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tundrainafrica · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Copycat

Summary:

""Shitty four eyes and clean freak? Would you know what those words mean?" The teacher asked.

Hange and Levi exchanged knowing glances. A parent teacher conference wasn't at all the right place to explain nicknames. Really though, when would it ever be the appropriate time to explain them?"

Levi and Hange learn the hard way that children like to imitate.

Link: AO3

Notes: This has been on my WIPs for a while and I have a few other prompts for domestic verse pieces so will probably focus on them first hehe. Anyway, feedback is very much appreciated!

“Levi Ackerman and Hange Zoe…”

The teacher was looking through what could have been the class list. No, it definitely was a class list. They were in a parent teacher meeting, what else could it be.

With the way she was holding it though, it was difficult for Levi to sneak a peek at its contents. Eventually, he gave up and let his mind wander, his eyes soon followed. He spared a glance at Hange to see she had cocked her head just a little bit to the side. She was definitely as curious if not more curious about the contents of the piles of paper.

The teacher, Ms. Wilde had a smile on her face and it had been that way since Luke had started school. Her expression then wasn't too far from her usual smile but her eyes were too wide, her mouth too flat of a line especially when she bit her lips. And when she ran her eyes over documents, she seemed…. Stiff.

Uncomfortable? DIsturbed maybe? Levi was expecting the worst.

“Commander Hange Zoe and Retired Captain Levi Ackerman…” Ms. Wilde corrected, clearing her throat.

“No need for any formalities. I mean you have been taking care of our son…” Hange held one hand out for a hand shake, obviously trying to ease the tension in the room.

“Yes, he’s a pleasant kid,” Ms. Wilde added, nodding her head. The discomfort on her face still did not waver.

He is a pleasant kid. Levi was with that kid 24/7. He brought the kid to school and back home, he cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner and he taught him all chores possible at the ripe age of two. Levi was almost certain that along with it, he had taught the kid basic manners.

Levi had to admit though, he himself wasn’t the most diplomatic either. The kid though was glaringly much nicer than Levi was and on top of that, he had picked up some of his other quirks from Hange. The boy didn’t have to be exceptional though. At the least, Luke should have been a functioning member of the kindergarten.

Not enough to make a teacher squirm as she spoke about him. Right?

Most days… And as Levi reflected on it, he started to dig deeper into the past few years, the almost negligible cracks in between their routine. Was there anything he failed to teach Luke? Hange could have been asking the same thing, she looked at Levi questioningly.

Ms. Wilde cleared her throat and in her own way, she had broken some of the residual tension. “Apologies… I’ve been stalling.” She turned to Hange. “Commander Zoe…”

“Retired… Commander Zoe,” Hange corrected.

Was Hange stalling? Or just deliberately looking for a way to alleviate whatever tension had blanketed the room. Hange’s own corrections though were only delaying the inevitable, stretching the tension for longer than necessary.

“I wanted to talk to you about your son," Ms. Wilde started.

No shit. “Go on….” Levi said softly, not loud enough for her maybe. He subtly moved his hands in some signal to continue, as if that could have been communication enough.

Ms. Wilde stared for a bit longer and when Levi squinted, focusing on the paper underneath, he could tell it was a drawing, the crayon ink, visible from just behind the paper. She then put that same crayon art on the top of that stack of papers. “Shitty four eyes… and Clean freak?”

The words sounded strange from anybody else’s mouth, particularly a teacher who had attempted to say it with so professional of a tone and with emphasis on syllables and on words which made it sound unintelligible to anyone less familiar.

“Excuse me?” Hange asked. She had said those words a little too fast. With Levi thinking the same thing though, it had sounded clear enough.

Ms. Wilde flipped the paper open and down on the table.

There were two stick drawings, one with glasses and brown hair, definitely Hange and one with an apron and a bandana over his head and an unimpressed look on his face. That second one was definitely Levi.

Just below it, a caption which Levi had to squint twice to read

Shut tea for ice clean freek. It was straight out gibberish.

Ms. Wilde preempted it. “Would you know what this means?” She looked back up at them expectantly. “Your son… he tried to explain it to me and he said, you two would say… Shut tea for ice and clean freek.” She had said it with unexpected emphasis on some syllables and it was starting to sound like a glaringly familiar cluster of phrases.

Enough for Levi to freeze in his seat and start to dig for some sense in his speculations.

“Don’t get me wrong… Your child being able to spell at this age… It’s admirable, remarkable really,” Ms. Wilde continued. Was she consoling them or admiring them? With that soft and gentle of a voice, it was difficult to tell.

If Levi hadn’t been too busy trying to make sense of that last phrase maybe he would have at least attempted to read through her body language. The teacher had already presented a problem though and naturally, he found himself attempting to get to the bottom of that initial issue.

Luke had Hange’s brain. With Levi on top of that child most of the day, he was perfectly aware of what Luke would usually be playing with. He had gifted Luke letter tiles and had played with him multiple times, at Hange's suggestion of 'something more educational.'

He could have sworn the other times Hange had gotten off work and had played with those tiles with him before dinner, she had been teaching him herself. Although, some words were strange and unfamiliar, she never thought him any of those words. Never.

Levi looked back up at the teacher, forcing himself to meet her eyes. What was the best thing to say?

These are our nicknames. Nope. Should they be divulging something so personal in a professional meeting?

Maybe he could break that awkwardness by complimenting Luke’s work. For a three year old, Luke did a good job with the coloring. Or maybe Levi was just hyperaware about his dad status and somehow everything their little human made seemed almost surreal, almost beautiful even if it was just a bunch of stick figures.

Hange held the drawing between her fingers, her eyes wide with what looked to be the same wonder Levi was holding in. “We’ve been teaching him how to read,” Hange said. “Read and write.”

“But, would you know what ‘shut tea for ice’ means?” The teacher asked.

“Levi here… He really likes tea,” Hange said calmly. “And he likes it with ice.”

“What about clean freak?”

“He cleans with me a lot…” Levi said.

The teacher sighed. “Apologies for the misunderstanding but those words…” She leaned over, cupping her mouth, to soften to a whisper just for the three of them. “It sounds pretty vulgar to me. If you could talk to your son about it, so he could stop calling the other kids names… That would be very much appreciated.”

“Wait, our son, he’s calling people names?”

The teacher shrugged. “I heard him talking to one of the kids just recently… He kept calling her ‘shut tea for eyes.’ and just the other day, when we were cleaning up the locker… then he called her a cleen freek.” She sighed. “It might be just my imagination but it sounds to me like bullying if you know what I mean?”

“Bullying? How?” Hange asked. The knowing look in her face betrayed such a question.

“Well you see, Sarah wears glasses and she likes keeping her cubbyhole neat so… I can’t help but think he might actually be saying….”

“Shitty four eyes?” Levi repeated it again, with a familiar manner, all the emphasis on the right tones. He could almost taste the sweet venom that laced it every other time he said it before.

“And clean freak?” Hange repeated.

The teacher put her hands up in defense. “But that might just be my wild imagination. If ‘shut tea for ice’ is really code in your family, maybe you could spend some time explaining to your son what it actually sounds like?”

***

Shut tea for ice.

Levi could have been in denial. The first plan of action as soon as he got home was to open and close the cupboard a few times over and stare at the box of tea bags every single time. He was deep in thought, still trying to come up with any other reason for those words to roll so easily out of his son’s mouth.

“You want me to make dinner?” Hange called out from the living room.

Levi instinctively turned behind him and towards the voice, craning his neck to look past the kitchen counter. Hange was sitting cross legged on the floor, a toddler Luke right next to her.

The letter tiles Hange had scattered on the floor were an eye sore.

An eyesore which Levi tolerated. After all, Hange had done amazingly at making Luke one of the smarter toddlers in his class.

Experiment… Titan… Omnivore...Carnivore… Whether the child needed to know how to spell those words at that young of an age, Levi wasn’t too certain. At least if ever the classes shifted to topics on history or science, Luke would have the upper hand.

Or so, that was what Levi consoled himself with as he looked back at the cupboard, trying to erase that picture of a mess in the living room. His own experiences with playing with those blocks had been teaching Luke words like clean, broom, breakfast, lunch, dinner. For a second, he wondered which Luke enjoyed more.

“I’ll make it,” Levi said. “You’re at work most days. I’d rather you spent your free time bonding with Luke.”

Hange didn’t respond and the next few minutes passed with the clacking of the wooden letter tiles on the floor. And then an exchange which Levi felt almost compelled to insert himself in.

“When the creature eats both vegetables and meat…” Hange started.

“Omnivore,” Luke answered.

“And meat only?”

“Carnivore.” He had learned to repeat those words clearly very quickly. Levi had to note as he tipped the tea, Luke had always learned to pronounce the more complex words within a few repeats.

The inquisitiveness and the natural genius came from Hange for sure. And Hange was only nurturing them. Soon, the conversation shifted to animals, and then to titans and why the fuck was she talking about her goddamn experiments?

Even when half listening, Levi never understood what the hell that one experiment after capturing the titan and burning through its hair actually did but Hange was suddenly talking about follicles, roots and some catalytic reaction.

Would Luke know what a catalytic reaction is? Levi attempted to answer it for himself by first asking, what the hell a catalytic reaction was. Whatever slate that had appeared in his mind remained blank and he asked another question. Should a child really be learning those words?

“And you know what a dinosaur looks like?” Hange asked.

“Dinosaur!”

A rustle of papers. Hange muttered something about a pencil.

Found one! Then the sound of scribbling on paper.

Levi was only starting to boil the soup, when whatever conversation on whether dinosaurs were omnivores or carnivores slipped one ear and out the other.

The padding of socks on the carpeted floor, Hange’s hums and just Luke’s high pitched voice lisping at some words, saying lines which could have started with Rs or Ws were faint and Levi found himself passing the time just listening to them as he stirred the soup.

He bent over, pulling out the tray of baked chicken from the oven. “Hange,” he called out.

Hange took a second longer than necessary to respond. “Hm?”

“Set the table,” Levi said. “It’s almost dinner time.”

No response. No clicking of plates, no slamming of utensils on the table.

“Hange?” Levi asked.

“Wait, just this last page,’ Hange said louder.

Levi closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Hange was murmuring, words Levi couldn’t make sense of. And the lisping words, the mispronounced Rs and Ws and garbled syllables were telling. Luke was reading something out loud.

“That’s right! So, the plants eat through photosynthesis," Hange said.

“Hange, set the table,” Levi said.

Hange sighed in response. There were footsteps then the clack of plates.

Levi soon confirmed for himself that Hange had stood up, tiptoed and pulled a serving plate and a bowl from the upper cupboard. He transferred the roast chicken and the soup onto the plates. While it cooled, he took the bread basket and dropped it on the table, raising one eye at the view in front of him.

“Hange,” Levi said, louder this time.

Hange was back in the living room, cross legged once again, an open picture book in front of her. Luke had shifted to half lying down position, stomach down on the floor, propped up by the elbows.

“Are dinosaurs real?” Lukei asked.

Hange nodded. “They were alive a long time ago,” she said.

“Hey, you two. I said, let’s eat.” Levi found himself looking away as he noticed Luke’s mouth twist into a pout.

Hange sighed in disappointment. “Alright Luke, let’s stand up.” She carefully pulled her son up and guided him back to the table. She moved sluggishly towards the dining room table and it looked very much like Levi had virtually twisted her arm just to get her up.

To make things clear though, he didn’t. There were more pressing things at that moment than making sure the food he worked so hard on was eaten. Levi stared at them then back at the scattered letter tiles on the floor. Then back at Hange again.

The years might have just made it easier for Hange to pick up the silent question just with a few glances. “We’re gonna go back after we eat,” she answered,

“And you’re fine leaving a mess like that there,” Levi said. “What if someone trips on that?”

