mouth, you were pretty surprised when what came out was an apology.

“...Forgive me for not telling you the information I knew,” She said hesitantly, making you realize that flicker of emotion was probably guilt, “When Lady comes by for a visit I’ll join her--I owe you one.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say in response to her statement. In your opinion, there wasn’t a thing she owed you. It wasn’t like she had been your friend when V told her those things, nor were you entitled to her knowledge. These were things you could have discovered on your own, but you didn’t even try. And for that...you took that blame on yourself. Never on her, that was not her burden to bear.

“...It’s not your fault,” You offered her a small, sad smile, shaking your head lightly as you replied, “You don’t owe me anything. But still come by and visit, I would like to know more about you.”

That made the woman look visibly surprised, her eyes flickering back to your face to read your expression. You saw her frown, click her tongue and shake her head lightly, like your words were somehow exasperating.

“You’re too nice for your own good,” She said in a low tone, her eyes sharp as she turned away to follow Lady out of the van, “Take care, Y/N.”

The door shut behind her before you could think of a reply, the sound loud in the small space. You stood there for a moment, watching through the van’s window as the women spared a few glances back at the mobile home, Lady giving a small wave. Your mind ached with the desire to call out to them both, begging them to stay when you so desperately needed them. But...that wasn’t your place to ask.

They then pushed open the doors of Devil May Cry, walking inside and letting them swing shut behind them. Your smile eventually dropped after they were no longer in sight, body slumping onto the couch again with a light sigh. To say you were disparaged was an understatement, mood dropping considerably now that you were without the older woman keeping you steady.

Shadow could sense it, scooting closer to you and pressing her soft toe beans to your bare thigh. It made you look up, realizing that Nico and Nero were both looking back at you with varying levels of concern.

“You holdin’ up okay?” Nero asked, brow furrowed and lips pursed lightly.

You paused, trying to gather yourself a little bit as you picked up one of Shadow’s paws, pressing its soft texture to your face. No longer alone, you reminded yourself. Even with Lady no longer there for the time being, there were more than enough people here with you offering what they could to make you feel better.

And that...was enough.

“I’m...okay,” You replied after a moment, your voice sounding steadier than you thought it would, “Not the best, but...I’ll be okay.”

You must. There is no other choice.

That made Nico smirk, seeming satisfied with your answer and the look you wore on your face. She turned back to the wheel, stretching her arms above her head until the joints popped.

“Alright!” She hollered, her energy seeming in such a stark contrast to how beat Nero looked, “Let’s head home! If we’re lucky we can catch the last ferry before five o’clock!”

Nero winced at her overly loud voice, waving his left hand at her as he complained, “Jeez, tone it down. At this rate, I’ll never be able to sneak in a nap before we see Kyrie.”

You tuned out the argument before it could start, letting out a quiet sigh and flopping down on the couch again. Exhaustion was making a guest appearance again, tap dancing on stage with grief and regret. Shadow settled along your form, resting their mighty head on your chest and opening their jaws in a huge yawn. You got an eyeful of sharp teeth, but paid little mind to it as you put your gaze to the ceiling.

The van was beginning to move once more, Nico putting the pedal to the metal in an attempt to reach the ferry before it set off in the afternoon. You felt a little...anxious about going to Fortuna. There were so many people there that would be met, most of them children. If the kids didn’t like you, would you be able to stay?

It felt like such a silly thing to be worried about.

Griffon settled on the top of the couch, listening to your racing thoughts as the hours ticked by in the drive. Nico started chatting with you once Nero finally crashed from all the caffeine, but the conversation ranged between asking about your powers to the kind of things you liked. You couldn’t remember the last time someone asked your favorite color or animal, but Nico asked it. She carefully kept away from asking about your Deity, or V for that matter. Probably not wanting to dredge up bad emotions when you were already in a struggle to stay stable. Meanwhile, you decided your favorite animal was a cat, a response that made Griffon snort in mock annoyance. And you learned Nico was partial to dogs.

The other part of your time was spent looking out the windows while Nico’s jukebox played, watching the beautiful landscape and changing scenery. The further you got from Redgrave, the more normal and lively things seemed to become. Rivers were passed over, more buildings and homes lining normal streets and shops peppered in between. The sun moved across the sky as the day went on, changing the world’s colors and casting beautiful, elaborate patterns all over. You tried to focus on those things over anything else, taking up repetitive tasks to distract your mind. Counting street-lamps, playing I spy with Griffon and Nico.

It had already started reaching into the afternoon when Nero woke back up, jolting when Nico hit a particularly large pothole in the road. Had she hit that on purpose? Probably. And judging by her little smirk? Definitely. Nero scowled, looking around with a red mark on one cheek from leaning his hand on it. That was around the time that you started counting the teeth in Shadow’s mouth, ignoring Griffon’s taunts and jibes about your inane, silly tasks. Nero was definitely not feeling too hot after sleeping off all that caffeine, that was for sure. He looked closer to having a hangover than anything else.

Regardless.

That was the point that you sat up, noticing the taste of salt water in the air coming from Nico’s window. You turned, sucking in a breath at the sight of the ocean peeking over the horizon. It was certainly beautiful, glinting with the light of the sun getting lower and lower in the sky. It shimmered in an ethereal way, like it was covered in diamonds. You were certain you had seen an ocean at least once in your travels, but...somehow this was far more lovely than ones you had seen before. Your gaze would not move from it even as it drew closer, showing beaches dotted with human beings lounging and relaxing. It all looked so peaceful, quiet.

Nico eventually pulled into what looked to be a long dock, the elusive ferry waiting at the end and calling for the last to board. It all felt so whimsical, like the things you would see in movies--seagulls peppered the docks, soaring over all the boats in port swaying on the waves. Nico honked her horn, alerting an older-looking man who was about to close the gate in front of the waiting ship. He seemed to recognize the mechanic in an instant, shaking his head but waving a hand to allow them through. Thank goodness for that at the very least--you weren’t sure if you could handle being in the van again overnight.

Nico pulled onto the ramp leading onto the ferry, parking her van next to what appeared to be one other car--there weren’t a lot of people heading to Fortuna, it would seem. It made sense, Nico explained earlier that up until recent years the secluded city had been closed to the public, only opening their doors after rebuilding from the Order of the Sword disaster. Nero and a few others were working to get the city more open to outside visitors, to changing and accepting new technology and advancements. It was a slow process, but it was sure to increase the city’s economy bit by bit.

It was another hour from then on out. The three of you left the van while the ferry took you over the ocean, swaying and rocking on the waves. It was in these moments you tried to find your peace a bit more, staring out at the water as the salty breeze sent your hair swaying. The ocean reminded you of the Deity, there in his Void with the lonely whales. You wondered what he could possibly be thinking after all that had happened, if he knew how much his actions had affected you. All while this happened Nico kept up her conversations, leaning close to you and leaning back on the railing. You appreciate her effort, she was most certainly keeping your brain from bouncing back to the terrible thoughts.

“You’re gonna love the City,” She told you, pulling out a cigarette to light it and puffing smoke in the breeze away from you. Careful not to let you inhale it as well, “The people have sticks up their asses, but it ain’t like it’s their fault. It’s gettin’ better.”

Nero grunted at her words, leaning on the railing on your other side and squinting at the rolling waves in the distance, “They’re gonna be wary when some crazy woman comes bangin’ on their doors askin’ about the Order like you did.”

“Worked with y’all, didn’t it?” Nico sounded smug.

That earned her a scoff, the boy narrowing his eyes on her as he turned his head, “Yeah, just ‘cause Kyrie is nice.”

You smiled softly again, leaning back so Nico could shove Nero’s shoulder lightly. They really did act like siblings, which was nice in your opinion. It was obvious they cared underneath all the silly arguments.

“I’m eager to meet Kyrie,” You told Nero, a hint of nervousness in your tone now as you admitted, “You guys have talked her up so much, I hope I make a good first impression.”

Nico snorted, waving your concerns away and placing her free hand on your shoulder, “Don’t worry your pretty little head,” She said lightly, smirking as she took another long drag from her cigarette, “Kyrie is a doll and she likes everyone. Must be how a delinquent like Nero managed to snag her.”

Part of you expected Nero to protest that, since it came out in such a teasing tone. But he merely shrugged, shaking his head as he replied in a soft tone, “Ya got me there.”

There was an underlying hint of adoration in his voice, his expression always going soft at mention of his lady love. It was cute, and you definitely wanted to know what lead to them being together--but you could see the good in Nero behind all the bold and brash attitude he had. There was kindness, passion, the need to protect the people he cared about and a drive to work hard. Nero was a good kid, so he deserved the best. And it seemed like Kyrie was that and then some.

But...it still didn’t stop you from feeling nervous, even as the City appeared in the distance. Fortuna certainly was beautiful, the architecture looking old and elegant, with sweeping towers and stone lined walls. You stared in awe at it all, leaning over the railing and watching the waves crash up on the coast. It looked like the craggly rocks turned into a beach on the one side, sweeping around and disappearing as the island extended outwards. You couldn’t remember the last time you had sank your toes into some sand, or sunbathed.

“Wow…” You breathed, voice carried on the wind as it rushed past.

Nico chuckled, patting you on the shoulder and tugging you back toward the van, “Told ya! Come on now, let’s get ready to head out.”

It took a few minutes for the ferry to dock itself in Fortuna, giving you a chance to peek at a cobblestone path leading through to a town square. You were distracted in that moment by the sight of merchants, a market just starting to shut down after a day of selling and trading. People walked the street in hoods and cloaks, looking like they were playing a part in a fairy tale. Not that there wasn’t the occasion, normally dressed person dotted in between. It was all very...strange. You continued to stare even as the van started moving, peeling off from the boat and starting down the street. Everyone seemed used to the vehicle by now, bowing their heads and politely moving past as Nico drove along.

That nervousness came back, mingling with the sadness also starting to creep its way in. This seemed like the kind of place V would enjoy, there was no doubt. Poetry was a good word to describe everything, this secluded city of beauty and culture recovering from years of manipulation from a religious group. You could almost imagine the poet there next to you, reading from his book a line to describe the scenery in his warm, honeyed voice.

Your hand slid up to your blouse, squeezing the fabric between your fingers. You needed to stop thinking about him, you needed to stop this cycle before it got worse. But how difficult a task, when your eyes saw him in everything?

This hurts.

But you bit your tongue as you leaned on the couch, watching the buildings roll by and trying to keep yourself distracted. It was hard, too hard. Your journey was seemingly coming to an end, and it was stirring up the emotions that kept worming their way back into your subconscious. Heartbreak was a strange, fickle thing. Still fresh and new in such a capacity. You had never lost a love before, not in any memories you had or seemingly in the remaining traces. To experience romance in a week, to fall so hard your legs crumpled beneath you and to go through losing that love just as quick...why wasn’t the ache leaving you? Was this normal? Logic said that this suffering was strange for how long you knew V, but…

It felt like it was right. All of him had, even until the end.

It was on that thought that Nico finally turned a corner, hugging a road on the coast that lead to a back street lined with more buildings and no markets. You blinked, seeing a sign above a doorway that said “Fortuna Orphanage.” Simplistic, but you doubted an island of this size had many kids without homes. Despite the small size, there looked to be another side building connected to the orphanage, this one shaped differently and more resembling a house. There were wide, open windows with flower boxes on the sills growing herbs and various other plants. It was the garage door on that side that Nico went for, honking her horn loudly as the metal cranked open to let the vehicle inside.

Nervous. You felt nervous.

Nero let out a relieved sigh, dragging himself out of the passenger seat as the van’s engine cut off. You exchanged a glance with him, the boy not missing the worry at all as you hesitated on the couch. This was definitely a bit overwhelming after everything that had happened, your brain scrambling to remember how to introduce yourself to people, how to act around children, how to...exist. You summoned the familiars back before they could comment on the thought process, feeling Griffon’s annoyance and feeling bad. But there was not much else you could do.

You didn’t want to make matters worse.

“C’mon kid,” Nero said encouragingly, patting your shoulder before Nico took one of your hands and dragged you up, “No need to look so scared. Told ya everything was gonna be fine, didn’t I?”

You hesitated, but nodded in response. Nico grinned at you, seemed excited as she threaded her fingers with yours and tugged you after the boy. You realized this was the first time someone other than V had held your hand, and it felt...different. Still loving, still kind, but with no romance compared to the elegant fingers of the poet. It was a comfort, one that you needed as you hopped onto the garage floor, eyeing your surroundings and trying to calm your racing heart.

You noticed Nero quickly pulling down his sleeve to hide his new arm and carefully keeping his fingers hidden. You smiled, he looked pretty eager himself all things considered. Like he was about to give his wife a present.

Nero had no sooner opened the garage door into what looked to be a kitchen when the sound of scurrying little feet came barreling from the other door in the room. Like children running down the stairs. You blinked, then a second later the door burst open, revealing four kids as they ran into the kitchen and leapt onto Nero before he could react. Squeals and screams of delight echoed through the space, making you fight a smile as the white-haired boy pretended to stumble under the weight of them all and fall to the floor.

“Nero is home!”

“Hi Nero!”

“Welcome back!”

One of the kids was still very young, thumb in his mouth as he hung onto Nero’s coat with his other hand. There was three boys and one girl, ranging in ages between three to ten. They seemed so preoccupied with Nero, they didn’t see you standing in the doorway with Nico at all. All in all, they were all very cute, your lips smiling despite how nervous you felt as you saw the devil hunter grin, wrangling one kid under each arm and having another hang onto his leg like he was a jungle gym. You could tell right away how much he cared about them, and how much they adored him in turn. Like a happy little family.

So engrossed in the display of affection, you didn’t notice the beautiful, auburn haired woman standing in the doorway. It wasn’t until she spoke, her voice soft and relieved as she too took in her fiance greeting all the kids.

“Welcome home.” She said with a loving smile, her eyes staring at adoration when you and the other two turned to look at her. Whatever you were expecting, you weren’t sure if it was close. Kyrie was a gorgeous woman, in a way that was so unbelievably soft and delicate looking. Her eyes were so kind, her smile very warm. You felt your heart speed up for a second, feeling even more nervous now that you were seeing her in person--she looked like an angel, and you would hate to not have her approval. But...you doubted this woman had a mean bone in her body.

Nero immediately perked up, that dopey grin lifting his lips as he stepped toward her, towing each child with him as he leaned in for a kiss. Each kid let out varying sounds of disgust, giggling at Nero as he rolled his eyes.

“Hey babe,” He told Kyrie, taking her hand with his left one and giving it a squeeze, “Sorry it took us so long, things got uhhh...crazy.”

Kyrie smiled in understanding, seeming delighted just to have him home as she said, “That’s okay, the kids kept me busy,” She looked down at the little boy clinging to Nero’s leg, the one with his thumb in his mouth, “Carlo helped me plant mint in some flower pots, didn’t you?”

The little boy nodded, perking up at her words like mint leaves were somehow the most exciting things every. Each of the kids was chatting excitedly, trying to get Nero’s attention with various stories they had amassed in his absence.

“Settle down,” He told them all ,setting the two he was holding on the ground with a smirk, “You’ll have all day tomorrow to catch me up. Didn’t I teach you guys to introduce yourselves when we have someone new in the house?”

All the kids looked confused until Nero pointed at the doorway where you were standing with Nico, drawing all four sets of little eyes on you instead. You blinked, smiling in a friendly manner and trying to calm the little ball of anxiety in your stomach. After all, Kyrie was now looking at you too. There was a look of almost...excitement in her eyes as she examined your face, seeming just as eager to see you as the kids did when they scrambled over to your legs. You were new, and new things excited children it would seem.

“Who are you?” Asked one of the older children, a little boy with darker skin but pretty, green eyes. All of them were starring at you with varying levels of awe and interest, making you feel a bit nervous as you struggling to tame the lump in your throat.

“I...I’m Y/N,” You introduced yourself, crouching down so you were at eye level with the boy who asked. You smiled, holding out a hand to shake as you asked, “And you are?”