“Well, we won’t. Luke and I know that it’s there and you can just watch where you’re going right?”

“It’s still a hazard,” Levi argued.

“A negligible hazard.”

“Can’t you just clean it up then bring it out again later?”

“It takes time,” Hange answered nonchalantly as she walked past Levi.

For a retired commander with a full-time job rebuilding Paradis, time felt like a luxury more than disposable income did and Levi had only ever silently acknowledged that. The moment he looked back, he realized there wasn’t much he could have argued about. Hange guided Luke to his chair, and she started to pour the soup into his bowl.

Levi sat next to Hange and served Hange first then himself, a pressing distraction, long enough for Levi to need not look back at the mess on the floor.

“Luke, chickens look a little bit like dinosaurs,” Hange said.

Levi rolled his eyes. Most of their meals usually ended up as a science lesson.

Luke seemed to be enjoying it though. He clapped his hands excitedly. “We’re eating dinosaurs?”

In response to that, Levi shoveled more of the soup into his mouth, enough to give any excuse not to speak up. That wasn’t his conversation. It was Hange’s and Luke’s.

“Technically yes,” Hange said.

What the fuck is she researching this time? Hange did too many jobs at once that Levi never could catch up to her theory or vernacular wise.

“Like the book! The dinosaur looked like the book!” Luke said excitedly.

“Yes! You remember!” Hange mirrored that same excitement.

“Are dinosaurs like titans?”

“Technically no… They can be the same size... “

“Are titans omnivores?”

Hange hummed. She dropped her spoon and put one finger to her chin, a very climactic sequence of motions that could have meant she had something interesting to say. To the disappointment of everyone in the family, she returned the question with one word. “Maybe.”

They don’t eat. Levi added to himself silently.

“Do titans poo?” Luke pressed.

Hange opened her mouth to speak. “They don’t…”

And Levi only had a split second to note the glimmer in her eyes, then the wonder that could have come from reminiscing nights worth of experiments. Then the familiar excitement and passion he had seen so many times before in the barracks over tea.

Oh no. He looked back at the soup, a mixture of beans and tomatoes, the green of the vegetables sticking out at very strategic places.

What the fuck.

And Hange’s tirade only continued, and naturally Levi’s mind made sense of the words having had too many direct experiences with titans to last a lifetime. If he looked at his own soup from the right angle, with the right vegetable bits in the right places and the right lighting from just above them, he realized it looked just like vomit.

He was in a frustrating position, hungry but with no more appetite. He pushed himself up. “You two just keep talking. I’m gonna clean up.”

Hange stood up. “Wait, Levi where you going?”

Everything was just suddenly pissing Levi off at that moment. “I’m cleaning up your fucking mess.”

“That’s not a mess!” Hange retorted, an incredulous look on her face.

“I told you, just bring it out after if you wanna play again!” Levi bent over, and started to mix the blocks amongst one another. Words like carnivore, omnivore, photosynthesis, follicle suddenly mixed among one another. The tiles were suddenly gibberish, letter soup. And the more he mixed, the worse it became.

It became easier to put them into the basket.

“We were planning to go back to it after dinner. You didn’t have to clean it up,” Hange chided.

“Well, you two might step on it,” Levi said.

“Really?” Hange raised one eyebrow. “You can’t watch where you’re going?”

“Listen Hange, I’m the one who cleans this house ninety percent--- hell, a hundred percent of the time. I decide what messes we can leave around.”

“Well, it takes a kid a while to pick up the words, we were supposed to practice reading.”

“Hange a three year old does not need to know what photosynthesis means.”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified. “A child his age does not need to live in an immaculate environment.” Clean. Hange definitely meant clean. The way she had said the word ‘immaculate,' the fact that she had chosen such a heavenly word, an almost self righteous sounding word felt almost mocking. “Why do you have to be such a clean freak about this?”

“Why do you have to be such a nerd about this. He’ll learn how to read big words at his own fucking time,” Levi said. He noted the way Hange had put one hand to her chest, seeming scandalized at whatever insinuation Levi had brought up.

When he was dealing with the someone who couldn’t bat an eye at hygiene and clutter, who suddenly thought the pursuit of knowledge was a must have for a poor four year old, Levi wasn’t feeling too guilty at offending her, at least not too much. He opened his mouth, only intending to let it out as a release born from quiet anger. And during moments of heightened emotions, sometimes he lost a little control, and sometimes, he’d fall back to very familiar habits.

Shitty four eyes.

Hange could have heard it, but they had said it so many times before, that she didn’t open her mouth to speak. He couldn’t be too sure either that he had said it out loud.

“Daddy? You want tea with ice?”

Levi only realized then, when the silence broke and a young Luke went in between them a mug in hand.

No hot water, no tea bag. A look of confusion on Luke’s face. ‘Daddy, shut tea for ice?” The words were stilted, the syllables garbled against one another.

Levi and Hange had both looked at Luke with the same surprised look, surprised but very very understanding of the current situation.

***

Shitty four eyes.

Luke didn’t have a potty mouth. Or at least, he wasn’t supposed to.

Levi was with Luke the most among everyone. The heavy responsibility of 'main provider' on his back, he found himself thinking back to every single ‘alone time,’ the two of them had since Luke had been old enough to talk. It had been a year at least since Luke had started to seem more like a companion than a responsibility. When Levi looked back at it though, he thought the moments to be countless and consequently, he had found it difficult to point out the exact point in time where Luke had thought it a good idea to blurt out the words ‘shitty four eyes.’

Coming up with no conclusion, he desperately grasped for a glimmer of an explanation. “Luke’s a nice kid, he wouldn’t call people names,”

“I don’t doubt that,” Hange responded, seeming not at all bothered by the chain of events.

“Hey, we’re still gonna have to explain that to Luke?”

“You tried a while ago, right?” Hange asked “What did Luke say?”

“He just kept repeating it… Shut tea for ice. Shut tea for ice.” Levi whispered in response, letting it get softer and softer on his tongue. It had been just an hour before they had put their son to bed. The conference, the incident just a while ago suddenly had self conscious about how loud they were talking and how close the bedroom door was to the living room. He turned to the sofa and sat a few more feet away from the door, as if that could have done anything to make their conversation more private.

“So Levi, what do you think that means?” Hange asked. She had moved next to him, as if she understood Levi’s intention with switching seats.

“He didn’t seem hostile,” Levi said.

“So he doesn’t think what he’s saying is bad right?”

“He called you shitty four eyes too.” Levi turned to Hange.

“And shitty four eyes has never been an insult to me. You’ve been calling him that since before,” Hange said.

“So what do you suggest?” Levi asked.

Hange was in deep thought for a second, one hand to her chin. She turned to the phone on the kitchen counter. “Calling someone more experienced maybe.”

***

Historia had a child, a good few years past the terrible twos and threes. Naturally, she seemed almost nonchalant about that problem.

“Imitation,” Hange said so confidently, yet so abruptly that morning as she sipped her coffee. She turned to Levi and grinned in the same exact way she would have dropped a research-backed theory many years ago when she was still a titan researcher.

“Titans used to imitate right?” Levi said. Mentioning the magic word ‘titans’ could be enough to pull any good ideas out of her.

“Yes, I know,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “And titans and humans are a little different… It would be easier to have a peaceful conversation with titans. Luke understands me almost perfectly. And you too. I think we can talk to him first about why using nicknames is bad.”

“You think a three year old can understand a convoluted explanation by Hange Zoe?”

“Three and a half,” Hange clarified again. If he can tell omnivores and carnivores apart, I’m sure he can tell the difference between calling people names and respecting people right?” She propped her mug on the dining room table and looked expectantly at Levi.

Levi averted his gaze. “Hange, do you think a three and a half year old will get it?” He dropped the tea bag into the mug and watched as the darker liquid consumed the water, touching the rims of the mug. He walked back to the dining table, settling himself on the chair right in front of Hange.

Hange chuckled. “Worth a try right?”

“Daddy! Shoes!” Luke was painfully demanding. And of all moments, it had been then that Levi noticed that Luke had picked up some of their attitude.

Right. Although Luke could easily get ready for school himself, tying shoes was still something Levi had been in the process of teaching him. “I’ll just help him tie his shoes first.”

“I’ll go ahead.” Hange gulped the last few drops of coffee. “Gonna be late for work. You think you can handle this?”

“Talk to Luke right?” Levi asked. “About the importance of respect?” He had put emphasis on those last three words, as if to hint to Hange that introducing such an abstract idea to a three year old seemed like not so good of an idea.

“Worth a try right?” Hange responded as she stood up and slung her back over her shoulder.

“And if it doesn’t work?” Levi pressed.

By then, Hange was already closer to the door than the dining table, far from hearing range of Levi’s naturally soft voice. Levi felt it pointless to say it louder, especially since by then, Hange had already slammed the door behind her.

And he had bigger fish to deal with, like a frustrated son, who had knotted the laces of his shoes enough times that Levi struggled to find the tips. “Luke… Why… Did you do it like this?” Levi had to resist the sweet temptation of inserting a ‘fuck’ somewhere on that question. After all, it wasn’t Luke’s fault he was just a three year old who was still learning the ropes.

The process of unknotting a very tight knot though was painful, frustrating enough for Levi to sit down crosslegged in front of his son. It was taking longer than a few seconds, enough to have a conversation.

“Luke… The school told me about ‘shut tea for ice’”Levi started and when he started to pull at the top most knot, he felt some sort of release with it, some extra reserves of patience he could easily tap at.

“Shitty four eyes! Clean Freak!” Luke responded happily.

When Levi looked up and met his son’s eyes, he couldn’t help but be somewhat bothered by the knowing and confident look. “You shouldn’t call people names Luke.” He put one finger right in front of Luke’s face.

Was that how to tell a kid off? Levi had been working with Luke long enough though to know, Luke didn’t understand what he was saying. Or maybe he didn’t understand what Levi meant.

What would Hange say? When Levi reflected on that though, the only thing he could salvage were her rants on photosynthesis and titan experiments. If their son understood those, he should understand a lecture on respect right?

“No.” One word Levi had learned as a parent. “No calling people names,” he added, his voice softer that time.

Luke pouted.

Levi had a soft spot for his son’s pout and consequently, he did what any sane parent would have done in that situation. He stared at the clock. Fifteen minutes before class starts. He stood up and took his son by the hand. “Come on Luke, let’s go to school.”

On the way to school, he allowed himself another session for self reflection. Imitation huh? Levi thought to himself. He had to admit, he may have called Hange ‘shitty four eyes’ more often than not and in return, he may have brushed off a few ‘clean freaks’ from Hange as well.

They could try to wean Luke out of it right or at least find out why Luke had been using it at school? He could leave that to Hange though, and maybe consult a bit with their teacher.

Levi took a deep breath, a loud one, particularly when they passed through one of the less saturated parts of town on the way to school. He was sure he had enough reserves at his already scarce social battery to deal with asking advice from teachers.

***

Same advice as Historia.

Children were master imitators. And whether a three year old (or a three and a half year old according to Hange) would understand such an abstract concept as respect, that was one thing they weren’t sure of.

So when dealing with a toddler, play with their imitator side, not this belief that they might actually understand an abstract concept.

Levi had repeated those same words to Hange. By that evening though, he had forgotten half of it, and he had hoped that was the message she got.

“So, we should change how we talk to each other then…” Hange leaned back on the sofa. “But when do you think Luke heard us say it?”

Levi shrugged. “When do you say it?”

In return, Hange shrugged and let out a short laugh. “To be honest, I don’t remember calling you a clean freak either.”

“When we fight?” Levi suggested.

“Or when we don’t?” Hange put her hands up. “Anyway, the important thing is, he hears us say it. That kid won’t get shitty four eyes or clean freak out of anywhere. So we watch ourselves okay? No using bad words in front of our son.”