He immediately stuck out his arm, grasping your fingers and giving it a little wiggle as he replied, “My name is Julio! This is Kyle, Carlo, and Emma.”

The other boy, Kyle, let out a huff and tugged on Julio’s shirt, “I can say my own name…!”

Nico and Nero had mentioned all their names before, but it was still polite to ask. You smiled ruefully when Julio stuck out his tongue, feeling the little girl place a hand on your arm and patting lightly to get your attention. She looked like she was six or seven years old, her brown hair pulled into tiny pigtails and her eyes round with curiosity.

“Hi, Y/N.” She said with a small wave, bouncing on her feet a bit.

Well, you were overwhelmed but incredibly smitten.

Each child kept trying to introduce themselves now, leaving you to stand there and take it all in with patience. Nico chuckled, reaching down to scoop up Carlo and put the boy over her shoulder--she could sense you losing control of the situation, and came to your rescue easily. For that, you were heavily grateful.

“C’mon now, brats!” She exclaimed loudly, snatching Kyle and starting for another doorway toward a set of stairs, “None of y’all have brushed your teeth, your smelly breath is stinkin’ up the air.”

Each kid let out whines of complaint, Kyle wiggling in the mechanics grasp as she carted them upstairs. You heard Nico argue with them, claiming that they had tomorrow to learn about the “new lady” and talk to her. New lady being you. The instant they were out of sight you felt the tension leave your body heart pounding slower and slower now that you no longer had them all crowding you. They were precious, they really were, but after the past few days trying to keep up with their energy was impossible. When was the last time you interacted with a child? You couldn’t ever remember a time, not in the last few missions at all.

But that still left Kyrie.

She approached you when the kids were gone, taking your hands between hers to squeeze them as she apologized, “Please forgive them, we don’t see many new faces around here,” Her eyes were so soft when you looked into their brown depths, her lips tilted in a welcoming smile, “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Wow, Kyrie radiated the energy of a mom or a big sister. Even more than Lady did, if that was all possible. You felt like you were staring into something bright enough to be the sun.

“You must be Kyrie,” You said, tilting your head and smiling as well while you added, “It’s...it’s wonderful to meet you too. Nero talked about you quite a bit.”

The boy had the decency to look embarrassed, ducking his head and cheeks a little red while he leaned on a nearby wall. Careful not to let his bare hand show, of course. Kyrie looked back at him, easily catching his awkward look and letting out a cute giggle.

“That makes me happy,” She said, turning back to you with a grin, “Let me show you which room is yours--the kids have an area on one side of the house, and we have a few rooms on this side.”

You nodded, letting her take you by the hand just as Nico had and tug you towards an opposing set of stairs. Nero exchanged a glance with you as she did so, giving you an encouraging smile and wiggling his right set of fingers in a meaningful wave. He still had his little surprise waiting for his wife, which you were certain he was going to show her once they had some alone time. You would try not to keep her busy for too long, the lovers deserved to have their reunion at the very least.

After climbing the stairs she lead you down a hallway, giving you time to see paintings and pictures lining the walls between rooms. You saw unfamiliar people and children among a few pictures of Nero and Kyrie. You guessed some of these were of the kind woman’s parents, others of the children who used to stay at the orphanage. There was even one of a little, grumpy boy with white hair--there was no mistaking who that was.

Regardless, you followed Kyrie to a door at the end of the hall. It opened to reveal another small set of stairs, leading to a loft-style room that had to be yours.

You blinked, taking in the quaint little space with curious eyes and feeling your breath catch. There were huge, open windows facing the ocean behind the house, curtains drifting on the wind over your bed. The room wasn’t large, but you preferred it this way. The ceiling was slanted on the opposing side to the window, over a cubby with a desk. There looked to be a dresser as well in front of the railing to the stairs, and a small closet door. It was cute, and it was much more than you would have ever asked from anyone. To be able to taste the ocean air in the morning, woken up by the sun…

The only hurt was knowing V wouldn’t be there to experience it with you.

Stop that.

“I put some clothing in the dresser for you,” Kyrie’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, making you look at her as she pulled open a drawer, “It’s not much, but I can make more once I get some more supplies from the city square.”

You blinked, tone awed as you asked, “You...make clothes?”

She nodded, seeming proud of herself as she gave a little twirl in her dress--a flowing thing that reached her knees, patterned with sunflowers and wearing a jean jacket on top, “I do. It’s cheaper this way, easier to get fabrics and thread from people in Fortuna with how slow things have been.”

That was understandable, but still impressive. You wondered if she made the kids clothes too, but assumed the answer was yes considering how Kyrie was as a person.

“Thank you for your kindness,” You said softly, touching the few shirts in the first drawer with your fingertips. You felt the woman look back at you on her way to show you the closet, but you kept your eyes on the dresser, “I’ll do my best not to be a burden on you and Nero, and to make up for staying here. Whatever you need I can do.”

You would cook, clean, and help Nero fight demons if needed. You knew what your Void powers could do, knew that they could serve many uses other than fighting if you so chose it. Kyrie and Nero didn’t have to take you in, but...they did, and for that nothing would ever be enough to repay them for it. Kyrie smiled in understanding, looking a bit sad in your peripheral vision but you couldn’t understand why. Surely she would want help? Working an orphanage was hard work, and you doubted she was paid much for it if at all.

“Help is always needed,” She said softly, taking a step closer and putting a hand on your shoulder, “But take the time to recover first. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

That made your heart skip a beat, that flowering pain opening its petals and digging in thorns. There was no doubt that Nero had talked to her about what happened with V, and maybe more judging by that knowing look in her eyes. You looked at her, fingers trembling where they touched the soft fabric and trying to gather yourself again. But Kyrie didn’t wait for a reply, only offering a cheerful smile and moving for the stairs once more.

“There’s a shower downstairs on the right,” She told you, patting a towel hanging on the railing, “Why don’t you get cleaned up and meet me on the beach later so we can talk?”

You nodded, feeling a bit dazed as you watched her descend down the stairs with her auburn hair swaying back and forth. The last time you had showered, in was in the van after your punishment. And that alone was a hard memory to swallow, even as you obeyed her. Your feet carried you to the bathroom without thinking, fingers numb as you closed the door and started to remove your clothes. If you weren’t struggling so hard to keep your emotions at bay, you might have noticed how cute the bathroom was. Blue tiles and things revolving around the ocean hanging on the walls. But...your mind was elsewhere.

This was the first time you saw yourself in the mirror since the incident.

Your eyes stared tiredly back, hair shoved over one shoulder and those new tattoos covering your collar bones down to your arms. Pale, you looked pale. Not like yourself, even though you had issues with that before now. It was eerie, seeing V’s markings on your own flawed skin, the sensation making you feel even more numb than before. But that was definitely your hand that raised in the mirror, touching your cheek and wiping at a dried drop of whale oil on your lashes. You were a mess, it was shocking that the children approached you looking so run down.

But you didn’t linger, turning to step into the porcelain tub and turn on the water. For whatever reason, you thought the instant you were under the warm spray the tears would finally come, that you would break down and finally sob all the pain out. But...you didn’t. You mechanically washed your hair, scrubbed your body, removed all traces of the Qliphoth tree in its entirety. And even then, the tears wouldn’t come. Which phase of the grief was this, the aching numbness filling your limbs? It spread as you shut off the water, not staying too long in the warmth and drying yourself off. Being clean didn’t make you feel better, but it also didn’t make you worse.

It was all instinct, drying your hair, putting on what felt to be a fresh, blue shirt and new shorts. They were comfortable, made more for relaxation than fighting. And even then...you felt unchanged as you padded up to your room, depositing your clothes in a hamper before making your way back down. Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare were anxious on the edges of your mind, taking in your mood and the new area but too nervous to come out yet. All in all, you spent maybe thirty or forty minutes getting freshened up.

When you got downstairs, things had quieted considerably. It was around eight o’clock now, the sun already almost gone behind the clouded horizon line. You looked around, taking in what looked to be a living room and parlor off from the kitchen, then a room that lead to what appeared to be the main part of the orphanage. You didn’t want to look around too much yet, so you headed to what looked to be a back door, stepping outside barefoot. Kyrie and Nero lived in a beautiful home--there was a garden out back, growing fruits and vegetables with an archway lined with vines. You followed a little stone path leaded to a small set of stairs, ones that lead out onto golden sands.

There was a strange feeling there, your toes sinking into the sand that was cooling now that the sun was down. To live so close to a beach, it just beyond their back door was...nice. And there on the beach Kyrie waited, sitting on a blanket with Nico and sipping what looked to be tea sitting on a small table with a lit lantern illuminating them in the dim light. Both looked up at the sound of you approaching, Nico now in what looked to be an oversized t-shirt and booty shorts now that she wasn’t working in her van.

“Where’s Nero?” You asked quietly, sitting down next to Kyrie on the blanket and crossing your legs. For that matter, the kids were absent too. You were unsure how late that they were allowed to stay up.

Nico snorted, her long hair now pulled into a loose ponytail as she replied, “He’s putting the little kiddies to bed. They were eager to have him back,” She waggled her brows, staring at Kyrie in amusement as she added, “You missed out on Nero showing Kyrie his new arm, Y/N.”

You looked at the woman in question, catching her smiling widely and proudly at mention of Nero. It was easy to see that she was overjoyed about the surprise, her eyes shining with delight as she nodded vigorously.

“I’m so happy for him,” She said in a relieved tone, clasping her hands in front of her chest like she was praying, “It was so hard for him when he lost the Devil arm, I’m glad there’s at least one grief off his shoulders.”

Christ, Kyrie really was a sweetheart, wasn’t she? It made you smile, even if the motion felt a little stiff with your mood. You accepted a cup of tea when it was offered to you by Nico, holding the cup between your fingers and staring at the liquid with tired eyes. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was definitely Nero and Kyrie. Your sorrow didn’t subtract from that in the slightest bit. You tried to keep that thought in your head, knowing that sinking into anything less would be childish. Jealousy had never been in your nature, and you weren’t about to start now.

“He was really excited to show you,” Your mouth moved finally, words soft but still heard over the sound of waves, “He went through a lot, so he deserves to get something good from it.”

Kyrie placed a hand on your arm, making you look up at her gentle, brown eyes. For a moment it felt like she was looking right into your soul, a sensation that made you feel a bit too vulnerable for your liking.

“So did you,” She said softly, not looking away from your startled gaze as she continued, “Nero told me what happened with V, and Vergil. And the Deity too--you went through something just as terrible.”

Hearing all their names made you flinch, looking away and holding the cup a little bit tighter. She was only confirming what you already knew, but the reality was punching you in the gut over and over. Walls of numbness were surrounding those emotions now, but they were new. Made of fragile glass, threatening to break just at hearing V’s name. You didn’t want to shatter, not now. Not anymore. It was your burden to bear, this pain that you were burying deep inside with all the rest of the memories that hurt you. It was all you could do to cope, to smile.

But it just made you a glass container ready to crack.

“It’s okay,” You said mechanically, the words feeling fake even to you as you kept your eyes on the ocean, “I’ll be fine with time.”

You felt the Void rising up, whispering those words through your lips that had become so familiar.

“This pain is a reminder that I am alive,” You said softly, but they felt weighted now. Tired, not like before. In the beginning these words felt right, they had meaning and they drove you. You took pain as a blessing, for if you felt pain it meant that you weren’t dead like before. Every bit of it was a gift, one that you shouldn’t take for granted. But...now it felt like weights, “I’ll bear it, because I...I’m lucky to even be here right now.”

You should be grateful. To have power, to have life breathed into your suffering soul and lungs.

You could feel Kyrie and Nico staring at you, but you didn’t dare look back at their faces. You knew that they couldn’t understand, they who had never died or been to a place like the Void. The cold, the dark, the howling of so many tortured voices...it left its mark on you, one that would never leave. The Deity’s hands had been guiding you since that first moment of awakening, but they felt more like shackles now, holding you down as a knife was plunged into your chest. And worse...you felt like you deserved it.

“....You know,” Kyrie finally said, her voice gentle and warm compared to the turmoil being tampered down inside you, “I’ve always found that the good things in life are what make me feel most alive.”

You froze, turning to meet her brown gaze with a startled one of your own. She stared steadily back, taking one of your hands and squeezing it between her delicate fingers. It looked like she had given her words a lot of thought, probably cultivating this speech since Nero and Nico had told her your story. Of how you died, repeating the miserable cycle over and over until you fell for V. And then...he left you too.

They always leave.

“Like eating your favorite food after not having it for a long time,” Kyrie continued despite your dark thoughts, closing her eyes like she was remembering past memories, her hair drifting on the breeze, “Or hugging a friend so tightly that you share your warmth with them. The feeling of putting on a fresh shirt when it has dried, or the sensation of laughing so hard there are tears in your eyes.”

“Or,” Nico piped in, sucking down some tea and smiling mischievously at you, “Finally gettin’ home after a long day and stickin’ your tiddies in front of an air conditioner.”

Kyrie let out a light giggle, smiling widely as she looked back at the messy haired mechanic, “That too! But what I’m saying is,” she turned back to you, squeezing your hand again as you listened on in silence, “This mindset you have, that life should be made real only by pain...in reality, it’s not making you feel alive at all. It’s keeping you in that bad place, making you feel like you deserve to be hurt like it justifies you being alive again...doesn’t it?”

In reality...you didn’t feel alive at all, did you?

Your glass walls started trembling, fingers mimicking the motion in Kyrie’s grasp. It was starting to hurt, it was starting to claw its way out your throat again. You stared out at the sea, feeling yourself unraveling as Nero’s fiance spoke the words you knew all along to be true, but never wanted to acknowledge it. After so many years of pain, of suffering, what else could you do to cope? The dark, the cold, the Void...you were birthed into this existence in pain, so willing to believe whatever was told to you to make the ache tolerable. Fooling yourself, trying to take the pain as a means to shield yourself. Like a punishment that you deserved.

It hurt. It hurt and it wasn’t fair. You felt your breathing speed up, mind struggling to push back the flood threatening to overtake you. It was too much, it was too much. You were overflowing with emotions in a glass too full, ready to break. And it had been a long time coming.

“I know it hurts,” Kyrie whispered, holding your trembling fingers between your own and keeping her gaze on your face, “You lost someone dear to you, and it’s agony, the worst kind. But this isn’t what made you feel most alive, was it? It was when you were with him that you were thriving, when pain wasn’t there anymore.”

“To hold infinity in the palm of your hand,” Your mind replayed the night in the church, V’s eyes staring at you in adoration as he stroked your cheek. It made your breath catch, a whimper of agony threatening to burst from your throat as you tried to push it back, “An eternity in an hour.”

Please. I can’t I can’t do this.

“My sparrow, I do believe you are coming undone.”

Remembering you is a reminder of pain.

“I am such a selfish creature, sparrow.”

One that I will never come back from.

“And it’s those memories that you should hold onto, to remind you that you are alive,” Kyrie put a hand to your cheek, tilting your head so that your stricken gaze was looking back at her, “You are alive because you can love and feel all those wonderful things. Never doubt that, Y/N.”

It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Tears were starting to fill your eyes, threatening to track down your cheeks.

It hurts.

Kyrie gave you a soft smile, one that was a bit sad as she continued carefully, “Let the pain be pain, sweetheart. You’re allowed to be upset, to be angry, to be be heartbroken without trying to convince yourself that it’s needed,” She moved her hand from your cheek so she could squeeze your shaking fingers again, her voice taking on a firm tone as she continued, “You didn’t deserve it, you never did. And it’s okay to think that, to look at pain as a burden when it is one--pain is a reminder, but never one that you are alive.”

Pain is a reminder, but never one that you are alive.

You felt yourself starting to hyperventilate, the tears falling down your cheeks without stop. You saw V in your mind, smiling at you with his gentle jade eyes meeting yours.

You didn’t deserve it, you never did.

The walls had shattered, flooding you with memory after memory, feeling after feeling. Of when V held your hand for the first time, sharing your first kiss, entwining your bodies as you shared a night of passion. Crashing down on you like waves until you felt it again, the drowning grief pulling you under until you couldn’t breathe. It hurt, it was agony. But worse--she was right. Those were the moments where you felt alive, heart at ease and filled with joy, filled with adoration and affection. When you were laughing with Griffon, curled up in a bed next to the familiars and V. You felt more alive in those moments than any other in so many years since your awakening, and they were everything to you.

All the tears you had held back, the feelings waiting to break through now burst out. You were crumbling to pieces, unable to stop the flow once it began. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that you lost him after working so hard. This pain wasn’t fair, you didn’t deserve it. You deserved better.

It hurts.

It hurts so much.

Heavy, gasping sobs started to burst out of your throat, tears dripping down your chin like a dam broken loose. You couldn’t stop, they couldn’t stop, and for once you didn’t want them to.

And for the first time in so long, you wept harder than you ever had. Crying with your whole body, sobs wracking your frame as you fell to pieces in front of both girls. Kyrie took the cup from your hands, handing it to Nico before she pulled you into an embrace. Your sobs turned into wails, releasing every ounce of grief and loss you felt, mind replaying all the moments of happiness ripped away from you in and instant. And this was what Kyrie knew you needed, to let it all go, to let the pain out and stop fighting yourself. After years and years of holding yourself back and taking beating after beating, you had finally had enough. She held you close, like a mother would, stroking back your hair and whispering soothingly to you.

“It’s not fair…!” You sobbed, voice raw and broken as your shoulders trembled, “It’s not...it’s not fair…!”

I just wanted happiness, after so long of not having it. And it fell to pieces.

I gave everything.

I gave everything and it changed nothing.

You felt Nico put a hand on one of your shoulders, squeezing you gently as you continued to cry out everything you had held back. She said nothing, but you could feel her support too.

Kyrie stroked your hair back, her voice gentle and soothing as she whispered, “You did your best, and that’s what matters. It will be okay, I promise you that,” She held you closer, arms steady and firm and holding your steady amongst the storm inside, “You’re a part of my family now, and we will make sure you find happiness again, I swear that Y/N.”

You said nothing in response, still sobbing softly in her arms and unable to stop yourself. For once in so many years, you felt like you were at home. There had been no time to rest, no time to find peace, no time to realize just how terrible things had been for you. But now...now you were unraveling, picking apart every tragedy like they were strings on a bow playing the song of your existence. You would grieve for what you lost, for the poet who left you behind. Because unlike before, you weren’t trying to swim in the ocean of grief alone, drowning in the inky waters of the Void.

The familiars were surrounding your mind, holding you in your grief like life preservers. Kyrie and Nico were holding your head above water, and Nero was there with a boat. You had them there, and they were the reminders that you were alive. Not the pain, not the heartache, not losing V. You would keep those precious memories of him, of every touch, kiss, and words shared. And you would hold them to your heart, those moments where you felt the most alive.

And that, for you, would be enough.

These are the reminders that I am alive.

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ithilwen-lionheart · 5 years ago

Text

Love, lead me on - Legolas x Priestess!Reader - Chapter 4 pt. 1/1

Alternatively: With a downcast smile, you pierced my heart like a dagger...

[ Work Text ]

After giving me a smile with downcast eyes, you suddenly grew up

That was like a sharp knife split my chest apart...

There stood Legolas, clad in the finest silver tunic that reached his knees, dark brown pants and matching boots. His entire outfit screamed sophistication and elegance, his hair in its usual perfect braids, but his eyes...

His supposedly stunning and enticingly piercing blue eyes that always seemed so alive just looked too tired, sad and emotionally spent that it physically hurt her.

He was smiling but it was so mournful that Celine just hopes he would stop straining himself by pretending. His gaze then fell to the ground, defeated, as if he'd not only seen war but something much more tormenting.

And it stabbed her with more pain than a jagged saw would ever inflict on her body.

Which of course, makes perfect sense, considering the hole the elven prince had dug himself into.

And then she remembers, of course he'd end up like that. She almost forgotten that she had seen Kili with Tauriel earlier. She was way too caught up laughing with Thorin that she couldn't pay them any heed back then.

It didn't matter whatever it is that they were doing because the war had been won and Legolas had all but lost this one.

"Am I the only one noticing or is it getting a bit too stuffy here, dear prince? Shall we head outside for some fresh air?"

And Celine is just about to lose it too.

-----

--It's not that I want to be loved, but I want to love all of you

"You knew this would happen, did you not?" Celine began right after they got out and into one of Erebor's near nonexistent balconies.

It's not as elegant as the ones they have in Mirkwood, Rivendell or Lothlorien. Neither does it offer any splendid scenery down below. All one could see from where they are were the bloodied battlefields from where they fought earlier, and whatever is left of the -once again- ruined city of Dale.

The morbid side of her thinks that the setting somehow matches the mood they are both currently in, perfectly.

But they aren't here to make small talk about the differences of dwarven and elvish aesthetics and so she kept the thoughts to herself.

Legolas made his way to the crumbled stone railings without a word.

Celine didn't really have much to do but wait for his response, and so she did.

There's nothing she could say to make things better for him anyways.

A few minutes had passed and she thanked the valars for her expansive patience when it came to the prince.

"Yes." he hung his head low and slumped his shoulders from what she could see of his back.

Cautiously making her way towards him as if she's walking on thin ice -which she probably is doing at the moment- she voiced out that one question that had been nagging at her ever since, "Then why did you still do it? Why have you kept pushing the inevitable aside? If you knew you would end up hurting, why?"

And she ponders, she should be asking herself pretty much the same question as well.

Why?

And she'll come up with a pathetic excuse like-

"I cannot. Could not stop. I have tried, multiple times to... To forget. But I couldn't. It had always been and will always be there on the back of my mind... And before I know it, I am back and stuck on the same place as I had been before." He didn't turn to her and just stared straight ahead, glimmers appearing on the corners of his eyes before he bowed and held his head in between his hands, breaths shuddering and racking his body.

"Have you ever tried looking some place else?" Celine began softly, trying her best not to choke because seeing him in this much pain because of someone else is beyond excruciating for her. Reminding herself that she should be the one comforting the prince and not the other way around, she resumed her job of rubbing one hand against his back in a futile attempt to tame the unpleasant shakes threatening to shatter his fragile weeping form.

She was answered by a furious shake of his head and a broken voice saying,

"I-I could not..."

"You could not or you would not?" If there was even a hint of bitterness in her tone, Celine made sure that it was evident enough for the oblivious prince to notice. The priestess doesn't know how long she could take this merciless twist of fate before she just breaks down here and then herself.

Legolas finally faced her as she posted the question, with his brows furowed in confusion, "Have you not figured out that if I could, then I would have already done that ages ago?"

Lavender eyes widened at this, warmth spreading across her cheeks, "S-so you k-knew?" She cursed herself from stuttering.

So this is it.

"I knew what?" He slightly pulled back, certifiably on the exact opposite track of what she is expecting.

No,

He's even more dense than she had originally thought.

His words practically stung that she quickly retrieved her hands as if she'd just been burnt and took a couple of steps back. Eyes wide in disbelief.

"By the valars, Legolas!" She whispered somewhere in between a choke and a gasp, all air literally knocked out of her lungs with the effort it took to keep herself from screaming in frustration.

-this is it.

Tears began clouding her lilac hues as she clutched her shattered chest. All these times she thought she was being lucid enough, all these times she thought he could at least somehow feel that she cares for him badly, more than absolutely necessary.

"How can you not see it?!" Her lips were quivering and every nerve inside her body was quaking but she couldn't bother minding them at the moment.

She has so much to say, so much questions and reprimands piling up from the deepest pits of her stomach just waiting until they could finally spill out. It was as if she had a heart full of explosives that could go off anytime after she had spent the last of her wavering forbearance, as if it was a match just waiting to be lighted up by circumstances.

Circumstances as unfortunate and ruining as this.

And all was out before she could even attempt to reign all the words back in to mull over their applicability and the tone she's supposed to use as she spoke them. It was all cursory as if her mind had finally failed her and her damaged heart had taken over,

"How can you not see how much I care for you?

How can you not realize that I would be willing to do everything just to keep you happy?

How can you not notice the way my eyes would linger long after you looked away?

How can you not see that I would be willing to throw my life away just so that I could keep you safe?

That I'd rather have my heart on the line if that would mean yours would be happy even if it'll be in the arms of another?

How can you not realize how your minute smile would take it's effect on me?

Is everything that I had done not enough to make you see?" Her voice finally broke and her gloved hands flew over to cover her mouth upon realizing that she had finally spewed all these words when she tried her hardest not to make it look as if the prince had made her do it and she blamed him for it or that she would've wanted something in return for something she had done even though the ellon had never asked her to in the first place.

But still, what was done cannot be undone and Celine was sure that it all came out as if she was desperately asking the prince to at least take notice of what she had sacrificed and the ends she would be willing to go to just for him and his approval.

That was precisely when she lost it to one heart shattering cry as she fell to the ground,

"H-how c-can you n-not notice that I-I l-love you all this t-time?" She barely managed to get it through sobs and hiccups as she frantically tried to rid her face of the salty trails out of habit.

"Celine-"

"I love you, Legolas, okay?!" She shouts and tries to stand up on wobbly legs. The priestess swears that had that party inside been quieter, it would've already been heard by everyone else.

Celine couldn't stop the words from flowing out, not now when she had already started it, this might be the one and only chance she'll ever get with her courage and pain enough to push the words she'd kept in herself for too long, finally out. Cracked voice and messed up face be damned.

The blond ellon was just about half on his way off of his position on the railings to assist her when her knees threatened to finally give up but she rose one hand up to stop him. She couldn't trust herself to bear his touches, not when she's breaking down, not when she's prone and vulnerable because she might do something he'll hate her for and she'll regret.

She took her hand back and clenched her chest with it along with her other one, as if the gesture would keep her shattered heart from entirely falling out, "I love you so much that it hits me tenfold whenever I see you hurting because of Tauriel, because I know that if I had only been given the chance then... Then..." Celine made an inner oath never to blame a single thing on Legolas, or Tauriel or on fate because she knew she brought this upon herself. Well aware that everything are mere consequences of her decisions and actions.

Never to blame and never to post herself as better than the elleth Legolas had loved -still loves- because who on earth is she anyways?

"If just.. If you would just see me..." Her voice went out pleading and desperate despite of her efforts not to. The tears kept on coming as if there would never be an end to them, twin waterfalls that kept on running for at last they've been given an outlet.

That was only then that Celine had realized she'd been keeping this much tears for the prince. She'd wished that this day would never come, he didn't need to see her break -especially not when he himself is beyond repair.

They couldn't cry here and cuddle in each other's arms and expect everything to get better for the two of them somehow, they don't comfort and build each other's hearts and end up with each other in the process.

It doesn't work that way. This isn't some fairy tale a mother would read to her children. In fairy tales, there would be magic that would keep people from dying, those in love would end up with the person that they treasure and live happily ever after.

They don't break like this and mourn over their unrequited feelings. In fairy tales, there are no such things.

Maybe there's a reason why fairies are mere legend in Middle Earth. They come up with such ridiculously idealistic tales the world is better off without.

'I should not be despairing like so,' the bluenette shook the negative thoughts away and brushed the tears off her eyes once more as she took one steadying breath and stood as straight as she can.

It had already been a given that she wouldn't notice the prince who was now merely a feet away from her, considering how she had majority of her concentration focused on not letting herself be swallowed by such cataclysmal thoughts.

One cold hand laid against her cheek and freezing was the last thing she had expected his touch to feel. He'd always seemed so warm and welcoming when it came to Tauriel.

His voice, his movements, eyes, gentle grasps and steps.

But she isn't Tauriel.

Celine would never be Tauriel.

Ever.

"Celine, I... My apologies.. "

Still, she looked up even as his own tears went down to mingle with her own as he bowed his head, flaxen strands curtaining the pain that they both shared and had plastered on their wrecked faces.

His eyes were clamped shut and his entire features were contorted in pain, one large hand was trembling on her cheek as the other gripped her shoulder for support. A support she'd be all too willing to give.

"It's alright." Her tinkling voice soothed, reaching up to relieve his face of both the drying and brand new tears with trembling hands of her own.

His eyes fluttered open at this, piercing blue orbs shimmering with a thousand more tears, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because why would it be alright?

And of course Celine knew what that tiny gesture meant.

"It was my choice to love you. You did not tell me, no one did. Not your father, not the elves, or the dwarves, men or even the valars themselves. It was not fate or circumstances that lead me to this. It is my actions. And for it, I regret nothing." She answered truthfully, barely keeping herself from placing the kiss someplace else that would not be his cheek.

The elf could only blink, frozen in place, still broken yet bafflement had -for once- dominated the pain,

"Celine, you are well aware that-"

The priestess shook her head, a timid smile on her lips as she pulled away and let her hands slip off his face to pat his sturdy chest playfully,

"I figured I should at least do that before-" she trailed off as her lavender hues wandered off to the side.

Legolas felt something stir in him. Maybe it had something to do with the state he found her in earlier with Oakenshield.

"Before?" She didn't answer and his suspicion grew all the more unpleasantly potent, "Before what, Celine?"

'Valars, not her too...' It always had to be the dwarves doesn't it.

Celine only takes a shuddering breath and the Sindarin Prince feels every nerve in his body quake with each scintilla of movement.

The hand that was on her cheek moved to her shoulder as he stared into her eyes, the intensity in those shades of blue enough to voice his question out even without him needing to tilt his head to urge her to continue.

"I'm going back to Lothlorien."

His expression was unreadable but his hands went limp and dropped to his sides.

Celine smiled and clasped her hands behind her back, not wanting to dampen the prince's eyes over again. Surely he wouldn't mind her being gone.

"And please do not feel obligated to love me. All I could ask of you is to allow me to at least love you until nothing more is left of me." Taking his hand in hers one last time, she kissed his palm and went off to leave.

Not once bothering to turn back to see the prince's reaction because she could only take too much hurt in a single day, and this particular one had given her her fill of the dreaded emotion for what she could see as the entirety of her lifetime.

[ To be continued in Chapter 5 ]

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

In My Time of Dying- Chapter 2

So I’m not 100% sure how I feel about this chapter, but I need to get to some of the earlier stuff to set up the story. I hope you enjoy. As always I appreciate your re-blogs, comments, likes, etc. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. This is an eventual OC x Castiel fic. There will be some OC x Charlie Bradbury as well.

I suck at summaries! This is an original character story- Alianna Winchester, twin sister of Sam. It starts off right around when Dean comes back from hell. Ali and Sam’s relationship has been fractured since he left for Stanford. She struggles to repair their relationship has they navigate the Apocalypse, her close relationship with Dean and beyond. Like Sam- She is special in a very different way. Truly the Ying to his Yang that causes a deep connection between Ali and Castiel.

Tag List:

@fandom-princess-forevermore @deans-baby-momma @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf

Story Master List

Supernatural Masterlist: Requests are always open

Now:

Things with Sam were strained. Ali wasn’t ready to forgive him for abandoning her and going on his own quest for revenge. While she understood Sam blames himself for Dean’s sacrifice, she had lost Dean too. Then, she had lost Sam and she was still grieving the loss of John, Sam should have been there with her. They should have been trying to move on together, not apart.

Going back in time with Dean had shook her, she wasn’t over that either.When she had laid eyes on a young John Winchester she begged Cas to send her back. She was certain she’d blow their cover, but he denied her and asked her to trust him. How could she not? It annoyed Dean to no end how she just went along with whatever the Angel had to say. There was something inside of her that continually told her it was okay. When they came face to face with their huntress of a mother, Dean was certain he was going to have to peel Ali off the ground.