“That’s easy.” Levi narrowed his eyes at Hange and sat back on the sofa. “I’ve been doing that ever since Luke was born.”

***

With a little more self-introspection and blatant awareness of his surroundings, Levi started to realize it wasn’t as easy as he had expected it to be. He had stopped himself enough times that his throat had been sore from the many times he concealed his own penchant for vulgarity with a dry cough.

“Luke, make sure to put your bag back in the room,” Levi said from the kitchen as he pulled an apple from the fruit basket. It was just like every other day before, pick Luke up, prepare an afternoon snack. Very routine, very predictable and the only thing that made it a challenge had been the heavy awareness that Levi did curse on a regular basis.

Or maybe just the fact that he had to watch himself, had him very very heavy, as if every move had to be cold and calculated.H e was a little more careful than usual with cutting the apple. And he was terribly terribly slow. By the time, he turned back to the kitchen counter, sliced apples arranged neatly on the plate, Luke had already settled on the seat in front of him, looking expectantly at the plate on Levi’s hands.

How long he had been there? Levi didn’t want to ask. “Are you hungry?” he asked instead.

Luke nodded. It was a stupid question, but at least his son was too young to judge his ineloquence.

He dropped the pile of apples in front of him and made himself comfortable on the seat next to his son. “After this, you wanna play with the tiles?” Levi offered.

But never freak. Levi told himself as even the prospect of teaching his kid was starting to weigh on him.

“Let’s play with the tiles!” Luke clapped one hand on the table, and he shoved one of the apples into his mouth.

“Okay, I’ll bring it out later,” Levi said. He took one apple from the plate and started to munch on it, only interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing a few seconds later.

Most days, the phone ringing was a nuisance, peppered with conversations with salesmen, customer service. Having grown up with a place with no phone, but too many scams, it was only natural that Levi would detect the opportunity for scams in that new fangled piece of technology.

There was one voice which always made the process of using the phone though, bearable, if not pleasurable.

“Levi! What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Four eyes, you’re out from work early.”

There was a pause, a pregnant and awkward pause. Then Hange spoke up. “Is Luke with you?”

The silence and that one question spoke for him. Levi spun around to see Luke, staring right at him. “Four eyes… Shitty...Four eyes?” The young boy repeated. It sounded rehearsed the first time around, then confident the second time.

There was a lot he had to teach the kid.

“Just take out food for dinner. Luke and I will have a long talk,” Levi said.

***

Levi’s mind was a blank slate. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing though.

Whatever he was supposed to say to lecture Luke on proper respect lasted at the most, a few seconds in his muddled brain. It went into one ear and quickly out the other.

Somewhere along the way, Levi had given up. He had mentioned words like ‘respect,’ ‘not nice.’ When he didn’t even believe half of what he had spewing out of his mouth, he ended up unable to blame Luke for wearing such a blank expression.

Would Hange have done a better job at teaching Luke? Maybe.

Levi had never been the most diplomatic person, having sat at the sidelines every time Hange had been negotiating trade contracts and war treaties. Besides, he didn’t believe it completely necessary either to teach children not to curse.

There were bigger fish to fry, like rebuilding a war torn country, eradicating poverty and starvation, income inequality and terrorism.

Having lived like a soldier his whole life, dealing with something so mundane as a teacher’s request to teach his child not to curse, seemed almost mundanely unnecessary.

When his son was insulting other children, when a teacher was telling his son off for it, Levi didn’t necessarily find it horrifying. School rules were school rules though and their new society made compliance for three year olds a big issue. Maybe he could leave that educating to Hange though, and just focus maybe on teaching the young boy how to read.

He rearranged the letters and a few times, he gave free rein to his son to form words himself.

There were easy words like ‘dog,’ ‘cat,’ and ‘cow.’ Although Levi had been surprised that Luke had independently put together more complex words like ‘broom’ and ‘clean,’ he started to accept anyway, that it was only natural that the young boy would know them. After all, Hange had been teaching him more complex words like ‘photosynthesis,’ ‘omnivore’ and ‘carnivore.’

Luke had been spelling all those words on his own while Levi watched silently. And when Levi started to scramble the pieces again, just to watch what his son would create, he started to notice some pattern.

Shut

“Shut!” Luke screamed. He didn’t completely open his mouth though, and it started to sound more like another cursed word. Levi wasn’t going to mention that though.

“Shut…” Levi explained. Like ‘Shut up.’ ‘Shut up’ wasn’t the most diplomatic expression and it was probably better not to teach his son that at such a young age. “Like shut the door,” Levi added a second later. He mimed the act of slamming a door closed, suddenly self conscious of how rude it probably would be to slam a door. Was Luke going to start slamming doors if he made his movements too forceful?

Ice

“Ice!” Luke read aloud.

“Ice…” Levi paused for a second, racking his brain for the best way to explain it without having to go for the refrigerator and risk making a mess on their matted living room floor. “The cold thing…”

Four

“Four!”

“The number,” Technically there were two words ‘four’ and ‘for.’ What do you call those filler words? How do you define the word for? Levi realized then, there were only too many ways he could explain what words like ‘for,’ ‘to,’ were used for. He could just leave that to the school to explain.

Tea

“Tea!”

“Te---”

“Daddy likes tea!” Luke started. His face fell. “Right?”

In shock, Levi didn’t even notice he had frozen still, his hand dropping the tile. He nodded. “Yeah I like tea.” He allowed himself a tight lipped grin as he adjusted the letters just to make his son’s final product a little neater. “I really like tea.”

“Shitty four eyes?” His son said again, his excitable tone from a while ago unwavering.

That’s a bad word. Levi wanted to say. That’s disrespectful. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else though. After all, his son was a bundle of innocence, a bundle of excitement. Did Luke even know what the hell he had been saying?

Levi was pathetic. He was weakshit. And he couldn’t even bring himself to disciplining his child on something he personally didn’t even believe in. He continued to reflect on it as he rearranged the letters again. Then he further wallowed in whatever guilt settled in him as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen. As he prepared dinner, then washed the dishes.

When Hange came home, he at least had been ready enough to speak. “I think he’s too young to understand,” Levi said.

“Well a three and a half year old would have a hard time understanding abstract ideas right?”

“Says the parent who’s teaching a three year old science.”

Hange pouted. “Science is not an abstract concept.”

“That’s not the point,” Levi said firmly. He knew if he didn’t interrupt Hange there, she probably would have gone on another tirade. “Do you have any ideas? On how to deal with this?”

“I have one,” Hange said. “I was talking to Historia just today, and some other parents…” She propped her chin on the palm of her hand. “Have you considered… Aside from just laying off, the shitty four eyes first? And I’ll lay off the clean freak? I mean, the kids apparently, at this age, they like to imitate and if we just be more careful about what we’re saying and try to say something nicer, more positive as nicknames. He should stop right?”

“We’ve been calling each other for years,” Levi commented.

“But, not in public right?” Hange said. “You never really said it during meetings.”

“Well those were meetings.”

“Think of this as a meeting, except this time, our son is probably listening to us every single time.” She frowned, wrinkled her nose and looked behind her. Just on the other side of the wall was Luke’s bedroom. It was late at night and he probably was asleep.

But with their conversations and Luke's tendency to pick things up, it only proved that the walls may have been too thin and their son may have been very observant.

Levi raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying…”

Hange nodded. No clean freak. No shitty four eyes. AT ALL. She spelled out those nicknames slowly and carefully, just so their son wouldn't’ pick the words up, taking in the small possibility that he was awake.

Levi sighed. “Fine.” He wasn’t fine. Their home was supposed to be their private space. Luke would be a sponge for information but a stranger to logic and abstract concepts for the next two years.

Letting go of such an intimate habit born through years in the survey corps just to please the teachers and to make it easier for their son fit in, seemed almost unfair. He sought solace at least in Hange’s forced grin. She didn’t want to do it either.

We suffer together. Levi thought to himself. With a quick glance at her, Levi was sure Hange understood. Making it an issue of pride and misery made it all together a more bearable challenge.

***

It was bearable at least. And it took a little more careful introspection to pick up those few moments he had called Hange 'shitty four eyes' or ‘four eyes’ and he started to realize, it had been more difficult to point out than his own abrasive choice of words and his own vulgarity.

Shitty four eyes after all, never seemed like a string of curse words or insults. It was a pet name, so invisibly embedded in conversations that Levi felt strangely incomplete not peppering his dialogue with it.

Hange seemed to struggle as well. Clean freak. She used to say. She had started to replace it with something more diplomatic. “You really like cleaning huh?” A few syllables longer but it felt terribly, terribly unnatural. And Hange always accompanied it with the widest and most cringe inducing grin.

Every single time, Levi would look away, to stop himself from laughing or grimacing, one of those. Hange must have been doing the same though.

Shitty four eyes.

He had replaced ‘shitty four eyes’ with the closest thing he could come up with. It had taken some strict observation from other couples to pick up the best one. “Yes honey, I really love cleaning,” Levi admitted. He put enough emphasis on the pet name, hoping that would at least teach their child about proper pet naming conventions, the importance of ‘not cursing’ and just conventional diplomacy.

Hange was only making it harder to take the challenge seriously, a sardonic grin constantly plastered on her face. Every single time, he had called her honey, she looked away and cleared her throat, or let out a wracked cough, a good disguise for what he guessed had been a laugh.

A shoddy disguise but somehow, it seemed to work. Luke would watch them every time, his stare far from blank. He had on the same face he made every single time he would form those words with the blocks. Luke was deep in thought. “Shitty four eyes! Clean freak!” He said a second later.

Luke would then repeat that many few times over dinner or breakfast.

Imitation. Levi would tell himself, will himself to ignore Luke’s words. As painfully uncharacteristic as it was. Levi would trod on with his mission. “Honey, you want more bread?” Levi tried to make that one word seem as sweet as it sounded. He never got the practice though, so he wondered if he ever had the innate ability to make any words sound sweet.

“Thank you honey,” Hange responded, her grin much wider. A split second later, she looked away, seeming ashamed with herself.

Levi couldn’t blame Hange. It was a painful rendition, her tone seemed very much rehearsed. And when it was common knowledge between them that she was naturally more eloquent than he was, Levi found himself wondering how bad he sounded.

As long as Luke learns. Levi willed himself to swallow whatever embarrassment and stifling sensation came with the slow and excruciating weaning process from very intimate habits.

Luke eventually picked it up. “Ho...ney?” he repeated as his eyes darted between his two parents.

Yes. Honey. Levi nodded.

Luke’s face fell, his expression shifted from something curious, then something confused. Ending with something that could have been a hint of crestfallenness.

Levi couldn’t be too sure though. The boy looked down at his food and Levi couldn’t bring himself to crane his neck and sneak a glance to confirm it. The drooping shoulders of his son was enough to get his stomach turning though.

How long would it take for him to get used to it? Three weeks? Months? Eventually Luke should get used to it… Right?

It was one of those rare days where Hange had decided to work from home. Her piles of paperwork took up more than half their dining table and food would seem more like a hazard than a necessity.

When Hange was only present during weekends, Levi at the least, tolerated it.

On one condition, he was allowed to straighten out the almost two foot tall pile everytime he passed by the dining room in between household chores. When Hange was deep into hundreds of pages worth of reports though, she didn’t look like she minded Levi’s silent interruptions.

“What time are you picking Luke up from school?” Hange asked.

Levi looked at the clock. “He gets out of school at two today,” he answered. It was eleven, and half his mind was already looking into planning lunch.

“Okay,” Hange said, her focus fell back to the paperwork.

It wasn’t anything new, even on weekends or any other day Hange was home, Levi did most of the cooking and cleaning. Hange’s presence did manage to take some of the load off household management off of his shoulders.

Answering the phone was no exception.