Each Winchester child felt the loss of Mary Winchester, but for Ali it was different. It was Dean that helped her through getting her first period. One would expect Dean Winchester to balk at the responsibility, but he knew he couldn’t rely on John to get her through it. Dean had been the one to help her through her first heartbreak and the painstaking task of coming to terms with who she was. He had been the one to tell her that he loved her no matter who she wanted to be with. He had helped her tell Sam. Dean had been the one to get her through everything a mother would have, sometimes not so gracefully, but Ali knew he did the best he could.

Ali had been right about Ruby. She had gotten herself out of hell and gotten back to Sam. That was when Sam bolted on her and Bobby. She and Dean had watched Sam send demons back to hell with his psychic abilities. They were equally upset but for very different reasons.

“You know Ali, I expected more from you than Dean. Out of anyone I expected you to be accepting.” Ali sucked in her breath and spun around to face off with her brother.

“No, NO! You don’t get to say that to me.” She only came up to Sam’s shoulder but the rage burning in her eyes had Sam regretting confronting her. “You don’t get to play wounded Sammy right now. Look, I get it. You can exorcise the demon and save most of the vessels. I probably would do the same, but you have to ask at what cost to yourself? But that’s not why I’m pissed. No, I’m pissed because YOU LEFT ME ALONE! Again! You ran off to get your revenge with your demon skank and left me out of it. Left me in the dark. We’re supposed to stick together even when we’re apart! We’re supposed to be partners no matter what. And you just cut me off. You trusted HER more than ME! Don’t you think I could have helped you tell Dean if I knew? No, instead you’ve been lying to me for MONTHS Sam…Months. And you’ve been lying to Dean since he got back. That tells me one thing, you know what you’re doing is wrong. So instead of finding out from you…Cas tells us because you need to stop. If you don’t stop, the Angels will take you out. And if you hadn’t noticed…Uriel is a douche bag. Even if I can convince Cas to let it go, Uriel will not! He came back to specifically warn you again.” Sam looked down and shook his head at his sister.

“Ali, you haven’t needed me for a long time. You made the choice to stay with Dean when I went to Stanford and then go back after the half assed apologies Dad fed you. I didn’t bring you along because between Dad and Dean you were a mess. It would have slowed me down.” Ali felt the sting of Sam’s words in her chest. She always felt like she was slowing them down, she never dreamed that Sam would agree. She could be ruthless when necessary. She was a hunter and a killer of monsters like her brothers. But loosing Dean was too much.

“Fuck off Sam.” Ali spun back around and stalked away from Sam and slammed the motel door behind her. Dean had gone on a food run so that hopefully his siblings could repair their rift. He was pissed at Sam but he needed them operating on the same page. Lilith was breaking seals left and right, they needed to stop her.

Ali wrapped her arms around herself and walked the block from the motel to a little park that was empty. Sam did see her as weak. She had spent the majority of her life “manning up” for the sake of the fight. She would have done the same after Dean. The fact that Sam doubted her told her he didn’t know her as well as she thought he did. Maybe the twin bond of their childhood was truly broken. Ali sat down on the swing, gripping the chains and stared down at her feet.

“Hello Ali.” Castiel’s gritty voice made her jump.

“Jesus Cas. You really need to send a text first before you show, or wear a bell.” She held her hand to her heart as it slowly stopped pounding.

“Ali, are you alright?” He looked at her with concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She scoffed.

“I heard your argument with Sam. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I came to see you and overheard.” Ali didn’t say anything. “I know you think you’re weak, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Cas…I appreciate you trying. But compared to Sam and Dean...yes I am. The two of them can put their emotions aside to get the job done. Apparently I can’t.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not trying to placate you. You are valuable. You have no idea.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. “I know things have been difficult for you since Dean came back. I know I haven’t helped make it any easier. The trip to the past took a toll on you. I wish it hadn’t been necessary for you to be there but Dean is more careful when you’re around. I also appreciate your faith in me.” Ali cracked a small smile.

“Dean actually hates how easily I trust you. I’m just following my gut instinct. Uriel however, is a prick.”

“He is a bit overzealous. I’ll leave you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Can you stay? Just until Dean calls me when he’s back? I can’t be alone with Sam right now. We’ll just fight more, but I don’t want to be alone either.” Cas nodded his head and sat in silence with Ali, watching her with deep fascination as she disappeared into her own thoughts.

Then:

“Deaaaaaan c’mon! Let’s find something to do. I’m so bored and sick of looking at this room. Dad has been gone for 3 extra days.” Ali was begging for something to make the day pass.

“Al, we can’t. Dad will murder us...well me, if we leave the motel room. He gave very clear instructions. Whatever it is that he’s hunting has a thing for girls. And you blondie would be right on the list of its most wanted.” Ali flopped down on the bed in exasperation.

“I’m so sick of this life. I just want something normal. I want to have real friends. And go to parties and have a boyfriend. Maybe play a sport? I hate moving from town to town.” Ali rarely had a pity party, but today it was in full swing. John had taken Sam with him on the hunt and left Ali with Dean to keep her safe.

Dean knew she was anxious that John and Sam had been gone so long. Her cries for a normal life weren’t so much about herself but about the Winchester men being safe. Dean laid down next to her.“Ali, I’m sure that they’re fine. You know how these things go. Sometimes the hunt gets away from you. Dad can only guess how long it will take. He has no clue. I know it’s been a few days since he checked in, but that probably means he’s close and is focused.”

“What is something happened? I mean really, we can say nothing would happen to Dad, but he isn’t invincible. Sam definitely isn’t. And he’s been so reckless lately because he’s so unhappy. What if they don’t come back?” Dean took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. He knew he had to give her a real answer to set her mind at ease. Ali needed a plan to calm her anxieties. She had always been this way. As long as she had a game plan, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t take on.

“Then we would go to Bobby’s. We’d live there while you finished High School. Then we would decide what to do from there.”

“You would stay with me? You wouldn’t drop me off and then go off on your own?”

“Never. I will never just leave you like that. We’re a team. You, me and Sam. We stick together. And if something happened to Sam...then it’s you and me. I ain’t ever going to up and leave you like that. We stick together. Always.”

John and Sam had returned that night. Both were exhausted and John beaten up, but they were together again. True to his word, Dean never left her side until the day he was dragged off to Hell. Ali would gave thought Sam would have been the one to stick by her so loyally. She knew that things changed between the two of them the day she chose to stay behind with Dean and not follow Sam to California. Maybe it was unconscious, maybe it wasn't, but Sam never put her first again after that day.

Now:

Ali had gripped Dean’s arm just in time to be transported with him to wherever they were keeping Alastair. Ali looked through the small window on the door and saw Alastair chained up. Cas walked up to Ali and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“This devil's trap is old Enochian. He's bound completely.” Ali looked to Cas and studied his face. Her concern was matched by his. Dean was barely dealing with what he did in Hell. They couldn’t ask him to do this. It wasn’t right. She felt Cas’ fingers squeeze her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She had to give him credit for picking up on the social cues.

“Well that’s fascinating. Where’s the door?”. Dean turns away from the door.

“Where are you going?” Castiel’s question rang out as he grabbed Ali’s arm and pulled her with him.

“To hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much.“ Dean and Ali we’re stopped by Uriel as he stood in their way.

“Angels are dying, boy.” Ali scoffed and before she could respond, Dean did.

“Everybody's dying these days. And hey, I get it. You're all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want. But you can't make me do this.” Ali squeezed Dean’s hand to reassure him. She knew how unsettled this was making him. Castiel was next to speak.

“This is too much to ask, I...I know. But we have to ask it. Dean and Ali studies Castiel for a moment and then turned back to Uriel.

“We want to talk to Cas... alone.” Uriel looked Dean and Ali up and down and smirked.

“I think I'll go seek revelation. We might have some further orders. But there had better not be any interference by you, Alianna.” Uriel tried to intimidate Ali, but she stood her ground.

Dean rolled his eyes at Uriel’s attempt. “Well, get some donuts while you're out.” Uriel let out a laugh.

“Ah, this one just won't quit, will he? I think I'm starting to like you, boy.” Ali wandered back over to the glass window and stared at Alistair. Ali would love nothing more than to rip him apart herself. The demon that hurt her brother, her protector, so badly. She considered what Cas had said to her about being powerful and valuable. She wished she knew what he meant. He hadn’t offered any more insight. She felt anything but powerful. She felt weak and helpless. Dean’s voice pulled her out of her own thoughts.

”What's going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?” Ali had her arms wrapped around her body. She felt cold, but she was sure it wasn’t from the temperature.

Castiel cleared his throat before speaking. “My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.“

Ali and Dean gave each other a look. ”Your sympathies?”

”I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You and Ali. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.” Ali cocked her head to the right and considered what Cas was saying. Cas must have fought against this, risking himself for them.

”Well, tell Uriel, or whoever...you do not want me doing this, trust me.” Cas shook his head.

“Want it, no. But I have been told we need it.”

“You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.” Castiel sighed. He looked exhausted.

“For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.” Ali stepped foreword.

“Dean...this won’t be like hell. I’ll be right out here the entire time. I’ll be here to pull you back.” Dean stared at Ali, a little surprised she was okay with him doing it. “Dean...I believe in you. I believe you are so much better than you think you are. You are a good man. The very best that I’ve ever known. You’ve taken care of me for my entire life. If this could possibly help us, I don’t know, stop the seals from being opened, then we’ll find a way to put you back together again. I promise. I will stand by you no matter what.” Dean took a deep breath and exhaled. He kissed Ali on her forehead and turned towards the door.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Cas was sitting next to Ali as they waited and listened. Ali felt like she was going to throw up. She was hoping Dean could get them somewhere. Closer to finding Lilith and stopping her. Maybe if the two of them could do that, Sam would stop whatever it was he was doing with Ruby. Sam was more lost than ever. She felt like she was sacrificing Dean to save Sam, but she meant what she said to him. Dean was the very best man she had ever known. If anyone could pull through it was him.

She and Cas heard Alistair scream. Ali closed her eyes and clenched her jaw and grabbed for Cas’ hand. Cas stared at her wide eyed for a moment. He wasn’t used to physical contact or such strong emotions. Ali felt everything, deeply. She loved her brother and was feeling his pain at the moment. Cas was torn between telling her why she felt things this way and his orders. He was under strict instructions to tell her nothing. She was reaching out to him, the one who was putting her beloved brother through this, for comfort. He could at least give it to her.

He laced his fingers through hers. Her eyes snapped open and she studied his face. It surprised her to say the least. He tended to pull away when she showed strong emotions. He didn’t understand them and didn’t know how to respond. His face was filled with concern, that was unexpected.

“I’m sorry Alianna....for my part in this. I know you’re worried. And I know how important Dean is to you. I promise if this wasn't completely necessary I would have fought against it. Even still, I tried.” She offered Cas a sad smile.

“Don’t apologize. I encouraged him. I just want this to be over so I can get him out of here. Thank you for letting me be here and staying with me. Thank you for caring I know you don't understand human emotion, but Cas, you've shown more compassion than most people I've met. I appreciate that. And I appreciate how much you care about my brother...and me.” Before Cas could respond they heard more groans and screams from Alastair.

Castiel was confused at how her words had impacted him. She and Dean were important to him. He didn't understand what was happening and what was changing within him. Suddenly, the lights started flickering and Ali and Cas moved apart as the bulb exploded and Anna appeared behind Castiel.

"Anna." Castiel was cordial, but his greeting was still strained. Anna gave Ali a small smile.

"Hello Castiel" As Cas turned to face Anna he was overcome by shock at her appearance.

"Your human body-" Anna interrupted him before he could finish.

"It was destroyed, I know. But I guess I'm sentimental."

"You shouldn't be here Anna. We still have orders to kill you." Ali let out a sigh of frustration. She had no interest in listening to Angel politics. Alastair's screams grew louder. Ali held her face in her hands. She just wanted this to be over. She wanted their lives back. She longed for the days that a rogue Wendigo was the worst thing they had to worry about.

Her interest was piqued back to the Angels when she heard Anna question if torturing was God's work. Ali's face scrunched in confusion when Anna mentioned ruining the one real weapon they had. Was Dean a weapon to them? Even with how Cas had been, were they really just pawns to him in the end? Ali stood and started pacing, her mind running in circles. Castiel was still towing the company line while Anna refused to believe that torture and violence was God's will. Ali started really listening again.

"The father you love. You think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?" Anna was angry almost, and Cas wouldn't look at her. "What you're feeling, it's called doubt!" Ali could understand why this was so hard for Cas. She knew what it was like to doubt your own father, it was a horrible feeling, but there comes a point in time where you have to think for yourself.

Ali felt her stomach churn at another round of screams from Alastair. "These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can still..." Anna was holding Cas' hand while she spoke. Ali watched as he yanked his hand from her's.

"I am NOTHING like you. You FELL. Go." Anna tried to get him to listen to her further, but he wouldn't and as quickly as she was there, she was gone. Ali considered what Anna had said for a moment and then steeled herself to look in on Dean and what Alastair's condition was, but she was shocked at what she saw. "Oh my God...CAS!!" her voice came out in anguish.

Alastair was out of the Enochian trap and was attacking Dean. Wide eyed, Cas quickly went to Dean's aid, in a blink of her eye, Cas was standing behind Alastair with Ruby's knife. She watched as Alastair dropped her brother to go after Cas. She covered her mouth in horror as the knife barely made a dent into Alastair and rushed into the room to check on Dean as Alastair and Cas continued to fight.

"Dean...Dean! Please wake up." She cried. She never should have pushed him to do this. She should have made Cas bring them back to Sam after Uriel left. Hot tears fell down her cheeks. She looked up when she heard Alastair chanting and cried out for Cas as his eyes and mouth started to glow blue and then suddenly Alastair stopped. Her horror continued as she laid eyes on Sam, with his one hand raised as he flung Alastair to the wall. She watched as Cas slid to the ground, but she didn't dare leave Dean's side, who was still unconscious. Her shock continued as she witnessed how powerful Sam had become. Sam glanced over at Ali and Dean before he started his interrogation.

"Who is murdering the Angels? How are they doing it?" His voice was demanding. Alastair tried to resist Sam, but with a simple twist of his hand, Alastair's eyes had gone white and he was choking. "HOW ARE THE DEMONS KILLING ANGELS?" For the first time in her life, Ali was terrified of her brother. She had never seen him so angry or so dangerous.

"I don't know!" Alastair cried. "It's not us. We're not doing it!" Sam scoffed at the Demon. "Lilith is not behind this. She wouldn't kill 7 angels. She'd kill a hundred, or a thousand. Oh go ahead, send me back if you can." Alastair stupidly challenged her brother. Sam more than accepted his challenge and Ali watched as the life drained out of Alastair's body.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Not long after Sam had killed Alastair, Ali found herself sitting by Dean's bedside in a local hospital. She had no idea what lies Sam had told the staff, but she was sure it was a good one. Dean was bandaged up, with a tube helping him breath and an IV drip. She knew Sam was blaming Cas and trying to force him to heal Dean. Ali blamed herself too. She told Sam it was just as much her fault as it was Cas & Uriel's fault, but he wouldn't hear any of it.

Ali held onto Dean's hand, willing him to wake up. Desperately wanting him to open his eyes and make some stupid remark or disgusting joke to her. She wanted him to tell her he forgave her for pushing him. She jumped when she felt Sam's hand on her shoulder. She no longer saw the ruthless killer that had ended Alastair, but her sweet brother who was filled with compassion.

"He'll be okay Ali. I promise he'll be okay."

"Will he? Because he's going to lose his mind when he finds out what happened. Sammy...how did you do that? How were you able to not exorcise Alastair...but actually kill him?!"

There was a shrillness in her voice. The tone came out when she was in full panic mode.Sam didn't know how to tell her. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment and disgust in her eyes.

"We'll talk about it later." Ali didn't argue with him. She didn't want to fight with him anymore. She just wanted things to go back to normal, or to whatever was normal for the Winchester children.

"Sam?"

"Yeah Al?"

"I just want you to know that I forgive you...for everything. It was hard for both of us, Dean being gone. We didn't handle it gracefully. I don't want to fight with you. We have a big enough fight coming our way, we don't need to be fighting each other too." Sam sat down next to Ali and took her free hand in his and the two waited for their big brother to wake up.

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years ago

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Others Like Me Chapter 13: The Cell

Chapters 1 - 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Read It On AO3

Her hair is shorter. It reaches only to her mid-back now, and it’s layered. He likes it. It’s a softer look, with a bedhead messiness to it that suits her. It really works with the blonde patch. She sees him immediately, and freezes. Because the other Barnes is standing next to him, there’s no moment when she thinks Bucky is him with different hair. Marya knows instantly that Bucky is… someone else.

She’s shocked, that much is clear. Her face registers her confusion and Bucky thinks there’s a little bit of anger to it.

“Marya, come with me,” Clint says, taking her arms and trying to herd her into the kitchen. She doesn’t budge. It’s as though she’s suddenly made of something with an atomic weight somewhere near uranium. Clint even tries to push her along, but she’s not moving.

“C’mon, Marya,” he wheedles. “You don’t wanna be here right now.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge Clint, just keeps boring holes into Bucky with her eyes.

“Seriously, kiddo,” Tony says softly. “You don’t want any of this.”

Marya steps around Clint, who gives up trying to restrain her. She comes to stand next to Tony.

Bucky starts to stand up himself, only to feel the other Barnes lay a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Uh-uh,” he says, his tone a warning.

Bucky knows his mouth is half-smiling, half hanging open, and he’s blinking like an owl to clear the tears welling in his eyes so he can see Marya clearly. He’s probably never looked like more of an idiot, and he couldn’t care less.

“Marya…” It’s something between a sigh and a prayer.

She stares at him, her distrust and distress coming at him like something physical.

Tony puts an arm around her shoulders and has to use more than a little muscle to turn her away from Bucky. “Go with Clint,” he says softly to her, as though she is a child.

The way she looks up at him is almost a plea. “What is happening?” She breathes.

“I’ll tell you everything. Just go with Clint for now.”

Bucky watches Marya consider that. He’s always loved that she’s an open book. Now more than ever, because he can see that she’s as intrigued as she is disturbed by him. And he knows, before she does it, that she’s going to object.

“No,” she answers quietly, and steps out from under Tony’s arm. “I want to know who this man is.”

Tony waits a beat, probably deciding whether to insist she leave, then seems to admit defeat on some level. “He says he’s Barnes, from your universe.”

Her body doesn’t move, though her eyes turn to Bucky. She takes him in for a very long time, her expression of troubled concern unchanged. Bucky starts to feel like a butterfly pinned for inspection inside a glass case. “I swear to you, Marya, it’s me. Let me prove it. Ask me anything, do whatever tests-“

Barnes’ left hand is still on Bucky’s shoulder, and he squeezes painfully as he growls, “Shut up.”

Marya looks up at Tony, who is still standing very near her. “Is he?”

There are more emotions in those two syllables, and her face as she says them, than Bucky can possibly sort out. But he’s only interested in one. Longing. And he hears it loud and clear.

“No,” Tony answers definitively, still in that soothing voice suited to someone who’s just awakened from a nightmare. “That’s why you shouldn’t be here. We don’t know what he’s up to, but it seems like a good idea to keep him away from you.”

She looks back at Bucky, then up at Tony. “Is that an order, Sir?”

Tony frowns and purses his lips for a second before answering on a sigh, “Yeah, I think it is. Sorry.”

Marya nods once and, with another long, searching look at Bucky, turns to leave the room. Clint follows her. She casts a last glance at Bucky just before passing through the doorway into the kitchen.

“I’m not gonna hurt you! I’d never hurt you-“ Bucky calls after her, but she’s gone.

Bucky’s left staring after her. Marya. His Marya. He’s a little ashamed of himself. Not a very dignified or profound reunion, him just sitting there, slack-jawed and gawking. He sounded whiny, too. Fuck. Then he remembers he hadn’t been at his best when they’d first met, either. He’s actually a little glad about that now. Glad he’d set her expectations low from the start.

*****

They don’t hurt him. In fact, he meets this universe’s Bruce Banner when they insist Bucky let him examine his injuries, just to make sure he’s healing well. That’s a bizarre meeting. When he tells Bruce that, in his universe, Bruce has merged with the Hulk and is now an enormous, green, glasses-wearing dork, Bruce looks at him like… well, like Bucky had looked at Professor Hulk.

Aside from some fading bruises and residual pain in his right elbow, he’s as good as new. Bruce’s scans show that his broken leg and internal injuries can be detected only by the still-healing scars where they’d been.

The Avengers then spend several hours asking him a shitload of questions, which he answers honestly and completely. Why wouldn’t he? But they never react to his answers, just ask more questions, and they never give him information in return. One of the few things he learns, to his dismay, is that this universe’s James Barnes, when he uses a first name at all, goes by Jim. Bucky shivers in disgust. Jim. The only name he hates worse than James. Aside from that painful bit of intel, though, the questioning is calm and civil. They listen attentively, ask him frequently if he wants a break, and make sure he’s comfortable.

But they don’t believe him. In the end, Tony agrees to study the switch, although Bucky is well aware that isn’t really a victory. Tony’s so damned insatiably curious, studying the switch was a given. Beyond that, they call bullshit on every part of his story and, when they get tired of interrogating him, they put him in what they call his quarters, although among themselves, it’s more commonly referred to as the brig.

It’s not bad, for a jail cell. The main room is comfortably furnished and there’s a computer, books, movies and TV, food, a separate sleeping room and bathroom. But one wall of the main room is some kind of clear barrier. On the other side, there’s an antechamber or whatever you want to call it, where the Avengers can come and see their prisoner. Bucky feels like a fucking diorama. Human Male in his Natural Habitat. The barrier’s shatterproof (he knew it would be, but he didn’t want to disappoint them by not testing it), but he can hear through it when they push a button. There’s no clear wall in the bedroom or bathroom, but there is also no attempt to conceal the multiple cameras in those rooms, either.

Bucky lays back on his bed, an arm behind his head and the other hand on his stomach. He sighs deeply, staring at the ceiling and thinking increasingly dark thoughts. He tries to stop himself, but his mind has been a black cave for a long time now, and that’s not going to change in a few hours here.

They’ve told him nothing. He’s tried every way he knows how to learn more about them, but they’re nothing if not single-minded. He’s tired and he’s a little discouraged. He knows that’s ridiculous; he found the Avengers and Marya with no trouble at all in this new universe and they didn’t kill him or tell him to fuck off. OK, so he’s a prisoner right now, but he’d kind of expected that. He knows they won’t hurt him. All in all, this first day’s been a stunning success he had no right to expect. But he’s still upset. He only got that one short glimpse of Marya, and knowing she’s right here, in this same building right now, is making him crazy. He also wants to spend more time with Tony and Natasha, and even Clint. Clint’s not dead in Bucky’s universe, but he’s still gone, and it’s still been just as long since Bucky’s seen him.

He thinks about Steve. Wonders whether Steve will ever know he’s gone, and if he does, whether he’ll care that, time travel or not, Bucky’s beyond his reach now. He wonders where this universe’s Steve is.

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that he hasn’t met him yet. He’s been more than half-expecting to see Steve again, even a different Steve, and he wonders whether he’s disappointed that he hasn’t yet. Probably. That would be just like his masochistic ass. Still fucking whipped two years after the lying asshole dumped him for a chick he hasn’t seen in eighty years.

One of the cameras moves. They’re encased in darkened bubbles, but he has supersoldier hearing. He doesn’t have to see the cameras to know when they’re moving. Someone is watching him. He wonders if it’s Marya.

After a fairly short time, Bucky dozes and then falls fully asleep. He’s still using a lot of energy to heal, and the questioning has taken a lot out of him, not to mention the emotional strain of seeing Tony and Natasha again, breathing and laughing and giving each other shit.

It is Marya watching him, although he can’t know that, and she watches for a very long time. She’s disobeying orders; Tony told Jarvis to block her feed from the brig. But Marya has an affinity for tech and Jarvis is pragmatic, so when she began to hack into the feed, Jarvis relented. She would have succeeded, anyway, and this way Jarvis doesn’t have to repair any damage.

Marya doesn’t want to be protected. She wants to know.

*****

It’s two days before anyone comes to see Bucky. Jarvis apologizes to him on Sir’s behalf, but he and the other residents of the Tower are “unavailable” and will be back to see him as soon as possible. Bucky knows quite well what that means; no one knows better than he does what it sounds like when a Quinjet takes off from the landing platform on the Tower. But he’s not confined to his cell. He tells Jarvis he wants exercise, and Jarvis quite politely unlocks the door and instructs him how to get to a well-appointed gym two floors below.

Bucky, of course, tries everything he can think of to escape, but Jarvis – unfailingly courteous – simply tells him “That’s the incorrect door” or “The gym is in the opposite direction” whenever he deviates from the prescribed route. He knows now how gerbils feel in those habitats connected by plastic tubes.

He knows this gym. The Avengers in his universe have the Compound upstate now, but he’s seen this gym from the days when they lived in the Tower. Tony’s guests at the Tower use it now. Or they did, when Tony was alive. Bucky honestly doesn’t know who uses it now, if anyone.

It’s a long two days. Not that Bucky’s living any differently than he used to. Holy shit, he’s become a pathetic, depressed hermit, he thinks. But now that he’s here, and so are Marya and the friends he’d lost in his universe, he wants to be with them. He wants them to come and interrogate him, or test him, or do whatever it is they need to so that he can prove he is who he says he is.

If he’s honest with himself, he also kind of wishes he was with them for whatever mission they’re on. He’d give anything to fight beside Nat and Ironman again. Clint and the Hulk, too, for that matter. It isn’t that he dislikes the new Avengers who came after they were gone. It just isn’t the same. And why hasn’t Bucky met Steve in this universe? He must be here, right? Surely, if the Avengers are on a mission, Captain America is with them?

Bucky spends much of the two days they’re gone doing more research. Now that he knows that the Avengers do, in fact, exist in this universe, he can only assume that they keep their existence secret. He wonders what that’s about.

Once he begins looking, he finds the Avengers readily enough online. Not by name, and never directly. But it’s obvious to someone who knows what they’re looking for. News story after news story talks about improbable local heroes achieving superhuman feats that no one can really believe. The evidence is always there, but every one of these stories has an element of head-scratching about how the alleged heroes could possibly have done whatever it is they’re supposed to have done. Some of the stories flat-out deny that they did. And there are a few web sites, here and there, where amongst the stories about the moon landing being fake and the Secretary General of the U.N. being an alien, there are mentions of a top-secret group of superheroes out fighting terrorists.

It’s always terrorists. The Chitauri invasion doesn’t appear to have happened in this universe, nor are there mentions of caped and nicknamed supervillains, or Asgardian gods. But there is a shocking amount of terrorist activity here. There are others, but the big terrorist threat seems to be the Ten Rings, which Bucky knows is the group that abducted and tortured Tony Stark in his universe. Bucky wonders. Is it a coincidence that Stark Industries is still making weapons, and the Ten Rings is still active?

Bucky Googles Obadiah Stane. Nope. Doesn’t exist here. Hmmm. Curious.

*****

Tony’s somewhat the worse for wear when he shows up in Bucky’s cell on the morning after the team returns. He’s got a black eye with a cut under it, bandage strips over some stitches on his nose, and his left arm’s in a sling. He’s also limping. Natasha looks a little better, but she, too, has cuts and bruises and a cast on her right wrist. Clint’s OK. He’s sporting a few bruises, but seems fine.

Bucky’s happy to see that Sam Wilson is with them, too. He and Sam have never really been friends, but it’s still good to know that Sam is with the Avengers in this universe. He looks good. In fact, if he took part in the mission they’ve just returned from, you can’t tell it by looking at him. Bucky can’t see any injuries on him at all.

Still no Steve. Bucky decides he’s going to get at least one answer today.

The group stops outside the transparent wall of Bucky’s cell. There’s a two-person catering crew behind them, flanking a rolling cart that looks like it might be breakfast. Tony knocks on the barrier with one knuckle, a smirk on his face. “Can we come in? We brought food.”

Bucky shrugs from where he’s standing in front of the open refrigerator in his little kitchen area, drinking orange juice from the bottle. The door buzzes and opens with a loud series of clicks, and Tony and Natasha enter.

“You’re not gonna make me hold a weapon on you to make sure the caterers are safe, are you?” Natasha drawls.

“Not if they have coffee.”

Sam and Clint follow the caterers through the door. While the caterers set up at the good-sized table in the room, Sam saunters over to Bucky and holds out a hand. Bucky shakes it.

“Sam Wilson,” he says.

“I know. We have one in my universe, too.”

Sam smiles. “He as good lookin’ as me?”

“Exactly as good looking, as a matter of fact,” Bucky grins back.

Sam gives him an appraising look. “Not sure about the hair, man. There’s an awful lot of it.”

“Yeah, your Barnes is apparently more dedicated to grooming than I am.”

“Bullshit,” Sam laughs. “It ain’t that hard to get a haircut. You get off on your flowing tresses. You’re as conceited as he is.”

Bucky’s surprised. This Sam is not only nicer than his, but also seems to be much more at ease with Bucky than the rest of these Avengers.

When the table is set and the caterers have gone, the group sits down to one of the best breakfasts Bucky’s ever had. Almost like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be hanging out in a cell, eating Eggs Benedict with the prisoner.

“I have a question,” Bucky announces before any substantive conversation can begin. “And don’t say ‘we’re asking the questions here,’ because I know that. I plan on answering whatever you ask, like I been doin’. But I gotta know. Where’s Captain America?”

The other three at the table exchange glances, and Natasha gives a slight shrug, upon which Tony answers, “He has some things he needs to take care of this morning. Are you that fond of your own face?”

“Told you. Conceited,” Sam grins at Bucky.

Bucky frowns. “No. Captain America. Steve. Steve Rogers.”

There’s another of those stunned reactions they can’t quite hide.

“Who’s that?” Clint asks. The others do a very good job of pretending nonchalance. Just not good enough to fool someone with Bucky’s skills.

“Don’t bother. I can see you know who I’m talking about. Steve Rogers. Tall, blond, stubborn as a statue of a bull?”

There’s no answer. No verbal answer, anyway. But Bucky’s trained eye sees the answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

There’s a round of glances between those at the table, except for Sam. Sam meets Bucky’s eyes squarely. “A year ago now.”

“Sam!”

“Come the fuck on, Tony, he knows. We really gonna sit here and waste time and energy bullshitting? And then expect him to be straight with us?”

“You saying you believe him?” Tony asks, a clear challenge in his eyes.

“I ain’t sayin’ he’s Barnes from another universe. But, whoever he is, he knows about Captain America and Steve Rogers. And he knows a bunch of other shit we’re gonna have to figure out how to deal with. Anyway, no point tryna hide this. Ain’t like Steve’s comin’ back, is it?” Sam snarls.

Bucky has learned some things from Sam’s reaction and the looks on the faces of the others at the table. First, they disagree about what, if anything, to tell Bucky. And second, whatever happened to their Steve, they’re all still trying to come to terms with it.

“Tell me,” Bucky asks, as sympathetically as he can. “Please.”

“I thought Steve Rogers was supposed to be your one true love in the other universe,” Tony sneers, and Bucky knows the feelings he’s taking out on Bucky actually have nothing to do with him. “You really want to hear how he died?”

“Tony…” Natasha says gently.

“Or maybe you do. He’s supposed to have gone back in time, left you for some lady spy, right?”

“Tony. Enough.”

Tony blows out his breath and glares at Natasha, but doesn’t say anything more.

Bucky takes a few breaths, considering. “You’re right. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Doesn’t really matter, anyway,” Sam sighs. “He’s gone. Died savin’ a whole shitload of people, not that anyone will ever get to fucking know that.”