Most days, Levi was capable of doing it on his own. When the vegetables were boiling on a pot, the pasta heating in the oven just below it, Hange offered to answer the phone.

“Zoe residence… Speaking…” Hange had always been better at answering the phone anyway. “Luke?”

Levi’s ears perked up at that. He lowered the heat of the stove, as if that would have done anything to make the conversation clear.

“What? Why? No… We’re not.” Hange’s voice was racked with surprise. “....You’re right. We’ll get there soon… We can leave now… We’re not too busy….”

Hange? Not busy? Levi had turned off the stove. Lunch never was the most urgent thing. “You’re going to school?”

“It’s about Luke.”

No shit. “I can tell that much from the conversation,” Levi said. “What happened?”

“He just started crying apparently…” Hange said.

Levi sensed the urgency in the speed at which she pulled her coat over her and retied her hair. “Crying over?” Levi pressed. Luke rarely cried and just that thought had Levi’s heart pounding.

“When the teachers were explaining… Luke was crying about… his parents… About us?”

“Your son said, you two ‘’didn’t love each other anymore’” the headmaster explained. It had been just them in the office but with the way the headmaster had explained it, it looked like she could have been quoting Luke word per word.

Levi surreptitiously flashed Hange a look of confusion, a glance just to see if she knew anything.

She seemed as lost as he was. “Can we talk to our son?” Hange asked.

“Before that, I just wanted to discuss the family situation first… See if we could do anything to support Luke through this?”

“Through what?”

“Through your ‘separation?’”

Levi turned to Hange, his eyes wide. We’re separating?

Hange furrowed her brows at him, an incredulous look. She turned abruptly back at the principal. “Who told you we’re separating?”

“Your son said you two have been fighting a lot. And he seemed very affected...”

“Fighting?” Levi asked. Are we?

No we aren’t. Hange’s expression said it all. “If there’s any misunderstanding, we can explain it to Luke ourselves.”

“You have to understand. We have our students welfare in mind. If we believe that your son is being raised in an unsuitable environment…”

“Excuse me?” Hange put one hand to her chest. Her tone was slipping to something with more emotion than any attempt at compromise.

“Just let us talk to our son,” Levi said. The echo of his own voice sounded unfamiliar in that small voice, especially since Hange had done the talking the whole time.

“We’ve been hearing as well about the vulgarities your son has been spouting...” the headmaster said.

“Yes, we’ve been working on it,” Levi said firmly, with every intention to interrupt the old lady.

“I’d like first some verbal commitment from both of you at least to work on this? We treat every child here like part of the family. With the case on Luke’s word usage and his suddenly bursting into tears in school… It looks like his home environment might not be ideal.”

“Can you let us talk to our son please?” Levi said. He turned to Hange. The brunette had fallen silent yet she seemed very much deep in thought.

“Could you please explain though from your end the debacle about the ‘shitty four eyes’ and the ‘clean freak?”

“We’re working on it,” Levi repeated. Somehow, it was getting harder and harder to sit still.

The condescending look in the woman’s face, the accusing glare wasn’t making it any easier. “But have you been working hard on it? Can I ask what is causing you to employ such vulgarity in your own home, in an environment for children?”

Since when did schools in Paradis get this vigilant about children’s home lives? It was a welcome change at least but Levi was in no mood to ponder the benefits of such an arrangement. “With all due respect ma’am, that’s none of your goddamn business.”

Levi could have just made it worse. And Hange said so herself, in between a stifled grin and a stifled chuckle.

If his own treatment of the very snobby principal could have done anything to convince the whole school that they were shitty parents. He was confident at least, Luke would defend them.

I mean a three year old should be capable of defending their parents right?

A three and a half year old. Hange’s words echoed in his head. If the ‘half year’ of living did anything to make Luke anymore aware of what exactly was going on, he prayed it did work.

Whether it was because he was three and a half or he was merely three, he seemed to have understood. A flash of recognition as they locked eyes along the hallways, Luke still let go of the Ms. Wilde's hand and ran towards them.

By some instinctive need to prove something maybe, Levi clutched Hange’s hand. She gripped back.

Luke seemed to have noticed it. “No fighting?”

“Fighting? Who said we’re fighting?” Hange bent down and patted her son on the head with her free hand.

A wide grin on his face, Luke turned to Hange. “Shitty four eyes.” Then to Levi. “Clean freak.”

Levi bent down, right next to Hange. “Yes, this is my shitty four eyes,” Levi said as he put one hand on Hange’s head, pulling her close.

“And this is my clean freak,” Hange pointed a finger to her left, towards Levi.

Something felt natural and intimate and something tasted sweeter than honey when he was saying those words again, words he had kept nill for months.

The grin in Luke’s face only made the release all the sweeter. “Shitty four eyes and clean freak!” Soon, he was running back to the teacher that had called out to him. He still had a few more hours of school.

“I guess we’ve been pretty careless about the nicknames huh?” Hange whispered wryly. “He’s probably just too young to understand what ‘shitty’ or what ‘freak’ could imply in any other situation.”

Levi stared ahead, at the young boy who was talking to the teacher in whatever childish babble the three year old could manage. “You know, the nicknames never felt like an insult to me.”

“I mean, we have been using them since we’ve met right? It just slips off our tongue every now and then,” Hange said as she let out a soft chuckle.

Every now and then. No a lot more often, than every now and then. To the point that Levi never felt it when it happened. Yet the absence of such words were painfully glaring.

“What are we going to do now about Luke’s language?” Levi averted his gaze, perfectly aware that if Luke had learned anything, it had probably been from his father.

“Have you ever taught him what the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak’ meant?”

“Never,” Levi said.

“Then maybe we don’t have to think too much about it?” Hange suggested.

But it continued to nag. After all, the teachers continued to stare, probably whispering. Levi and Hange spent the last few hours before school ended just sitting by the courtyard of the school and they had more than enough evidence by then to be sure, teachers were talking.

When the bell rang, they found themselves attempting to brush away whispers and glares from the teacher, instead focusing on the hallways which were starting to fill with toddlers and kids.

And eventually, they found Luke, next to him a young girl in pig tails, with glasses. She wore a blouse and a skirt without a single crease on them. “This is my shitty four eyes… And my Clean freak!” Luke said. The girl next to him waved her hand, a wide grin on her face, not at all fazed by the words ‘shitty’ or ‘freak.’

Levi exchanged a knowing glance with Hange. No other words were shared between them but somehow they both understood. Maybe adults were just overthinking that very simple thing called language.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #fanfic

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the-wintershade · 4 years ago

Text

lost without you | rain (3)

pairing: connor (rk800) x reader summary: You get patched up and reflect on the past you've been trying to get away from, Hank starts connecting the dots between you and Connor, and Connor finally accomplishes his mission. wc: 5.9k+ genre: angst, fluff, mentions of abuse warning

Rain: series — 01 | 02 | 03

a/n: huge shoutout to @rosieatron for all of the hilarious memes you’ve made about this short series!

Hank came as fast as he could, swearing under his breath as he heard a gunshot and another one proceeding the first. His pace quickened. He held his hand pistol in his hand as he approached the open door, the breeze playing with it, moving it back and forth. He saw the lock was busted and his senses sharpened. He didn’t know what he would find on the other side of that door but he was ready to find out.

He stepped in, gun held out to find two things: You and Connor laying on the floor (together?) and the deviant laying a few feet away, struggling to get back up. Hank moved to intercept the deviant before it tried its hand at a great escape.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Hank’s gun was trained on the deviant’s face. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He walked over pulling him off the ground and sticking some handcuffs on him.

Then he moved his attention to the two of you. “Jesus,” He noticed Connor’s gaping hole in his shoulder. “Are the two of you alright?”

Connor turned to see Lieutenant Anderson standing behind him. “I’m fine, Lieutenant, but Officer (y/l/n) will need medical attention.” Connor gently situated you up right, careful to watch your injured arm. “She’s been shot in the arm.”

Just then, the sound of sirens filled the otherwise noiseless outdoors. A few cops rushed in, ready to fire, but lowered their weapons and moved to grab the suspect. Hank made his way over to you.

“Hey. Talk to me.” Hank kneeled by you, trying to get you to look him in the eye. When you did, a small grin took your face.

“I’m okay, it just hurts a bit, nothing a few Tylenol and some good medical care can’t take care of.” You made sure that answer was enough for him and continued to take a look at Connor. “Connor, on the other hand, is probably going to need some repairs.”

His LED blinked yellow at the mention of his name. He looked at Lieutenant Anderson, then back at you. “The repair process is quick and efficient, I should be fully restored by tomorrow.” He blinked a few times and did that head cock thing again.

“Good.” Hank moved to his feet. “I’m gonna go get the EMTs, they’ll probably be able to do something for you.”

“Lieutenant Anderson, I do not follow. I cannot be repaired by emergency medical -”

“Not for you. The girl.” Hank looked from Connor to you and then back to Connor.

“Oh.”

You laughed at his confusion and simple answer, it was cute after all. Connor watched you smile and could not help but feel his eyes light up too. Whenever you were happy, he was happy too.

Software Instability ^^^^^^^^^^^ [A9 EVIA]

...

The hospital lights were more bright and blinding than you last remembered, the brilliant white colors of the room bounced back and hit your eyes with no end. It took a few blinks and eventually your eyes were able to turn down its receptors enough to look around without immediately having to shut them again.

At least you knew where you were, it made the adjustment that much easier. Before, well, five years before, there were times where he just forced you in a car and drove. The only indication that could give you a clue as to where you were was the large billboards scattered along the interstates. You weren’t allowed to ask questions, no, it would be like a death sentence, so you only stared at the window and hoped it wasn’t somewhere remote. You also hoped this transition wasn’t permanent, maybe only a couple of days.

One time, you’d been forced to stay in the middle of the Nevada desert for two months with no access to a phone. Never again.

The machine beeping behind you gave you a perfect rhythm to think to as you stared out the window and watched the rain beat on the window with such a force, you thought shards of glass would shoot out at you. It takes you back to that day, if it hadn’t rained, if it wasn’t for the rain….

“Officer!” Connor waltzed through the door breaking off your memory. You were happy to see him, no doubt about it, but your face was still downtrodden and your eyes a bit glossy. You smiled and took a minute before you turned towards the sound of his voice.

The glass window betrayed your intentions as Connor saw your face in the reflection. “Officer (y/l/n), what seems to be the problem?” He stayed where he was, watching your eyes and face shift.

“Nothing.” You looked at him, your eyes now dazzling and upturned, the opposite from previously. Connor noted the way your hands tangled themselves together as you turned towards him. His heart sank. You still did not fully trust him. “Come here.” You patted on the bed.

Software Instability ^^^^^^^^^^^^ [A9 EVIAN]

Connor obeyed, waddling closer like a child. He made his perch on the end of your bed. His hands hung by his sides, his face attentive, but his eyes were turned down. The LED on his temple was whizzing a sad, despondent, yellow.

“Connor.” You leaned forward a bit waiting for his eyes to look at you, but they didn’t, instead pointed at the linoleum. “Connor.” Your voice prodded and you moved your head in a feeble attempt to get him to look at you. Finally, you reached out to cover his smooth hand with your own. “Connor.”

His eyes were captivated by the placement of your hand upon his own. He was shocked, if you did not trust him, why would you make a gesture such as this? He compelled his eyes to blink, just to make sure his sensors were picking up his visual information correctly. His head moved slowly to the side as his eyes slide up to yours, slanting slightly, trying to figure you out. How could you possibly be so complicated? Your words said one thing, but you did another. A ball of walking contradictions, one he desperately wanted to solve.

“What happened? You were just happy a second ago.” Your eyes squinted.

“I just don’t understand. You say one thing and do another, you say you’re fine when you’re clearly not. How does that help? How does that effectively communicate your emotions?” Connor watched you for a hint of a response, small head tilts, and exaggerated blinks.