“We are not getting into that this morning…” Clint warns.

For a few moments, everyone eats in silence, occupied with their own thoughts. Bucky’s head is reeling. There’s a lot to parse in the short exchange he’s just heard. But most of it is just facts. The thing that’s keeping him from pursuing any of them right now is the deep, searing pain he feels at learning that Steve is dead. Granted, he wasn’t Bucky’s Steve. Bucky never even met him. But the idea of Steve Rogers dead in any universe tears a path right through Bucky’s guts. Fuck. Sometimes he wishes he’d never met Steve.

“Well,” Natasha finally says. “Hope you enjoyed that delightful peek at our dirty laundry. I’m sure your handlers will have a field day with all that.”

“I don’t have handlers. I’m not a spy, not here to make trouble, not here to out you guys-“

“No, you’re just a poor, sad fuck tryna cure your broken heart by looking up an old girlfriend in an alternate universe,” Tony mutters. “We know.”

Sam rolls his eyes, tossing his linen napkin onto his plate, but says nothing.

Bucky decides to push his luck. They seem tired this morning, and given what he’s seeing, they don’t seem to be in the mood for the unified approach they’d used on him before. “Speaking of Marya, how is she? Did she go on the mission with you? She’s not hurt?”

“What mission?” Clint asks. “Who says we went on a mission?”

Bucky hadn’t tripped to it when he’d spoken earlier, but Clint’s tone as he asks these questions is telling. He apparently agrees with Sam about answering Bucky’s questions. He isn’t even trying to hide his sarcasm, which is aimed at Tony.

Now it’s Clint on whom Natasha uses her disappointed teacher tone. “Clint.”

She turns to Bucky. “Marya is fine. She’s not hurt.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says sincerely. “One more thing, and all the rest of the questions are yours. You said Captain America had things to do this morning. And then you said something about my face. Are you telling me that…”

“Jim Barnes is Captain America now,” Sam confirms, a little sadly, a little proudly.

Even though he suspected this from Tony’s comment, Bucky’s dumbstruck. In this universe, Steve is dead and Bucky is Captain America. He knows how he feels about the first. It’s gonna take him a while to wrap his mind around the second.

The Avengers around the table appear to recognize that, because they give Bucky some time to let the news sink in. After a while, Natasha steers the conversation gently to business. “Why don’t you tell me why you think we were on a mission.”

“I know what a Quinjet sounds like when it lifts off from the roof here. You left in a hurry, and you came back beat up. You’re all tired.” Bucky shrugs. “Mission.”

Natasha doesn’t react. He doesn’t expect her to. None of them react to any answers he gives, except the few times he’s surprised them into it, and even then, their reactions are extremely subtle. She just goes on to the next question.

The questioning goes on well into the afternoon. Nobody remembers lunch. When they finally decide to call it a day, they all stretch painfully. They’re all stiff from sitting, and Tony and Natasha are also stiff and sore from whatever had happened on their mission.

“Jarvis let me use the gym,” Bucky says. “Do you think I could do that again?”

The Avengers look at one another. No words are spoken, but after a moment, Tony throws up his hands. “What the fuck ever,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like he can go anywhere.”

*****

Bucky’s exhausted again. The workout felt good – great, even – but answering all those questions was grueling and his mind is swirling with all the new information he’s trying to process. He stands in the steamy bathroom, toweling off his hair, his mind racing over convoluted tracks he’s trying to make lead somewhere that makes sense.

He hears a knock, presumably on the clear barrier wall in the main room of this gerbil habitat he’s in. He finds it amusing that they’re so polite about entering what is, for all intents and purposes, a cell, when he’s their prisoner. He wonders whether that says good things about his chances of convincing them he’s really Bucky Barnes.

He pads out to the main room, barefoot and wearing nothing but soft, blue sleep pants. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Marya standing on the other side of the barrier, frowning and looking deeply unsure of herself. For a moment, they just look at one another. Then Bucky sees her eyes flick over him, and realizes he isn’t wearing a shirt. Given the intensely sexual nature of their former relationship, it’s probably an odd reflex, but Bucky feels like he’s been caught out. He mutters, “Just a minute,” and goes into the bedroom to grab the first T-shirt he sees. He throws it on, drops the towel on the floor and returns to the main room.

She hasn’t moved.

“Do you… want to come in?” He asks.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Her voice is small, uncertain. She’s staring at him intently, gulping in the sight of him, exactly the way he thinks he’s probably looking at her. She looks as concerned and suspicious as she did when he saw her the other night, and she’s agitated, like she’s fighting herself not to flee the room. But she can’t take her eyes off of him.

Neither one of them say anything for a long time. Bucky moves to within a few feet of the barrier and simply waits. For the moment, just being able to gorge his eyes on her is enough, and God knows he doesn’t want to do anything that might make her want to leave.

She’s still indulging herself, gaping at him almost without blinking and certainly without looking away even for an instant, when she says, “Your hair is long.”

“Yeah,” he grins a little, pulling at it. “Lazy, I guess.”

She gives a very slight shake of her head. “Unhappy.”

For a second, he’s taken aback. But only for a second. This is Marya. There is no filter. She misses nothing, and what she thinks is what she says. He’s actually glad for the barrier right this second. Without it, he would not have been able to resist throwing his arms around her and crushing her to him.

“Yeah. Probably. And you? Have you been happy?”

She thinks about that for a moment. “It’s been difficult. But this is a good place. These are good people. Yes, mostly I’m happy.”

Bucky can’t help it. He can see she’s uncomfortable, and he knows she’s probably not ready to hear it, maybe doesn’t even want to hear it, but he’s be standing here, looking right at Marya, alive and just a few feet away. He’s completely unable to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions he feels. “I missed you, Marya. I’ll never be able to tell you how much I’ve missed you. All this time, I’ve thought you were dead, and now we’re standing here. I don’t know how to tell you how good it is to see you. To know you’re really alive, and safe. It means everything to me.”

Bucky can see that what he’s said causes more struggle for her, in her expression and in the way she can’t seem to stand still, like she’s fighting to keep back from the barrier.

“You say that you are my Sergeant. From the other universe.”

“I am, Marya. Test me any way you need to. I’m telling the truth.”

“They say that’s probably impossible. That’s why I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Because you want it to be true?” Bucky’s fishing for some validation here. He knows it, knows it’s kind of pathetic, and doesn’t care. Marya’s all that’s left for him now, so what the hell. Pride’s overrated, anyway.

He doesn’t get quite what he’s looking for. Instead, he’s surprised by her flash of anger as she steps forward toward the barrier. “Of course I want it to be true,” she spits. “That’s no admission. If you are him, you know that. And if you are not him, it’s still no secret, and you are obviously using that as your reason for being here.”

“I am him. Me. I swear to you, Marya.”

“If you are, then I’m sorry for what we’re doing to you. I’m sorry for doubting you.” She takes another step toward the barrier and there’s a hard glitter in her eyes. “If you are not, I will be the one who kills you.”

Bucky blinks. “Uh… I guess that’s fair.”

“There are only a few people I love, Serg- whoever you are. And my Sergeant most of all. So if you are using him to do something that will hurt these people, or anyone else? If you are claiming to be him for any reason, and you are not… I have done a lot of bad things. Killing someone who would dishonor my Sergeant in that way will be easy. Even if that person does look like him.”

“You won’t have to do that. I promise you, I’m the Sergeant Barnes you knew. Let me prove that to you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Any way you need to.”

“We keep coming back to this. There is no way. I wish with all my heart there was. It’s why they don’t want me to see you. They’re afraid you will be able to convince me to believe you because I want to so badly. They think that’s why you chose to claim you’re my Sergeant. It’s a problem. They fight about you a lot.”

There’s not much he can say to that. She just stands, watching and studying him like she’s maybe going to have to describe him to a police sketch artist later.

“I’ve spent time with your brothers and sisters, with Dmitriy. They’re doing so well, Marya-“

A flicker of something crosses her face. “Who is Dmitriy?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. The Troops. They have a Compound now, in Spain, and the first thing they did was get rid of those damn numbers and choose names. Your brother, who they called Desit’? He chose Dmitriy.”

“Dmitriy,” she repeats, and he can see her resist the smile that wants to be born.

“He’s well, Marya. They made him their leader. He’s strong, and happy. They all are, they-“

“I don’t want you to talk about them,” she says, her inherent politeness covering the fact that it was, in fact, a command.

Bucky freezes like she’s slapped him.

“I’m sorry if you truly are my Sergeant. I would never want to hurt him. But the others tell me that I shouldn’t believe you are him. And if you are not, then I don’t want you to talk about my brothers and sisters.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I can understand that. Do they exist here? Have you found them here?”

“It was the first thing I did after I found Mr. Stark. I’m not sure he really believes me, where I came from, but I gave him the switch, and he took me in. When I told him about my brothers and sisters, he helped me look for them. But they don’t exist. Hydra… none of that happened here. So there were no Troops.”

“But… your family? They might exist here.”

“Yes. They might. But I don’t know my name, or where I come from. There’s no way to find them, and what would I say to them, if I did?”

Bucky takes a step toward the barrier. “I’m sorry, Marya.”

She looks up through eyes full of pain. “As long as there is no Hydra and no Troops, I’m satisfied.”

They look at each other for a few moments before she says quietly, “I should not have told you that. I’m not supposed to tell you anything. I shouldn’t even be here, but I…”

“Tell me,” Bucky urges.

“I just… wanted to see.” Marya backs up a couple steps, the uncertainty that has never left her face redoubling. “I am not supposed to be here,” she says again.

“But you are here. I think it’s because you’re curious. You’ve always been curious about everything. You can ask me anything, Marya. I’ll answer.”

She narrows her eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Because I…” Bucky hesitates, his eyebrows knitting as he tries to find the words to explain. “I was unhappy. You were right. For a while, I was happy, very happy, but then some terrible things happened and it… did something to Steve. He-“

The change in Marya is as complete as it is sudden. Her face hardens and she steps further back from the barrier.

“So you are going to tell me that lie, too.” Her voice is hard in a way he’s only heard once before, when she was preparing to help the Avengers liberate the Hydra bunker in Siberia.

“I… Steve was… What?”

“It’s the flaw in your story, you know.”

“It’s what happened.”

“You should know that I knew Captain Rogers. I knew him in my universe, and in this one, too. You won’t make anyone believe that he would ever willingly leave Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s laugh is harsh, ugly. Full of pain and anger and razor blades and gravel. “Yeah. I have a hard time with that one, myself.”

Marya turns to leave, apparently having satisfied whatever it was she came here for.

“Please, don’t go,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, almost as if to banish the well-worn series of thoughts that are lined up, ready to punish him. Again.

“Please, Marya. Stay. Talk to me. I’ve missed you so much, and I came here to find you.”

She stops and turns slowly back around. She doesn’t voice whatever it is she’s holding back from saying, though. Instead, she says, “Then don’t tell me lies.”

“I’m not lying. But if you don’t believe me about that, then ask me something else. Just please. Stay.”

“All right, then.” She’s still angry, but the conflict is also still there. She knows she should go, but she wants to stay. “Why now? I have been here for years, and you said that Captain Rogers left a long time ago. Why did you come here now?”

Bucky sighs. “Tony didn’t tell me about the switch for a long time, and when he tried, I wouldn’t listen.”

“Why?”

“Because he…” Bucky has to think about that for a minute, wondering how to explain the careening shit show of events, emotions and motivations that led to his decision to follow Marya to this universe. “Tony buried himself in guilt about letting you set off that bomb. He was kind of a trainwreck anyway, and that… That one was tough on him. He loved you, you know.”

Marya doesn’t respond. It’s almost painful, watching her try to figure out how to feel about all of that. Bucky gets it. She would feel all kinds of things about that, if it was true. If Bucky was really who he says he is. She can’t help feeling them, anyway, even though she doesn’t believe him.

“I don’t think he could convince himself it worked. I think that’s why he kept it to himself for so long; he didn’t want to give us hope when he didn’t think there was any. But he got drunk one night and he tried to tell me. I didn’t want to hear it; he was babbling about a switch, and you, and I just shut him down because I knew what a mess he was.” Bucky shakes his head and his voice goes soft. “Actually, it wasn’t just that. It hurt to hear about you. I didn’t want any false hope. Tony wasn’t the only one who had a hard time with your death.”

Marya nods sadly. “It was hard for me, too. I was alive, but everyone I loved… I was angry with him for a while. It makes no sense, but…”

“Of course it does,” Bucky says, and he’s now close enough to the barrier to touch it. He doesn’t, but he wonders. If he flattened his hand on it, would she put hers up to his? The only thing that stops him is the fear that she wouldn’t. “Anyway, after… everything, I tried to keep going, but it all kind of went to shit. Finally, I decided I couldn’t stay in New York anymore, and I went to Tony’s lab, to look for somewhere else to go. And then I remembered him trying to tell me about the switch, and I decided to try to find you.”

“Mr. Stark wasn’t sure the switch worked. Why were you?”

Bucky remains silent, frowning as he tries to think how to respond. Well, she asked him not to lie to her. “I wasn’t, Marya. I really didn’t care whether it worked or not.”

She understands what he’s telling her, and this time, she simply can’t control her reaction. Tears spring to her eyes and she steps close to the barrier. Bucky sees her eyes go to the door of his cell, but she restrains herself, with evident difficulty, from going to it. After a moment’s struggle, she simply whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky doesn’t have anything to say to that.

She looks at small screen at her wrist. “I have to go.”

“Will you be in trouble for coming here?” He asks.

“They won’t know unless you tell them. I’m running a program that shows you sleeping. That is what anyone who checks will see.”

Bucky grins. “So you’ve been planning this. You wanted to see me.”

“We’ve covered that. Don’t congratulate yourself.”

“Can’t help it. I’m a little starved for affection these days. The fact that you wanted to see me, even if I’m not really me, I’m holdin’ onto that.”

He sees right away that something about that has hit a nerve with her. Her eyes go wide for a moment and her mouth quirks. She again looks like she might step toward the door. But, in the next second, Bucky watches her ruthlessly crush that impulse, and whatever emotion spurred it.

“Good night,” she says, taking a step backward. She takes another one. Then she turns and walks from the room.

“Good night, Marya,” Bucky whispers, and the words taste wonderful on his tongue.

#The Avengers #Captain America #The Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #Sebastian Stan #Ironman #Robert Downey Jr.#Sam Wilson #Clint Barton #Natasha Romanoff

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

not beyond repair (8/?)

AO3

Veronica can’t deny her nerves as she pushes the gate of Westerberg High open on Monday morning. She hadn’t heard from JD for the rest of the weekend, a niggling voice in the back of her head telling her not to call him as she sat on her bed next to her phone, nervously picking at her nail, caught between giving him space and wanting him to know that he’s not alone. Apparently she picked the former and as she looks down at her destroyed nails on her right hand, she hopes she picked the right one. The yard is already alive with students, freshmen running around the place, one group using their backpack as a football, enjoying the rare late October sunshine before it’s gone completely, and inside is even more so. Despite the promise she and JD weaselled out of Kurt and Ram, she still pulls her coat a little tighter around herself as the hairs on her arms prick up. Even with their turned backs, she feels like everyone has their eyes on her, the word “slut” painted on her back in bright red. The irony of that image is not lost on her.

“Hey, Veronica,” the soft voice of her best friend greets next to her. Martha slides up to her, her brown hair pulled back in a braid and a gentle, excited smile that still warms Veronica’s heart on her face. There’s a gleam in her eyes too, the kind that promises exciting news.

“Hey,” Veronica replies, falling into step beside her.

“Did you hear?” Martha asks.

“Hear what?” she says, feeling slightly more cautious now. Kurt and Ram would never tell anyone-not even their dads, especially not their dads-about what she and JD did. Being a snitch is only slightly better than being a slut.

“Ram’s going around telling everything he and Kurt lied about the threeway,” she says, almost squealing in excitement. “That you didn’t do anything with them.”

“They are?” Veronica asks, looking around her. People don’t stop to talk to her, but no one did since before she was a Heather. No one is casting judgemental, disgusted glances at her, and there’s definitely no secret sniggering behind her back. She lets out a small laugh, feeling relief wash over her. “Thank god for that.”

“I knew it,” she says proudly. “I knew Ram would come through eventually. See, I told you he’s not so bad.” Veronica bites her tongue, smiling and nodding as Martha tells her about Ram’s so called ‘good heart’, listens politely as she tells her how his tough jock thing is an act he puts up for everyone, that he just wants people to like him. ‘If he wants people to like him, maybe he shouldn’t lie about who he’s slept with’ crosses Veronica’s mind, but she bites it back. She’s already broken Martha’s heart once. And besides, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. It’s hurting her, given how much she’s biting down on her tongue, but that’s not really important.

When she feels someone coming up behind her and the brief touch of a finger against her hand, she has to hold back the urge to sigh in relief, even though it comes with the tell-tale prickle of nerves down her back.

“Hey,” she greets, turning her head slightly to see JD beside her. To her comfort, he looks a lot calmer than he did on Saturday, his eyes clearer and his smile bright as he looks at her.

“Hey yourself,” he says gently. His head moves just a fraction of an inch-most likely to press a kiss to her forehead or maybe her lips if he was feeling bold enough- before he looks over at Martha, registering her friend’s presence. “Hi, Martha.”

“Hey,” she replies, toying with the ends of her braid. “How was your weekend? You two hung out right?”

“Yeah,” he answers, looking to Veronica for help. “We just uh-”

“Grabbed dinner,” Veronica finishes, covering for him. “Watched TV. Nothing exciting.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Martha says. “Uh, JD I was just telling Veronica, Kurt and Ram are telling everyone that they lied about the threeway.”

“Oh are they now?” he says, a proud tone laced through his voice that only Veronica could know. She grins, lacing their hands together, their secret hanging between them. “I guess someone’s conscience finally caught up with them.”

“That’s what I was telling Veronica,” she adds. “Ram’s not that bad, really. I knew he’d come clean sooner or later.” Veronica feels JD stiffen beside her, doing his best to still seem interested, but he rubs his thumb on the back of Veronica’s hand. “He’s a good guy, really.”

“I…” JD begins, his voice strained as he searches for the right words to say. “Do not doubt that one bit.” Martha grins, lighting up her face and the hallway. “Come on, it’s getting a little crowded in here.” They get their books from their lockers (Veronica’s now mercifully clean and devoid of any insulting graffiti) and JD walks with them to their homeroom, easily and calmly diverting the conversation to their English class, or more specifically, his and Martha’s English class, and their study of Moby Dick.

“I mean I read it for the first time when I was 14,” he explains. “But it took me a few tries to get the symbolism down.”

“But you know so much about it,” Martha adds. “Veronica you should see him in class. You’re like a college kid in there.”

“Wonder if that’s why Ms Greene hates me so much,” he jokes.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Martha assures him.

“She doesn’t particularly like me,” he reminds her. Martha bites her lip; now it’s her turn to try to search for the right words. “It’s okay though. I don’t particularly like her.”

“She’s not so bad,” Martha says. “Just a little… traditional.”

“Wow,” JD breathes. “You don’t have a bad bone in your body, do you?”

“T-thanks,” she replies, her cheeks going slightly pink as they normally do when Martha gets a compliment from anyone who isn’t Veronica. She opens the door to their homeroom and the three walk in. “But anyway, I think she likes that you argue with her. And how you’re on her level. No one else in our class is.” JD doesn’t reply, but the small, proud smile on his face is more than enough answer for both of them.

If he did have an answer it dies away when they walk in and see Heather MacNamara sitting alone at her desk, without the other two Heathers with her. She looks painfully different without them, her slight frame standing out more when she’s not flanked by the other two, her shoulders slouching without Chandler’s silent reminders to keep them up, her eyes lost when she doesn’t have one of her two focal points. Those big brown eyes land on Veronica, her pearly white teeth biting her pink lip nervously. She’s not the only nervous one; Veronica feels her own stomach sink at the sight of her ex-friend, remembering how she stood behind Chandler as that awful rumour spread like wildfire throughout the school, attempting to ruin every part of Veronica’s already-fragile social life.

“Hi Veronica,” she says softly. JD’s hand wraps around Veronica’s as she tries to think of a response, if she should give one at all. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it, she nearly considered MacNamara a friend. Unlike Duke and Chandler, she at least always made an effort to smile at her, invite her to hang out without the other two, took time to explain the completely foreign world of makeup and parties to her. Up until two weeks ago, Veronica might have called her a friend.

“Hi,” she says warily, moving backwards into JD when MacNamara stands up, picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Good thing Chandler isn’t here; she would go ballistic (if anyone is capable of going ballistic at someone as innocent looking as MacNamara, it’s probably Heather Chandler, although Veronica wasn’t in their group long enough to see it).

“I heard what Kurt and Ram are saying,” she says. “That they lied about the rumour. They made it up.”

“Yeah, they did,” she says, suddenly defensive. MacNamara nods quickly, her head bobbing up and down, making her blonde hair shake.

“Well… um, good,” she stammers. “Maybe then everything goes back to normal?”

She thinks to ask what exactly she thinks normal is, but the question stays quiet on her tongue as she settles for looking her up and down, watching as she fidgets uncomfortably under her gaze. The tension in the air is so thick that Veronica feels like she’s being choked, the presences of JD and Martha behind her, plus his grip on her hand, being the only things keeping her from collapsing underneath it.

“Veronica,” MacNamara begins. “Look I just wanted to say-”

She supposes she’ll never know what Heather wanted to say, because the door swings open and Heather Chandler storms in, followed by a less authoritative, but still compelling in her own way, Heather Duke. Chandler’s resentful eyes land on Veronica, and now it’s her turn to squirm and shrink back even further, even with her own supports behind her.

“So I hear Kurt and Ram made that rumour up,” she says, her voice thin, rage simmering just below the surface like a volcano that’s overdue to explode. Veronica only nods. “Interesting.” She sits down at her own desk and Duke follows, her back turned away from Veronica. Within a few moments, MacNamara follows suit, making her message clear to Veronica; she chose her side. Even though she knows how silly it is, Veronica tries not to be hurt by it.

“Let it roll off your back, Ronnie,” JD says softly to her as she sits up on her desk. She takes his wrist and pulls him closer so that his legs are on either side of her. Her goal isn’t necessarily to use him to block the Heathers out of her line of sight, but it certainly helps. She supposes that’s the plus side of having a tall boyfriend.

“I know,” she sighs, turning her hand over in his. “At least I’m back to just being a loser, instead of a loser and a slut.” She’s trying not to sound bitter, really trying, but it creeps into her voice anyway. Martha takes her free hand sympathetically and squeezes gently.

“You still have us,” she offers, glancing nervously at JD, but relaxing when he nods. Veronica chuckles, surrounded by the only two people she could ever see herself needing, in high school at least.

“Yeah, I do,” she agrees, smiling down at Martha.

The homeroom door swings open again and Veronica peeps over JD’s shoulder to see Miss Fleming entering, three heavy looking notebooks in her arms and a long green scarf trailing behind her. Veronica suppresses a groan and briefly rests her head on JD’s shoulder before bringing herself back up again. Fleming flies through the room before coming to a half at Veronica’s desk, taking in the sight of JD standing there, likely far too close to Veronica than she would like. Veronica bites the inside of her cheek to stop her from laughing as Fleming’s face slowly turns into a too tight smile.

“Jason isn’t it?” she asks, to which JD nods. “I don’t think this is your homeroom, is it?”

“You would be correct,” he replies coolly. Veronica grins as she feels a hush fall across the room, all eyes turning to the battle of words between JD and Fleming. Right now he’s a clear winner, Fleming’s grip tightening on her books so much that her knuckles turn white.

“Well maybe you should go to your own homeroom?” she suggests in a tight voice. JD’s mouth twitches up into a cheeky smile, one that hints at trouble but Veronica knows he has no intention of making any.

“Yes ma’am,” he says. He turns back to Veronica and gives her hand a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you later, darling.”

“Okay bye,” she replies softly. He bids Martha goodbye too before leaving, the proud smile remaining on his face as he walks out of the room, his coat blowing a little behind him. At Fleming’s disapproving look, Veronica slides off her desk and into her seat.

“You’re blushing,” Martha whispers, turning slightly in her seat. Veronica presses a hand to her cheek and sure enough, she finds it warm. Strangely, she finds that she doesn’t care, even if the entirety of her class has just watched her cheeks turning pink. She half-listens to Flemings’ morning announcements while scribbling in her diary, doodling hearts and flowers in the margins as she goes, breathing coming easy to her after the painful few days she had last week.

Dear diary, she writes. So my reputation is back on track… what’s left of it anyway. Not like I’m expecting any apologies, from Kurt, Ram, or anyone else. Certainly not Heather Chandler. Most people still aren’t talking to me, but I kind of don’t really care anymore. Maybe because I’m used to it. Maybe because I have Martha and JD now.

JD seems better. It’s like if I hadn’t seen him on Saturday, I wouldn’t have known that he got a little…. Maybe freaked? He was happier today I guess. I guess whatever was bothering him got worked out. Or maybe I just remember it being worse than it was. Whatever it is, I just hope he stays that way.

She twirls her pen around her finger underneath her desk, her thoughts circling around in her brain like a train, glancing up at Mrs Fleming, at least giving the façade of paying attention, while also sneaking a look at the clock. Seeing how close it is to the end of homeroom, she puts her diary back in her bag with a resigned sigh, the feeling of all her innermost thoughts and secrets weighing heavily against her legs when she stands, the bag brushing against her. Still, as she makes her way to her first class, her boyfriend worries slip to the back of her mind for now, lying dormant under piles of homework and assignments and reminders of college applications and deciding on what to eat for lunch.

*****

The sound of the final bell on Friday is music to Veronica’s ears, as is the sound of chairs scraping and exciting conversations blossoming over the attempts of her teacher to remind them of their homework and promise to start the Civil War on Tuesday. She lifts her heavy bag onto her shoulder and hurries out, clutching her notebook and diary to her chest. She passes Heather Duke on the way out, wearing her seemingly permanent scowl. When she’s with the other two, at least Duke is balanced by Chandler’s steady confidence and MacNamara’s charms. She even adds to them in turn, completing their little trifecta. But on her own, she has never been quite as strong. Chandler alone can still make a grown man kneel, MacNamara can charm any boy she wants without the help of the other two, but Duke? When Duke is on her own, all Veronica can see is an angry little girl with not much else to her. She certainly doesn’t see someone that would make her palms sweat as she passes, yet she ends up wiping her hand on her skirt anyway.

“Weekend plans?” she asks bluntly, no fake politeness at all in her voice, unlike Heather Chandler. She toys with the edge of her hair, winding it around her finger, which she focuses on so intently that Veronica is half convinced she didn’t actually say anything.

“Maybe,” she replies flatly before she feels a slight boost in confidence inside her, a daring spark in her chest. “Why do you care?” She winces internally once the words leave her mouth, a heavy feeling in her stomach warning her that she’s going to regret this.

“I don’t,” she says, dropping her hair and turning her eyes to Veronica, her hand on her hip, her chest pushed out. A cruel smirk curls on her lips. “I’m just surprised people are still talking to you.”

“Well… they are,” Veronica says, her tone not as tough as she might like. Heather’s accusation feels like a slap across the face. “Guess I didn’t really need you three.”

“Oh, please,” Duke giggles. “You, Martha Dumptruck and your psychotic boyfriend? I’m sure that’s a laugh a minute.”

“Watch your mouth, Heather,” she tells her.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks in return, stepping closer to Veronica. Veronica stumbles backwards involuntarily and hits her leg on a desk. Duke might be almost half her size, but Veronica quickly that doesn’t mean she can’t hold her own. She kicks herself for underestimating Duke.

“Isn’t Heather Chandler waiting for you somewhere?” she asks, slipping past the desk and away from Duke. Her comment only makes her frown more, Duke’s hand on her hip clenching, her fingers digging into the green blazer.

“Chandler doesn’t own me,” she spits.

“Sure she doesn’t,” Veronica says. “Bye Heather.”

Veronica hurries out of the classroom, her chest feeling significantly less tight as she steps out into the hallway. She still feels Duke’s eyes burning on the back of her like little lasers, getting more intense as she hears the sound of her heels ringing off the linoleum towards her. She swears she can feel Duke’s breath on the back of her neck.

“Heather!”

In one single fraction of a moment, it appears Veronica and Duke are united in something; they both jump a mile high. As Veronica tries to will her frantic heart to slow down, she turns to the sound of the voice that caused them such a shock, despite already knowing who it is. Even if she didn’t have such an unmistakable voice, there’s only one person who could ever cause that reaction from Duke. As she turns her head in attempt to look anywhere other than Chandler’s shark like eyes, Veronica notices the students around her slowing down or even having so little shame that they stop altogether and linger against walls-heads in books but ears pricked up, hoping for a juicy tidbit to tide them over until Monday. She isn’t all that surprised if she’s honest.

“Am I interrupting something?” Heather Chandler asks, her chin lifted up just a fraction, which is all she really needs to do. She raises her perfectly arched eyebrow, silently demanding an answer.

“No,” Heather Duke replies, tugging on her jacket. “Girl talk.”

“Then why are you keeping me waiting?” she asks sharply. Veronica isn’t sure if she imagines it when Duke winces, and something inside her turns and she wants to tell Heather Chandler to back off. It’s an odd feeling to say the least.

“Sorry Heather,” she says, heading over to Chandler’s side. She keeps her head up, her chest forward, but she strides over there quickly and her hands curl into fists at her side.

“Let’s go,” she orders, turning around, her plaid skirt fanning out around her and her blonde curls bouncing before landing immaculately in place. “MacNamara’s waiting for us in the parking lot.” The sound of their heels clicking on the floor becomes softer and softer, until they’ve faded entirely, leaving Veronica in the hallway with her fellow students surrounding her. Once the Heathers have left, the school returns to normality, freshman running down the hall, eager to escape and celebrate the weekend, conversations fading back in like a radio tuning into a station. Veronica runs a hand through her hair and lets out a long sigh, the air feeling lighter and freer now that they’re gone. She feels her cheeks burning and she knows why. A part of her hates this- the feeling that the Heathers will constantly be on her back, nipping at her heels, finding moments when she’s alone and biting at her right up until the day she graduates.

She runs down the main stairs and out the front door, pulling her scarf out of her bag and wrapping it around her neck as the autumn air leaves her shivering slightly. Red, orange and yellow leaves scatter across the concrete as she makes her way across the yard, towards the iron gate that led out onto the main road, where two days of freedom await her. Well, two days of freedom, with the occasional study and homework moments. But she can’t slow down, especially not with college applications on the horizon.

There’s a surprising sight as she makes her way across the yard; his back might be turned to her, but the trench coat and dark curls are instantly recognisable. As she approaches, she guesses by the way he’s hunched over he’s reading again, probably one of the three books she saw in his bag that morning. He breezes through them during class, having somehow perfected the art of reading a book hidden on his lap while pretending to be paying attention. She shouldn’t be impressed, but she is, even though she still manages to get on him for it.

“Boo!” she shouts, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Shit, Ronnie,” he says as she giggles. He runs his hand through his hair, grinning, while the other hand marks his page. “Not cool.” She cackles and sits next to him on the wall, facing the opposite way from him, her feet trailing along the ground, and kisses his jaw playfully. He smiles against her and she hears him chuckle.

“What are you even doing here anyway?” she asks. “Aren’t you normally gone by now?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I should be. I just had a run-in with Heather Duke. It was nothing.”

“Did she say anything to you?” he asks, turning towards her so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders, his book forgotten.