You sighed and laughed a bit, it’s true. Humans do tend to say one thing and do another. Maybe it’s just a fault in your programming. “You’re right. We, humans, are a bit faulty when it comes to communicating how we really feel. I’ll try to be better about that.” You patted his hand. “How did your repairs go?”

He looked over at his shoulder as if you could see it. “They were able to repair everything to full functionality.”

“Good.” You leaned back, your arm splint and shoulder patches restricting your full backward movement. Air came out of your nostrils as you exhaled, your slight frustration and pain going out with it. Because you were no longer close enough, your hand slipped out of the reach of Connor’s.

His gears were turning on what you had mentioned earlier. He watched the white comforter with a piqued interest, then his eyes moved back to yours.

“Officer (y/l/n), you mentioned previously you were fine when in fact you weren’t. What is the problem?” Connor persisted, he was going to get some answers.

“Just remembering some things, it’s nothing to fret over. Sometimes when I think back to my past, I see things I wasn’t able to see before. I guess that’s the power of hindsight, huh?” You closed your eyes a moment, feeling your pulse start to rise. Or the power of experiencing powerful emotions.

Connor believed that was only partially the truth, but he would not push. He would get his answers eventually, maybe you truly were not ready to reveal what you were thinking. In the meantime, Connor moved a bit closer, the bedding scrunching up a bit as he scooted towards the head of the bead where you lay.

“Officer?” Your eyes slowly pried themselves open.

“Yes?”

“I know it is not in my programming, but I wanted to say, I’m glad you are alright.”

His words warmed a part of your stomach, pumping its way through your veins and slowly turning your limbs to jelly. Your brain couldn’t form coherent words so you opted to say nothing, hoping the big grin on your face and your warming cheeks would suffice.

Software Instability ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ [A9 DEVIAN]

It did.

....

Hank eventually came to visit and uttered the words, “Wow, you look like shit.” You stifled an eye roll, hoping to convey that you were happy enough that he decided to come and visit. You, however, didn’t stifle your following remarks, “Says the man who’s like 50 and barely manages to comb his hair.”

He didn’t like that but chuckled to cover it up. One point you, zero for Lieutenant Anderson. He spoke to you a bit about how it was going with interrogating the deviant and how it was just like a normal case, Android abuse.

“Geez, the fucker had been beaten down so much, it’s no wonder he rebelled. I’d go bonkers.” Hank coughed a bit and moved to sit in the chair beside you, a cup of coffee in the paper cup he was holding.

“Anything else, any other signs of deviancy besides being tortured and beaten?” You had to be sure of everything.

“Naw. It’s a class A investigation.” Hank took a sip of his roasted low quality coffee beans. “Not like we haven’t seen something like this before.”

You nodded your head, your thoughts drifted to that night; stumbling in the rain, dizzy from exhaustion, trying to cover your tracks in the dirt beneath the tree cover. You blinked again, attempting to clear those thoughts.

“Anyway, Connor seems to miss your company.” He looked right at you, waiting for a reaction he was sure he was going to find. How much you stuck to that android raised his suspicions about the nature of the relationship between you two. Hank wasn’t convinced that an android could develop a crush on a human and vise versa, but if two people could make it happen, it was you two idiots. He swirled the coffee in his cup.

“Oh?” You turned towards him, your eyebrows raised. “I’ve only been gone a few days.” Your fingers knotted themselves together and Hank felt he was right about his hunch.

Hank upped the suspense of his response by taking a drink of disappointment, letting the brown, nearly tasteless liquid run down his throat. He felt your eyes on the side of his face as you waited for the answer. Yep, totally right. “He keeps looking over at your desk as if you’ll appear and starts throwing that damn coin around.”

He could have sworn he saw your face blush. “Well, tell him I’m getting released today and that I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Uh huh. Well,” Hank stood. “I hope you get better soon, kid. We really could use your brain back down at the station instead of those nimrods.”

“I’ll see you soon, Lieutenant.”

“Uh huh.” He waltzed out of the room, another drink of liquid warmed his tongue and confirmed his suspicions were true. I always have to be the fucking wise guy.

...

There wasn’t anybody with when you signed yourself out of the hospital, not that you wanted there to be, right? You ambled through the oversized establishment, admiring the different colored tiles, the handprints that showed when you walked twenty-five feet, and the numbers on the rooms as you breezed past them. There was something so quiet and secluded yet spacious and open about hospitals that you couldn’t quite understand but you appreciated.

You pressed the button for the first floor as you stepped into the elevator, letting the pull to the ground relax you on your way out. Your blood froze as your eyes locked onto a jean jacket and a black beany. What? Trying to control your breathing, you swiftly sauntered out of the elevator and directly to your left, taking cover behind a wall. There’s no way, it isn’t possible. You were sure you had covered your tracks enough. Suddenly, he moved in your direction, but there was no way to go but up on an open staircase. You didn’t hesitate to move towards the first step. Your legs propelled themselves quickly but not fast enough to draw alarm. You heard footsteps right behind you. Shit. You hastily moved up the steps and jumped into the first room you saw, a bathroom thank goodness. Throwing yourself through the door, heart racing, your fingers fumbled over the lock before you heard the click as it sank into place.

Backing up, you leaned your body against the wall, taking a few breaths. Okay, calm down. You’re safe now. Your hand moved to stop over your heart to find it still racing. Closing your eyes, you controlled your breathing and brought your pulse down. You stayed in there a few minutes longer than necessary as you peeked around the corner with the man to be found no longer.

Letting the bathroom door close behind you, you nearly sprinted down the staircase and out to the parking garage across the street. Connor put your car on the second level, spot 26. You didn’t wait as you burst through another set of stairs and on up to the orange level. It was relatively close to the door you flew out of and you drew your keys briskly, tapping the unlock button and chucking the door open. Shutting it with an audible echo, you hit the lock button as if your life depended on it.

You took a few breaths and smoothed your hair, it couldn’t possibly be him, could it?

....

“He’s locked up, probably going to be disassembled.” Hank walked with you out of interrogation block and back to your desk.

“Why disassembled? Shouldn’t we give him a second chance like we give most criminals around here?” You sat down at your desk and held your chin.

“The rules are different for androids.” He shrugged and scooted closer to the computer screen.

“They shouldn’t be.” You swiveled around to pull up some files when Connor waltzed around the corner.

“What shouldn’t be, Officer?” He set some coffee down on Hank’s desk and Hank picked up, tilting his salute at him.

“That android, it shouldn’t be disassembled. We haven’t even given him a chance to fix his mistakes, immediately determining him a fall risk and shutting him down. We don’t do that with our other criminals, why just with androids?”

Connor’s LED moved to yellow as he thought about your statement, observing how passionate you seemed about the topic. He also found you shared information with him willingly, instead of aiming for your classical answer of, nothing, or fine. He felt that you trusted him more and more every time you spoke. He was making progress, getting closer to accomplishing his mission.

Hank looked at the android lost for words, wondering why he hadn’t responded yet. Then became more intrigued as time passed, if he wasn’t conflicted about the question, he would have answered by now. Hmm.

“The justice system has set standards and codes for the safety of humans and the upbringing of an-”

“I know, Connor. I just don’t think it’s fair.” You ran your hands through your hair and turned your attention back to the computer screen.

Connor’s LED moved to red and his head cocked as if he was going to add something to the conversation, his lips slightly parted, but he opted not to. He felt as if the conversation died the moment the two of you broke eye contact, that this mysterious energy he could sense through your gaze kept the two of you in this sphere where you could connect and talk but it was gone. He felt a little empty to be honest, like a book without an ending.

Hank took in the android’s behavior and squinted at him looking at you. “Connor.”

Connor turned his attention to Lieutenant Anderson. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Are you alright?”

His LED moved down to yellow. “Yes,” then blue. “I’m okay.”

“Whatever you say, Connor.”

Connor stood stunned into silence. What is going on with the humans?

...

Connor sat on the couch with Lieutenant Anderson, patiently waiting for you to arrive at the house of the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant sat watching the television with replays of what he learned to be a gaming show called “Family Feud.” He was lost at the prospect of there being a feud, more like just a temporary opposition, like opponents have in a game. These families clearly do not know each other and have not met before being on this show so it is not possible for there to be a feud.

“Neck! Neck, Alyssa, neck! Goddamnit! Why would she say brain?” Lieutenant Anderson threw up his arms in exasperation.

“Lieutenant, how can there be a feud? These families have no qualms with each other.” Connor turned his head sideways and moved his eyes to the side as he thought and then back at the Lieutenant.

“I don’t know and to be completely honest, I do not care. Now, shut up, I want to hear this.” Lieutenant waved at him. Connor did not understand this gesture either, but he did understand shut up, so he moved from the couch to the kitchen table where Sumo sat, curled into a little ball of warmth.

“Hello, Sumo.” Connor sat on the floor and reached his arm out to pet him. Sumo didn’t purr like a cat did, but his tail started wagging and that was enough indication that Sumo appreciated what he was doing. A smile formed on Connor’s face, happy that he could bring some comfort to the dog in front of him.

“Connor, get back in here!” Lieutenant Anderson’s voice rang from the sofa even though Connor was only a few steps behind him.

“Coming, Lieutenant.” He gave Sumo one last pat on the head before moving to rejoin the Lieutenant.

“And for God sakes, call me Hank. The whole Lieutenant thing gets on my nerves.”

“Sure thing,” Connor sat back on the couch. “Hank.” He smiled at the Lieutenant.

Hank watched Connor, “What’s going on with you and Officer (y/l/n)?” Connor’s LED flashed yellow. Ha!

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Hank.” Connor’s eyebrows scrunched up and his eyes shifted again.

“I’ve seen the way the light on your forehead changes whenever someone mentions her and I’ve seen the way you look at her. Is there something going on between you two?”

Connor was not positive what he meant by something going on, but he came to the conclusion - by Hank’s previous descriptions - that he was referring to something romantically inclined.

“Hank, are you implying that me and Officer (y/l/n) are romantically interested in each other?”

Hank coughed a bit and looked away. “In a very indirect way, yes.”

“Oh.” Connor moved his head towards the television screen and played back the time he spent with you. If he pinpointed the way he felt in those moments, then maybe it was so. Maybe he did take an interest with you in that way. He did want to be around you whenever he could, if you went into a dangerous situation alone, he wanted to be there, to protect you, and when you did not open up to him, it affected him greatly. He wanted you to trust him and the fact that you did not still nagged him, eating at the back of his mind.

Software Instability ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ [A9 DEVIANT]

“Well? Do you? Connor, it is okay if you do, she’s fantastic.”

“Hank, I’m not sure what I’m feeling. I’m not supposed to be able to feel anything.” Connor's eyes widened as he realized what was happening.

“It’s okay, son.” Hank clapped Connor on the back of the shoulder. “We’ve all been through it at some point in our lives.”

Connor was still searching for some logical answer to the emotions running through his head but he found none. Deviants felt the same things, their actions becoming irrational as a result of emulating emotions. His actions could not be irrational, could they be?

Sumo started barking, moving to the door and wagging his tail fondly. “What is it, Sumo?” Hank called moving from the couch. There was a knock at the door and Connor’s thirium pump speed up noticeably. Connor put a hand over where his mechanical heart lay, feeling it beat irregularly fast.

“(y/n), come in.” Hank opened the door wider to give you more room to walk in. Sumo launched himself at your legs and you bent down to rub him on the head. “Hey there, little man.” Sumo stuck his tongue out and rubbed his head against your bent knee.

Connor watched this whole exchange staring at your face, LED yellow, and a small grin lifting up the corner of his mouth.

Software Instability ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ [rA9 DEVIANT]

[Path Unlocked]

“Hello, Officer.”