“She said some things to me,” she says, drumming her heels on the wall. She runs her hand up her arm like she can wash Duke’s words away from her. “Nothing important. Just the usual bitch stuff. You know I never knew…” She waves her hand in the air as if she can conjure the end of her sentence by magic.

“Never knew….”

“That she could be so vicious,” she finishes.

“You didn’t?” JD asks, scrunching up his face slightly. “How long were you guys friends?”

“Okay, stop,” she says, lightly hitting him in the chest. “It’s not that I didn’t know… I just sort of thought she was Chandler’s lackey. Guess I never realised there was something lurking underneath that frown.” Lurking like a shark underneath the water. JD runs his finger up and down her arm, tickling her skin gently and getting her to giggle.

“You sure she didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she tells him. When she sees his disheartened expressions, it’s her turn to comfort him, rubbing her thumb along his cheekbone. “Nothing I can’t handle on my own.” He nods, giving her a half smile and kissing the inside of her wrist. Veronica lets out a small breath, her heart picking up slightly at the touch of his lips on her wrist.

“You didn’t answer me,” she reminds him in a soft voice. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for Claire,” he explains. He scoots closer to her so that their hips are touching.

“I thought you walk home.”

“I do,” he says, a cryptic smile playing on his face and his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. Normally she’d be bothered by something like that, but for him she’ll make an exception. “Only I’m not going home. I have an appointment out of town, and unfortunately I can’t drive myself there.”

“Oh,” Veronica replies. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course it is,” he replies, his fingers running off her hair and down her neck, stroking gently. “Just need to stay on top of things.” She nods, her concern not fading away with his comforting smile, rather a niggling worry clings to the back of her mind, poking at her despite him reassuring her. “Oh, speak of the devil.”

Veronica looks up and sees Claire’s little grey Ford pulling up onto the kerb outside. She honks her horn for good measure and JD responds with a tired wave. He slips his book into his backpack and pulls himself off the wall, Veronica not too far behind him.

“Want me to walk you to the car?” Veronica offers as their fingers brush.

“The chivalrous thing,” he replies with a grin, lacing their fingers together. “I’d be honoured.” Veronica laughs and he lets her lead him out the front gate and round to where Claire is parked, her glasses sitting on her head.

“Hi Veronica, how are you?” she asks politely.

“I’m great, thanks,” she replies.

“I’ll see you later,” JD offers, glancing briefly at Claire, who turns her attention to the opposite window, away from them. Veronica knows she isn’t imagining JD’s smile.

“See you later,” she agrees. She looks over at Claire too before looking back at JD, her pulse racing against his skin. They settle on a quick goodbye peck before he climbs into the car, saluting her with his finger as Claire puts the car into gear and waves before driving off, leaving a slightly breathless Veronica on the street by herself. She pushes her hair away from her face as she watches Claire’s car getting smaller and smaller along the road, driving along to whatever appointment he has. The one he remains deliberately cryptic about, hiding behind a coy smile and sparkling eyes, gentle fingers in her hair and soft kisses on her lips.

He’s told her it isn’t her job to worry about him. But she should get a pay raise anyway.

*****

“So how was school?” Claire asks over the sound of an old song playing on the radio.

“Fine,” JD responds, keeping his gaze fixed on the world outside the window. He imagines a little stick figure running along the path, keeping in time with the speed of the car, jumping over trash cans and swinging over pedestrian’s shoulders. It keeps his mind occupied and more importantly, his attention away from Claire.

“Don’t you have mid-terms coming up soon?” she asks casually.

“Yeah kind of,” he replies nonchalantly. He does, of course, there’s an essay due for American History and for English and he has quizzes coming up in biology and Spanish and social studies, and none of those books have ever really been opened outside of class, except for when he sits next to Veronica in study hall and they study together in whispered words and passed notes. Otherwise they sit in the back of his locker or the bottom of his bag until the night before it’s due in. He’s managed to pull off some minor miracles this way.

“Kind of?” she echoes with a soft chuckle. It dies quickly between them. JD imagines it hitting an invisible wall and sliding down sadly before writhing around on the bottom of the car amongst the dust balls and discarded popcorn bags. “Well if you want, we can go to that stationery store after your appointment. You can get some study cards, highlighters, the works.”

“My friend Martha uses a lot of them,” he laughs, more to himself than her. Of course, the word ‘friend’ makes her ears prick up, like she’s a puppy and he just said ‘walk’.

“Another friend?” she asks.

“Okay, technically she’s not my friend. She’s Veronica’s friend. I hang out with her.”

“But you like her?”

“I….” He looks back out the window. For a few weeks, him eating lunch with Veronica alone in their small, secluded garden, away from private eyes had been such bliss that no one else had really crossed his mind. His thoughts never really went to the future; just the next day’s lunchtime. Then when Veronica told him that she and Martha were friends again, it was a confusing experience for him, to put it mildly. Veronica’s happiness is his happiness, so of course he was never going to stand in the way of her being friends with Martha again, even though his mind had immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion; once Martha came back, Veronica would have no need for him anymore, and he’d be left in the dust. Or they’d all try to form a little threesome, which would inevitably collapse under the unnecessary weight; JD himself. Then the more time he spent with Martha, the more his worries were chipped away, and the more he came to realise that maybe Martha could be more than just ‘his girlfriend’s friend’. Sure, when they were alone together they barely made it past small talk, but with Veronica boosting them along, the two somehow managed to get a relatively easy rapport between them. He’s not sure how he’s managed it, but he did, and that has to count for something. Not that he’ll confess that to Claire. “She’s okay, I guess.”

“Cool.” JD hides the inescapable smirk behind his hand, looking up at the sky as she pulls to a stop at a red light. He knows what she’s thinking and he doesn’t even need to look at her to do so. He knows that having one girlfriend and one sort-of, kind-of friend is a huge step up from his old schools. And that all that information sits in a heavy brown file in his social worker’s office, and in Claire’s desk drawers. There’s probably a page that just says “MAKE SURE HE MAKES FRIENDS” in big red marker. “So about the study thing… maybe after I pick you up we can go get you some school stuff? Or we can go tomorrow?”

“That’s okay,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I don’t really need anything.”

“Oh… okay,” she says softly. “I mean if you’re sure… You’ve got all the studying under control then?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Jason… you are hitting the books, right?”

“Did you just say, ‘hitting the books’?” he asks. “What year are you living in?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she warns. “Jason, I know from your last schools that sometimes… you tend to struggle. And I for one don’t want to sign another D on a quiz.”

“Then don’t sign it,” he snaps. He runs a hand through his hair and focuses his attention on a passing tree as Claire comes to stop at a red light. He keeps his eye on a particular red leaf that’s wiggling in the breeze, about five seconds from falling off the tree. Anything to not look at Claire and the stupid, wounded expression she no doubt has on her face, probably blinking her big green eyes behind those thick rimmed glasses of hers. JD shifts again in his seat, resting his chin on his fist. She’s completely quiet, and yet somehow that’s worse than when she was filling the silence in the car by chattering about school supplies and friends and his stupid grades.

Claire is a complete paradox; every day he grows more annoyed with her and somehow, less annoyed. He hates not knowing things, and not knowing Claire has been driving him crazy in the few weeks he’s lived with her.

“Um, yeah, maybe we could go get some school stuff,” he says in a small voice. “Maybe I’ll take a leaf out of Martha’s book.”

“Really?” she asks, sounding surprised. He doesn’t need to turn around to see the dumb smile on her face.

“Yeah. Only if I get to pay for it, though.”

“Jason, it’s school stuff, I can pay for it.”

“Yeah I know, that’s what the system pays you for,” he chuckles, biting his tongue the minute after he says it. He knows the drill in every single home; ever since he was 13 he’s known they all get paid to take care of him and keep him out of trouble. He doesn’t harbour any ill will. It’s business. In his mind, they probably deserve a raise. Still, Claire’s smile dips as he says it. “I can pay myself, it’s fine. I’ll be the one using them.”

“Okay. Cool.” Her voice is lighter this time, and JD finds that the air in the car is much lighter than before. He slides up in the seat, looking ahead onto the road at the red brick buildings and half-bare trees. His bag slides against his leg as Claire pulls out of the red light and turns a corner, his homework and barely opened textbooks seeming to tap against him like a child on their mother’s arm, asking to be opened and looked at for more than ten minutes at a time. Well maybe tonight he will.

As Claire pulls onto a familiar street, he presses his thumb into his palm as his mouth runs dry. He feels a familiar sensation in his stomach, like someone is pressing a ball down inside.

“You okay?” Claire asks, frowning as she parks the car.

“Of course I am,” he sighs. “I’m always okay.” He sounds convincing enough, except for the fact that instead of getting out of the car, he’s sitting there scratching his palm with his thumb nail. He heaves a sigh and looks out the front window. “Claire… just… don’t tell Veronica about this, okay?”

“I never would.”

“No, I know,” he says. “Just… I want to tell her. When it’s the right time, you know?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, nodding. “Don’t worry, kid. My lips are sealed. If you’re ever planning on bringing Veronica over again…”

“Gosh, get out of my dating life,” he sighs, getting out of the car and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be here,” she replies. “And hey-want pizza for dinner?” She half-leans on the open car window, offering him a gentle smile. He chuckles, scratching behind his ear and looking down at the pavement.

“Yeah. Yeah pizza’s great.”

“Great. See you in an hour kid,” she says, rolling her window back up again.

“See you,” he says under his breath. As he turns around, he hears her engine starting up and then the sound of her car shifting off the sidewalk and onto the road, heading off for her to do God knows what for the next hour. His activity for the next hour stands before him in a red brick building that would look perfectly normal and unsuspicious on this street, if not for the engraved gold plaque on the door. He pulls on the strap on his backpack as he heads in, cautiously glancing around the street. It’s foolish to look; no one at school who cares enough would be in this part of town on a Friday afternoon, but still, the shameful idea of anyone knowing clings to him like a spider on his back. He turns the door handle and heads inside. Another great gift from his father.

Next time, he thinks bitterly, maybe his dad can give him a puppy.

*****

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Veronica,” Mrs Dunnstock comments as Veronica and Martha make their way into the living room, armed with sleeping bags and candy and the menu for the pizza take out place. Veronica bristles, faking a smile all the while her heart beats irregularly and uneasily underneath her blue blazer.

“Been busy,” she offers weakly. “Senior year.”

“Oh I know, it’s all work now,” Mrs Dunnstock agrees. “Still, it’s lovely to see you against Veronica.” She pauses, eyeing Veronica’s choice of clothes, and while she can’t be certain, she’s pretty sure it’s her skirt that’s catching her attention. Veronica’s hand moves to her hem and tries to pull it down. “Is that a new skirt?”

“Um, yeah,” she says. “I got it a while ago.”

“Oh… it’s very pretty,” she comments. Veronica nods in thanks and follows Martha into her living room, letting out a long sigh behind the closed door.

“You do look great in that outfit,” Martha offers, trying to smile, sitting cross-legged on the couch, her eyes flickering to Veronica’s legs as she pulls up her blue knee-length sock. “I’d never pull something like that off.”

“Yes, you could,” Veronica insists, sitting beside her on the couch and taking her hand. “I know you could.” Martha nods, but looks down at her body, her hand running over her stomach, and Veronica feels her heart tear in two. She reaches out and hugs her tightly, resting her head on Martha’s shoulder. None of the Heathers would cuddle with her, she realises with a smile as Martha’s arm comes around her body and holds her just as tightly.

“More of me to love,” Martha whispers. Veronica wonders if she’s talking to her or herself.

“Exactly,” Veronica agrees, rubbing her cheek against Martha’s shoulder. Martha opens up the pizza menu. “The usual?” By ‘the usual’, she of course means two medium pizzas, one plain veggie, and two cans of drinks.

“I don’t know,” Martha says. “I don’t really think I’ll eat anything. Just order for yourself.”

“What?” she asks. “You not hungry?”

“I don’t know.” Martha pulls on the hair tie around her wrist and Veronica hopes to God she’s imagining the shakiness in her voice.

“Martha Dunnstock,” Veronica says sternly, tilting her chin towards her and frowning in her best impression of Miss Fleming. “You’re not a great liar.” Martha avoids her eyes, wriggling her chin gently out of her grasp.

“I don’t know… I just thought maybe it was time to eat healthy, you know?”

Veronica’s heart stops in her chest. She knows exactly what ‘eating healthy’ is code for and she refuses to allow it. Not to Martha.

“Martha,” she sighs, turning onto her side, searching for the impossible words. “Martha… No.” She wants to tell her that she’s perfect the way she is, but she knows she’s just echoing Mrs Fleming’s empty statements from morning assembly, even if she actually means them, it will sound empty and meaningless to Martha. “You don’t need to do anything to yourself. Diet, work out, anything.”

“I just…” Martha begins. “Forget it.”

“Can’t,” Veronica teases, albeit with a steely tone underneath it. “You’ve implanted it in my brain.” She shoves her shoulder gently. “You can tell me anything.” Her fingertips caress Martha’s cheekbone and she pokes the side of her mouth up into a smile like she used to when they were little and they confessed to stealing cookies from the jar while sitting in the backyard.

“I want someone to look at me the way JD looks at you,” she confesses, avoiding her eyes with a guilty pout on her face. “You must to see the way he looks at you in school. He’s head over heels for you.”

“I…” Veronica’s voice trails off, a frustrated sigh escaping her mouth. “Martha… someone will look at you like that one day, I promise. Someone’s going to love every single part of you. Just like I do.” Martha smiles, brighter this time, her shoulders relaxing into Veronica’s embrace. “So are we ordering the usual?” Martha looks long and hard at the menu.

“Okay,” she says tentatively. “As long as you’re eating some too.”

“Obviously,” she snorts.

Soon after they’re sitting with two pizza boxes spread out on their lap, their drinks and candy beside them and The Princess Bride on the TV. Veronica can’t help but notice Martha’s nervous eyes flickering to her every few minutes and hugs her a little tighter.

“Remind me to show this to JD,” she tells her. “Can you believe he’s never seen this movie?”

“Then he hasn’t lived!” Martha chuckles. “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird?”

“That he hasn’t seen The Princess Bride?” she asks. “I guess, but he told me he hasn’t watched Disney movies either, so…”

“No, that he’s here,” Martha explains. “That he ended up back in Westerberg. You know, that he left and then came back to you.”

“Back to me,” she repeats, her face turning pink. “I guess it’s a huge coincidence.”

“Kind of romantic,” she says, pointing to the TV screen, where Buttercup and Westley are reunited with Westley as the Dread Pirate Roberts. “Like this, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Veronica says, a smile tugging on the corner of her lips. “Westley’s even dressed like JD.”

That gets Martha giggling, hiding behind one of her mother’s good pillows.

“I mean… he does kind of?”

“Think I could get him to wear one of those puffy shirts?” Veronica asks, beginning to cackle as well. “Just once, just to see what it would look like.”

“I mean, you should try,” Martha adds, still laughing. “Oh, you know what you should do? Get him to do it for Halloween.”

“Like a couples costume?” she asks. “Hmm, maybe he would be into that.” She bites into another slice of pizza, trying to keep her mind on the here and now, the laughing and the pizza and the movie and the smiles, and not on the niggling worry about JD and his mystery appointment, her climbing anxiety that he’s not telling her something, no, not anxiety, she knows that he’s not telling her something. She tries not to wonder if every couple has parts like this, if JD is going to be a puzzle for her to spend her days working out, or a cryptic message to decode when he’s not around. She always liked puzzles, and now she seems to have one of her own. She’s gone from knowing nothing to being thrown into the deep end. As she nuzzles into Martha and watches Princess Buttercup and Westley declare their love, she can feel herself blushing as she lets herself feel the thrill it gives her; the idea of being the one who figures him out, having him leaning on her.

All she can really know for sure about him is that Martha is right-JD should dress up as Westley for Halloween.

#jdronica #jdronica ff #heathers the musical #jason dean #veronica sawyer #the fic i hate myself for writing but i write it anyways

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