You looked up from Sumo, to see him smiling. You weren’t sure why, maybe something Hank said earlier, but you created a smirk that mirrored his own. “Hi, Connor.”

....

Hank wanted to get the whole gang together to celebrate a job well done and to just have a night where the three of you could relax and talk together. After Connor spent a couple hours watching you and Hank down some beverages and speak out answers to that gaming programming, his mind drifted to Larkyn Cavallion and the way you evaded some of the questions he had asked that night he escorted you to your apartment. He did not want to pry but if he was going to accomplish his mission, he needed answers and that is what he was going to get.

“Officer (y/l/n), may I ask you a question?” He followed you to the kitchen on the way to refill the chip bowl.

“Sure.” You poured the chips into the bowl, the plastic of the bag crinkling as you shook it.

“Why were you giving me curt answers the last time I came to your apartment?”

You looked at him and narrowed your eyes, what was he getting at? “Because they didn’t need that long of a response.”

“What about ‘Larkyn Cavallion’?”

At this name you froze, eyes wide, stance stoic. Your eyes widened further but you didn’t answer him, only moved away from his position to the couch to put the bowl down.

“Officer, what’s wrong?”

“Connor, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“When do you want to? Something is bothering you and I want to help.”

“What if you can’t?!” Even Hank looked up at the both of you. Your gaze slowly moved towards him and his LED jumped to yellow as he saw the terror in your eyes. “What if you can’t help me, huh, Connor?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you -”

“No.” You tried to control your breathing. “This is not your fault.” You sighed. “I’ve been going through this thing for a long time and I -” You took a breath and felt the silence in the room weighing heavily on you like a pressure weighing on your shoulders.

You turned to Hank, “Thank you for the hospitality, Hank, but I think I should go.” You set the chip bowl down and grabbed your coat off the rack. You didn’t utter a word to Connor as you hustled your way out the door, patting Sumo on the head before you swung the door open. The door closed firmly behind you and Connor could not help but feel as if this was all his fault.

“What the hell was that about?” Hank turned to Connor who was still staring at the door.

“I don’t know. I was just asking a question.” Connor trailed off, trying to process what went wrong.

“Well, it pissed her off.” Hank watched Connor stuck in a daze. “What are you standing there for? Go after her.” He waved at the door.

“I don’t know what to do, Hank.” He looked at him with the eyes of a puppy dog.

“Connor, just talk to her. Ask the things she’s uncomfortable about, ask the things you’ve been itching to know about her. If you’re ever going to make a breakthrough, it’s now.”

Connor still stood there.

“Move your ass, Connor.” Hank gave him a push, it was enough to make him stumble forward.

That was all Connor needed as he took off into the pouring rain.

...

Your doorbell rang, but you sat on your sofa, watching the rain bead its way down the glass. To be frank, you didn’t feel like conversing right now, Connor’s questions opened up enough anxiety within you. Maybe it was time to leave again, maybe it was time for a fresh start, a clean slate. You rarely stayed in one place for longer than six months, it was what you had promised yourself in order to survive, in order to get a chance to live by your rules.

The buzzer sounded again.

The irritation in your veins started to boil over, why won’t they just go away? You didn’t answer the door for strangers, another part of moving frequently.

“Officer (y/l/n), I came to talk with you. I apologize for my behavior earlier, can we discuss it?”

Now you were really irritated. The last person you wanted to see right now was standing right outside your door. It wasn’t really the questions that upset you, it was how close he was to connecting the dots that teed you off. You’d worked so hard to maintain a low profile and Connor almost shot it to pieces with a few simple inquiries.

You sat for a second longer before pushing yourself off of the couch and looking through the peephole to make sure it was Connor. No matter how much you told yourself you wanted to run away, it was time to stop running, it was time to face the music, and that started with telling Connor the truth.

You took a deep breath and opened the door. His warm chocolate eyes greeted you, hair a bit disheveled from the rain, with a concerned look in his eyes, LED a buzzing yellow.

“Come in.” You opened the door wider.

Connor stepped in, immediately turning to you, his mouth moving a thousand miles a minute. “Officer (y/l/n), I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset, I took notice that you’ve been acting a bit strange. You’ve been on edge and evasive whenever I asked about what happened in the house when we were trying to catch the deviant, the name under your lease - which I discovered on accident -, and the way you furnish and decorate your living space. I want you to trust me. I want -”

You held up a hand to stop him from continuing. “It’s (y/n).”

He looked at you confused and jerked his head forward a little.

“My name. It’s (y/n). You don’t have to call me Officer (y/l/n) all the time, it seems a bit formal.”

Oh.

“(y/n),” He tested the name out. It was a beautiful name, but he was getting distracted and that was not the purpose of his visit.

“Do you want to sit?” You walked into the living room and he followed closely, eager to get the heart of what he came to talk about.

“(y/n), I -”

“I had an abusive boyfriend, well almost abusive, but very controlling.” You broke out, better to get to what he wanted to know - more like what he was going to figure out. “The alias, Larkyn Cavallion, was one I took on so that way he wouldn’t find me, it’s pretty far from my actual name.”

Connor’s LED turned a furious red as images played through his head of a previous boyfriend even thinking of doing even close to harmful things to you. His skin was on fire and he felt flames in his eyes. No one would ever be able to do that to you as long as he were around, he would assure that.

“I’ve been on the run for about five years, trying to escape him, and evade the chance that he might find me again.” You sat with your hands folded. Your voice was emotionless, but you felt a tidal wave of emotion flowing within you.

It felt as if you were free falling, all these memories you’ve tried to suppress finally breaking away from you and this invisible pressure lifting, but you were still falling. You were falling with no guarantee that something would catch you when the ground came into view, nor any certainty that this wouldn’t end in flame and ash. It was a leap of faith in the literal sense and you had to put your trust in Connor, an android, and believe that he wouldn’t spread this information like wildfire, but something inside you told you he wouldn’t.

You spared him a glance and couldn’t take the fire you saw in his orbs, so you looked beyond him. “The day I got away from him, I remember feeling something inside me break, like there was this fog that I was so obscured by that I couldn’t even see what was happening to me, like what was really happening. It felt as if it cleared and suddenly my brain started replaying all our conversations and moments, seeing them in a new light. I don’t know what brought on that wake-up call, but it hit and I knew it didn’t matter how or by what means I used to get out, I just needed to go.” Your hands started shaking and you took a deep breath to steady your voice so it wouldn’t shake.

“I stopped thinking about our entire relationship, I stopped wondering where I went wrong and how I didn’t see it earlier, I stopped pondering why I had let it go this far, I shut it all down. I had to. I grabbed all the cash I had, a couple pairs of clothes, a hat, and my coat and took off.

“He would be home at 3:45, it was 3:35 when I left. I had ten minutes to get as far away from that house as I could. So I ran, I ran through the pouring rain, ran through the tears, ran from that abusive, toxic person, and ran to a new life.

“I cut through the woods, but I forgot he would definitely see my footprints and a little while later I heard his truck. I went thirty minutes out of my way, creating a false trail with my shoes so that I could work my way onto a road and start stepping on leaves so that he couldn’t see the outline of my boots in the dirt. When I turned directions and looked behind me, the rain had been coming down so hard, my footprints were barely visible. I knew I had a chance, so I took off for the bus station.

“I hopped the first one I saw, bought a ticket to go literally anywhere, and as the bus pulled out of the station, I knew, I knew , that if there had not been a torrential downpour that day, he would have easily found me and dragged me back.

“The rain,” you paused, smiling at how significant something most people think is so little is for you. “The rain saved my life. The rain saved me from more years of emotional torture and abuse. The rain gave me a chance to live again.” You stopped, looking at Connor watching you with something soft in his gaze. He got up from the armchair and sat right next to you, waiting for you to continue.

“Since then, I’ve never lived in a place more than six months, I put a false name of the lease, I get a new license plate everytime my birthday comes around, I never make friends because I don’t want to leave any indication that I was around. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to become invisible.” Your eyes turned down towards your hands again, but Connor put his on top of yours, giving it a slight comforting, squeeze, just to let you know that he cared.

“Afterwards, I went through so many emotions, I couldn’t even tell you all of them, I just remember being hyper-aware of everything, all of my surroundings, all the time. I felt like I had to out of fear of him coming back. So now, I’m here, sitting with you, talking about this, for the first time in five years.” You finally looked at him again and saw his LED soften to blue.

“I’m not equipped with comforting people, but I do know that I’m very glad you were able to leave him and that you were able to live life as you should be able to. I understand why you acted the way that you did and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I was attempting to try to help, but perhaps it wasn’t the right way of approaching it. I just wanted you to be able to talk to me and feel like you can rely on me.” Connor watched a smile break out on your face.

“Well, you got your wish.” You stared at him just as intently as he was staring at you. Connor felt his heart rate speed up again and his cheeks start to flush a bright blue, he had an urge to lean in and kiss you, but he shoved it down. He decided you didn’t need that right now, especially with all you’ve experienced, right now, you could probably use a good meal.

“(y/n)? Would you like me to make you something?” Connor watched your eyes light up, correct answer.

“That would be wonderful, Connor.” Connor got up to proceed to the kitchen, but you tugged on his sleeve a bit. “Wait.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, thank you for listening to me, Connor.” You wrapped your arms around him and felt him return the embrace. He was not good with emotions but he was getting better. Watching all that television helped him understand more about these displays of affection. He felt comforted and good having you in his arms, he felt like he was protecting you.

“I’ll be here anytime you need me.” He hummed in response, holding you a little tighter.

[Mission Accomplished]

[Next Task: Take (y/n) on a date]

Connor would definitely fulfill that goal, you could count on that.

....

a/n: I am not in anyway knowledgeable on the topic of abuse, this is just for creative purposes only. If you are struggling with abuse or in an emotionally toxic relationship, please call 1−800−799−7233 or go to https://www.thehotline.org/ if you have an electronic device that is not monitored. Please, please get help. You are not alone, you are never alone, please, please remember that. I love you guys and want to see you physically, emotionally, and psychologically healthy.

#connor x reader #connor fic #rk800 x reader #connor (rk800) x reader #rk800 fic #rain #rain series #rain: rk800 #connor is just a sweetheart #and he just means so well to the reader #still trying to figure it all out too #just a super cute series that can explore abuse but not in a crazy triggering way

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steveusesfaberge · 5 years ago

Text

Better Parent (pt.iii)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: Kicked out of the house by their own kids...they take to the streets on this cool summer’s night. Steve ends up taking Y/N to a quiet little spot...finally taking a word from the boys’ books and just...telling her. Even after everything, Steve obviously still thinks he’s the better parent...but...he’s had the sudden idea that...it doesn’t matter...

Type/Style: Imagine, female pronouns

Warning(s): Fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff~, dorky Steve, heed all warnings… Oh, and a bit of cursing! >.<

Word Count: +4,050

a/n: This is part 3 of Better Parent! I loveddd writing this so, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do! I’m just jamming to some feel-good music...and this fluffy rollercoaster came to be...I hope it’s okay!

Really all the support though for this mini-series...you’ve floored me...two days...and...I know it may not be much, but seeing so many people appreciate what I’m doing, even if it’s just one or two...I’m satisfied. So...thank you all <3 :)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (you are here)

Please send requests! I’m excited to write for you all! <3

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

(not my gif :))

Being locked out of the house wasn’t fun. Being locked out of the house by your own damn children...that’s betrayal at it’s finest. Steve understood this was their way of...helping him out...but...he didn’t even have his car keys, let alone his wallet (and he was sure Dustin had punched him in the gut on the way out). What was he supposed to do? He racked his brain for anything - anything at all!

Walking distance...no money required...perfect for a nice talk...Got it.

“Where are you taking me, Harrington?” She asked him with a voice laced in curiosity. It was quite late; not many house lights were on and the only light so far, were the scattered streetlamps. It didn’t help that there weren’t many places open.

The Nightly Double was even closed - which was the only movie house that played two movies a night. Steve had taken the kids there a few times, and of course, he’d ask Y/N too - how could she refuse him when he flashed such a charming smile anyway? They’d seen Back to the Future, (rewinds of) Ghostbusters, and one of Steve’s personal favorites - The Goonies, as their adventures reminded him of his troublesome party of six...

“Why do you sound so nervous, Y/N/N? You trust me don’t you?” he chuckled while they walked along the barren sidewalks, her arm looped in his, though he gave her directions as they went. It was quiet; their relaxed talking the only noise filling the silence in the crisp summer night. The stars were twinkling above and it only added to the ambiance.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” She hummed while quirking a brow.

He offered her a soft smile, the wild beating that made up his heart seeming even more erratic in her presence. He blamed the lack of oxygen to his lungs - though it wasn’t his fault Y/N’s proximity had his head spin and simple body functions such as breathing, blinking, and talking shut down completely. He couldn’t help it if she were simply...herself.

“No,” he breathed while watching the ground pass by as they walked on into the night,” You can trust me.”

Have you ever fallen in love, Steve? He remembered her asking him that once. A night much like this - except, there hadn’t been the worry of being locked out of the Wheeler’s house without any of your belongings on a crisp summer night...

Steve had never really thought about it...love. As far as he knew, love wasn’t real if it shattered you before you got the chance to embrace it. I...I dunno. I’ve tried to love - but I don’t know...if it was...love. He admitted, after helping Dustin with Dart...and fighting off demodogs with his sister - his relationship with the Hendersons only grew. It allowed him to answer Y/N that night so...honestly.

It was a nice way of realizing that Wheeler hadn’t loved him back like he wanted her to. He’d had the thought that maybe it wasn’t her he loved and missed, but he missed love itself. The feeling of adoration and understanding - sharing compassion and a heart with someone - the ultimate form of trust. He hadn’t loved Nancy...he loved the idea of loving someone - well...it only could last for so long he supposed. Because he knew deep down she’d never really love him the way he craved (he’d have been an idiot not to see the way she glanced at Byers). You tried to love? What...what happened? Her voice had been so delicate, so endearing - as if Y/N already felt his pain without even knowing the story.

I guess, I realized...I was trying too hard, I think... Maybe I wasn’t trying enough, y’know? It...just didn’t work out, and who was I to try and...keep broken glass together? He couldn’t explain it - but that night, as he listened and exchanged mind and heart with Henderson’s older sister...he felt something. He didn’t want to face it then, but that something was more than just something... Steve Harrington had decided he’d never fallen in love before.

Not like this.

You’ll find love one day. I know you will. That’s what she’d told him. When he asked how she knew, she had only given a soft hum, mulling over the answer carefully. It stayed quiet between them for the time being as Y/N collected her thoughts. Steve hadn’t minded, he liked the way they could walk in peace and still communicate without saying anything at all...just being there spoke it all.

Eventually, they found themselves at a park and he recalled Y/N had sat on one of the swings, and he pushed her lightly from behind while waiting patiently for an answer he wasn’t sure he’d ever get. He could identify, that she’d worn a denim jacket, the air had been cold and Steve remembered teasing her whenever she wore it - asking if Hargrove was around.

Because everyone deserves love. Everyone has love, Steve. They just haven’t found it yet, or haven’t been given the proper chance to show it. When she had finally come to a resolution, he’d inadvertently suspended the swing’s motion. Yes, it had been a night just like this...a night like this, that he realized he was in love with Y/N.

They had walked for a while now, he genuinely couldn’t tell you if it had taken an hour or two...three minutes or four...Steve wasn’t quite sure - time seemed to slip his mind as the only thing he found to be existence was the girl beside him and the darkness that was drawn in streaks of black across the sky.

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re out in the middle of nowhere?” She asked while the comforting resonance of timid night washed a serene path for them to follow. “When we get there - you’ll understand,” he mused. Y/N nodded, not really minding all that much...so long as Steve was with her, she didn’t care. She knew that he’d never lead her to danger, and she also knew that if he wanted to make it a surprise, so be it.

Of course, she was nervous...who wouldn’t be? He was...The Steve Harrington...and yet, when she had told him that a year or so back - he’d only shrugged it off. So what? She had been flabbergasted. So what? -- Steve, you’re like...every girls’ dream...like, the total package! He hadn’t believed her, and even so, it seemed to disappoint him in a way.

What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong? Y/N had obviously been worried she’d done something to upset him - and that was the last thing she wanted. They had just beaten off demodogs, closed a damn Gate, and Dustin was attending his first school dance officially... And to top it all off, she and The Hair had walked until they found a quaint park at a corner-stop. If she somehow managed to screw this up with a simple sentence she was seriously considering just finding a rock to die under...

No...nothing wrong...I...I just...I don’t want you to be nervous. She hadn’t understood him, and when she voiced this, she had seen as Harrington, who she’d known all her life (though he may have just never noticed her until recently...she’d not ask him) as the boy who was...king of the world...King Steve...as he liked to call it, him and his fraudulent friends. To see him suddenly so...lost...it...made her feel a twig of pain.

Okay then, I’m not nervous. He had laughed at that acknowledgment. I just...I don’t wanna be known as The Steve Harrington, you know? Like...it...it’s not the best title to shine...and I don’t think being Prom King will do anything for me when I graduate high school except mark me forever as the ass who thought he ran the world.

You always fall in love with the most interesting people; at the most random of times...this...this had been Y/N’s. She hadn’t expected such a heartfelt, moving speech from Steve; shocking her, even more, to see he wasn’t quite finished.

I want to be known for...being...well...just Steve Harrington. Does...does that make sense? She had nodded, a loss for words because - yes - she knew exactly, what he meant. She was just an ordinary girl, the sister of Henderson for Christ’s sake! If he wanted normal...well...she had been living normal, as a nobody (up until they’d met Eleven...becoming a world-saving nobody, yet she hadn’t cared because to the people who cared about her...she was somebody. Realizing this...Steve didn’t have a somebody). Y/N had just never believed The Steve Harrington was capable of making such sense as so. But, she was doubting him - just as he’d explained he knew people would...and she thought herself a fool to do such a thing.

How about - we start over, then? I’ll go first... The small smile on her lips... if only she’d known how much it affected him - if she’d known...maybe things would’ve been different...but...alas...you can’t rush love.

Hello, I’m Y/N Henderson...it’s nice to meet you, Steve Harrington. Their night had drawn on, and with it, she found her self drunk on the cold winter air and the stars blinding her mental filter. She’d asked him if he’d ever loved before...even as he answered, asking his own questions - she felt like a hypocrite - because the advice she gave was so...defective...how could she give such poetic word with such hope and perception when she herself, had fallen in love with; not the Steve Harrington...but..just Steve...in a single night’s wish...

“Okay, we’re almost there - oh, maybe close your eyes?” Steve said with a slightly hesitant nature, not really telling her to do so...but asking her in his own suave style. She nodded. God...how you’ve changed, Harrington.

Y/N closed her eyes and Steve grabbed both her hands, leading her forward the rest of the way. He was her guide through the dark of the forest they’d strayed into, and he didn’t mind the way she squeezed his fingers when she stumbled or squeaked in fright when a low-hanging branch snagged her. Does she know how much I’ve changed...for her?

“Okay...now, don’t take another step...you might...uh...fall-- but! Like...don’t worry! It’s not like a cliff or something crazy! I’m just saying--,” he instantly rambled on, losing himself to his own embarrassment. A slur of words strung together by a red face and his swimming conscious.

When she starting laughing, he let his breath go. He knew it was okay...so he calmed down...and then placed his hands over her still closed eyes - adding to the dramatic effect of it all. “Okay, on the count of three...sound good, Henderson?” He asked while just barely pressing his chest to her back - he didn’t draw her as close as his heart ached for - mainly because Steve was sure Y/N could hear his excessive heartbeat now and was probably questioning the harsh, hummingbird-like vibration.

“One.” I wonder if he knows...

“Two.” I wonder if she knows...

“Three.” What you’ve done to me...

Opening her eyes as she felt the pressure of his warm hands pull away, Y/N was starstruck to be greeted by a stilled stretch of silver water. The lake was surrounded by tall trees that drug shadows of night with them. Glints of summertime fireflies were seen in the distance as if competing with the stars in a battle of wits. They were stood in a clearing, a limestone ledge that overlooked the lake’s vast reflection. The moon was so...clear...Y/N wondered if she could touch it. The stars all cast an image of themselves on the silver surface; in the dead of night...she couldn’t tell the difference between sky and water. The horizon only being defined by the darkened tree line, even then, she questioned if it was real...

Steve watched her open her eyes slowly, eyelashes brushing the top of her cheeks with such a delicate wind, it had him stare with wonder. The tall woods around the lake made her look so small...it ignited the sense of urgent protection in him to take care of Y/N...just in case their small world decided to flip itself upsidedown. He was a few inches behind her, his hands hesitating in the air beside her hips - unsure of what to do - but he was lucky the view had swept all her attention away...Steve could fret in his own silence for a few seconds longer.

He had noticed Y/N’s glances to the moon...standing atop the limestone outcrop - he wondered if...if...he could touch it. If Y/N wanted it - he’d get it for her. Steve would steal the stars, one by one if she said her room was too dark to sleep peacefully. He’d keep them in a glass jar, and when she got scared...he’d remind her to count them as they swirled inside the small container. To hold it closer and closer to her if she were fearful.

And over time, if she was still scared - and those stars faded and dimmed to dust...he’d offer her the last thing he could...his heart. Keep it close to you...okay? Don’t let it go, and when you get scared, you pull it to your chest...I’ll be there for you - always... He’d tell her that all she needed to do was ask him...and he’d give it all for her.

“Steve...,” she murmured, standing still in disbelief of the beauty caving in on her. Y/N felt like she were in a picture - maybe Jonathan had been the mastermind behind this all, and really, she was just a person in one of his photos...

But, she knew that couldn’t be true - because the weight of Steve’s warm arms circling her middle could never be replicated. This was better than picture-perfect.

“I...know...it’s...um...kinda weird...and random...for me to drag you all the way out here. Just to look...at some dumb lake...,” he was slowly losing his cool. Earlier that day, when he’d driven the boys home - and he’d almost broken in front of them...the desperation and hurt he’d feigned...it was seeping back into his bones; escaping through his low tone and tight grip on Y/N.

He’d never been so bold as to embrace her like this...even now, he could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage like a small bird desirous for freedom. Steve knew if he didn’t hold her, he’d fall...and he’d continue to fall because there was simply no end to his rabbit hole.

It was like the world stopped spinning on its axis...and if it hadn’t, then they’d discovered the only place in Hawkins where time stood still (but from what Y/N had seen throughout the past few years...she wouldn’t say it was impossible).

“Weird? No, this...is amazing...how did you find this place?” Y/N asked, not minding the heat spilling from Harrington stood behind her. She gingerly placed her hands over his, unsure of the situation still, but when it seemed as if he weren’t going anywhere anytime soon...she leaned into him completely.

“Oh...my parents have a cabin around here somewhere...it’s not that close, but I know the general area,” he told while trying not to scream to the night that he was so hopelessly in love...

“It’s beautiful here,” Y/N complimented.

“Yeah...I figured you’d like it...I kinda knew you’d say that,” Steve replied with a warm simper on his lips as he rested his chin on her head.

She giggled. “And how did you know this, Harrington?”

“It’s gonna sound cheesy...but...I thought pretty things were drawn to one another...,” he admitted, not being able to see Y/N’s full reaction - as he couldn’t see her face.

“Hm,” she was quiet for a moment, but the next words to fall from her lips left Steve chuckling - wondering how he’d even manage to hold such a serious serenity for so long anyway... “You and Hargrove are both pretty...and you hate each other.”

Steve pulled away from Y/N, blind to the way her heart fell in her chest at the retreat of warmth. He spun her around and narrowed his eyes at her, a playful scowl lighting his lips. “You think he’s pretty, Henderson?”

“I don’t deny a man’s best features, Harrington,” Y/N teased while raising an eyebrow, her y/c/e eyes lifting to glance to Steve’s overproduced head of hair.

Steve scoffed dramatically, and when she laughed, it echoed into the gentle night marvelously. “So...you like his face?” He was clearly teasing Y/N, but he did wonder if maybe he’d been reading it all wrong...

“Sure, I do. Most anyone with eyes thinks he’s a hunk,” her response pulled an eye-roll from Steve. “But...I like your face too, Harrington.”

That...made his soul sing...yeah...that got him weak. “You do?”

Y/N felt the heat rising to her face...she felt like it wasn’t twelve or so at night, but twelve or so in the morning a damn hot day too. She prayed it didn’t show (sadly it did, but Steve was an utter dork for her rosy cheeks so he stayed quiet, knowing he wasn’t in any better shape).

“I do...,” she breathed.

“Is that all you like about me?” He asked Y/N while watching her dainty features change ever so slightly with each expression she provided.

“I...I like everything about you,” Y/N admitted, her y/c/h hair lifted slightly in a carrying cool breeze. “Everything?” Steve echoed.

“Yeah...,” Y/N confirmed with a heavy silence to follow.

It was in that moment, that they lost themselves...fully, lost themselves. Steve wasn’t sure what had overcome him, but his eyes had fluttered shut and he was craning his neck to align their lips perfectly. His heart swallowed into his throat as his mind went blank on him. It was like he’d forgotten how to kiss a girl...Oh, come on! Don’t do this to me now, brain!

Y/N’s own heart wasn’t in any better of a condition...she too was hoping it didn’t burst and fly from her chest. That... wouldn't be ideal. But with confidence she decided to borrow from the girls' words earlier...she pressed her lips to Harrington’s...sealing their fate. (The girls had questioned if she and Steve would ever get together...romantically, that was...and Y/N had explained to them they were only friends...and...that’s all they’d ever be...following that, they offered advice to win his dumb heart over, in Max’s words.)

Fireworks? No. Butterflies? No. Electricity? Not quite. The feeling that shook through Steve’s body really couldn’t be described with such a simple phrase. The best he could put it was; imagine seeing a shooting star - except this shooting star was small enough to fit in your palm. You decided to kiss that star, and with it...your dreams came true...everything on the inside was burning, but it didn’t hurt...it was blinding...but you could see clearly...your breath was caught; stolen away...but you didn’t mind catching it again...

He felt fingers sift through his hair, and he smiled into the kiss. Y/N’s hands only grounding him further into reality...making him realize that...this...was real. She...was real.

He was real...this was real...Y/N proved that to herself when she felt the tight grip around her waist, the large hand holding her face close. She smiled into the kiss, Steve only grounding her further into reality.

Pulling away breathless, Steve could only laugh. He laughed, and he laughed, and he laughed. Y/N couldn’t help it, her face lighting pink - her own laughter traveling with his as they tried to control it. Their excitement too much to handle all at once. Luckily, they had each other to share it with.

“You know...I really wanted to do that,” Steve told in between gasps of air and laughter.

“Did you now?” Y/N responded with a giggle.

“Mhmm...for...maybe...over a year or so...I dunno...a long time, that’s all I know,” he sputtered while grabbing her hands in his after composing himself. Before she could tell him that she felt the same way - he spun her around, his arms snaking at her waist. Around and around and around...as if maybe it’d help cool down their identical blushes.

“Can I say something else?” He asked with a beaming smile, her giggles subsiding once more as she was placed back on the earth.

“Sure, Steve.”

“I love you. I love you and I think I’ve always loved you, I just...needed some time to realize it...I’m...I’m sorry it took me so long.” His voice had fallen to a whisper and his chocolate eyes dodged down. If she had a camera, she’d have taken a photo of him - right then and there, because God...could he pull off the lovesick boy by the lakeside, contemplating life with the stars look better than anyone she knew...

Was he nervous to hear her answer? Well...yeah...just because she kissed him didn’t mean she returned those feelings (that’s what the nagging voice in his head susurrate anyway). In the heat of the moment, anything could happen...and as his mind wandered down those possibilities, he was drawn back to the present time when he heard the words he’d been dying to hear since that night of the Snowball Dance...since he helped Dustin do his hair...since the night that he fell in love with her...

“I love you too, Steve.”

“...Yeah?” He asked while squeezing her body to his in the tightest hug he could offer. He felt her arms slip around him, returning the embrace wholly, and it only had him love her more.

“Mhmm.”

“I’m scared...you won’t...love me like I do you, in the end, Y/N,” he murmured into her shoulder, pulling away from her somewhat. The sudden change of mood struck her high down and she quickly shook her head. She loved him! She did! She loved him so damn muc--

“Because you’ll hate me when you finally realize the kids think I’m the better parent.” He fooled.

Once Y/N realized what he meant, her head ultimately catching up with the rest of her that Steve was just being a moron; she glared at him - smacking the side of his head and shaking her own with a groan. “You just had to ruin the moment.”

“What! I figured since we’re so happy...we might as well settle it...I mean--,”

“You bring me to a gorgeous lake...and all you have to say, after confessing our love to one another...is that you’re better than me...how lovely, Harrington,” Y/N shot with a sarcastic note, yet, this was just like him...and she adored it...damn Harrington and his boyish ways.

“Aw, don’t be mad,” he pouted while she relocated, sitting down on the edge of the hangover - arms crossed, looking away from the brunette. A stubborn air about her. “Hmph.”

He frowned, but, had a sudden idea.

Slipping his jacket off, he placed the windbreaker over her own shoulders and then sat down beside her. He pulled her to his side and Steve rubbed his nose into Y/N’s neck, even with her soft whines and hisses of removal.

“We could honestly share the title...you know,” when she didn’t respond, he continued, playing along with her fake act of hurt.

“I mean...speaking of better parent...it takes...two...right? Like...why can’t we just be...the better parents. They do need a mother...and a father, after all,” Steve noticed the small grin beginning to crack on Y/N’s lips so he pushed further.

“Yeah...? And what’re you supposing we do, Harrington?”

“I mean to say...,” he started while tipping her chin up to look him in the eyes,” You wanna be their dad?” She snorted and rolled her eyes. Of course...

“You saying I’m not already?” Y/N quipped. Only being met by Steve’s hungry lips once more, because it really didn’t matter who was better...Y/N made him a better person...and Steve made her a better person...it didn’t matter who was the better parent...they raised the kids together anyway.

(Extended Ending)

“What’re they doing?” Max asked.

“Can you see them?” Mike pressed.

“Do you know where they are?” Will offered.

“Is he still with Y/N? - He better still be with my sister!” Dustin grumbled.

“They’re not like...ya know...,” Lucas trailed.

Eleven only smiled.

“They’re kissing.”

An eruption of cheers rung out through the basement. It turned out, they were pretty good at not only closing portals to otherworldly dimensions...but also pretty damn good at hooking their favorite babysitters up too.

Because in the end...they were all getting pretty damn tired of having to sit through their arguments of “I’m the better parent��... Took them too long to realize they were meant to do it together.

---

a/n footer: If you’d like to see more long/multi-part series, please let me know! :D I was thinking about doing one for Hargrove...how does that sound?

Tagged: (shoot me a message or whatnot, and I’ll always add you to my new tagged list~! :) )

@wefracturedmotivation

(Just those who I noticed asking for a pt.3...ha...I won’t tag you again if you do not wish to be tagged! :))

@sassisaluxury @foryoubarnes @etchedinsand @supernaturalcat7 @mairalynn416 @sadhwstudent @my-fandomful-life2 @ultrunning @christinawxxx @truthdaze @mollencollie

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x henderson reader #stranger things imagine #dustin henderson x sibling reader #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #eleven hopper #steve harrington fluff

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wingsofkpop · 5 years ago

Text

Finding SKZ - 5: ML98

pairing(s): Hybrid!Bang Chan x Reader, Hybrid!SKZ x Reader

genre: Hybrid!AU, Dystopian!AU, Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, mentions of abuse, mentions of abandonment, mentions of death

word count: 4,6k

synopsis: After rescuing an abandoned hybrid from his fate of death, he has one other favor to ask of you. Not only do you have to find his eight other hybrid brothers, but you have to keep them safe from the deadly dangers of your city: Miroh

chapter directory

“Wh-what?”

The stranger doesn’t blink, almost annoyed by your obvious confusion. He exhales a deep sigh before repeating, “My name is Lee Minho. Are you deaf?”

“But-but,” You shake your head frantically and lift your hands to grasp roughly at the roots of your hair. Too many things were running through your mind, you could barely hear the shake of your voice over the roar of your thoughts, “...How?”

“You ask way too many questions.” Minho rolls his eyes before glancing into the pitch black. “As much as I’d love to sit here and wait for you to get over whatever mind fuckery is going on inside that slow brain of yours, we’ve got to go. Unless you really do want to get arrested?”

As much as you wanted to argue, Minho was right. You got really lucky that he was even here in the first place. And even though you were dying to know exactly why he was here, you bite your tongue and follow his advice.

“Good choice,” Minho nods and gestures over his shoulder, “Follow me and stay quiet. They’re still inside the building.”

“How are we going to get out-?”

“-What did I just say?” You snap your mouth shut at Minho’s bark. The male deposits you one final glare before taking off into the darkness. Luckily, your eyes had somewhat adjusted so you could just barely spot his silhouette. You do as he said and trail right behind him. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a couple police officers investigating the fight ring in the center of the garage. Your stomach twists at the reminder of Chan, Hyunjin and Woojin. You really hope they made it out okay.

Not paying attention, you accidentally bump into Minho when he stops. He shoots you a laser-like glance, then grabs your wrist and yanks your body forward. You stumble but catch yourself, now face to face with a hole embedded with the brick wall. It was barely big enough for you to crawl through and seemed to be attached to some sort of pipe or tube that led to the outside. It must have been a garbage chute or something along those lines.

“Ladies first.”

You gape toward the male, “You really expect me to slide down that?”

“Not unless you have any other ideas.”

You curse him for his sarcastic logic and with a face of disgust, begin to maneuver your limbs inside the gap. Luckily after you fit your legs and hips inside, it showed to be a lot more spacious than you thought. You tried not to think of what was waiting for you on the other side before pushing off and inhaling one last breath.

You plunge into pitch black and you hope there were no critters living inside the pipe. The stench of garbage fills your nostrils, the smell making you both dizzy and nauseous. You had slid for maybe a minute when you land into a mass of trash bags and other garbage. Something slimy melds onto your palm and you try to not think of what it could be.

Right behind you, Minho joins you in the dumpster. He doesn’t linger, grabs the edge of the bin and hauls himself out. You expect him to offer you a hand, but of course, he doesn’t. He sends you a strange look and tilts his head, “You planning to stay in there all night?”

With an unimpressed glare, you climb out of the trash and throw yourself out of the container. Rather ungracefully, you tumble out and land painfully on your hip and shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Minho stifle a laugh. Your annoyance grows, somewhat distracting you from the ache in your bones.

You huff, “Fine.”

Minho raises an eyebrow and points to his hair, “You’ve got a little something there.”

Gulping, you reach up to pull something out of your strands. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to know, but it was sticky and gross. Minho seems to take pleasure in your discomfort judging by the smirk that invades his lips. He shakes his head and chuckles, “Humans. You guys are so repulsed by anything.”

“Ha ha. Funny.” You groan, wiping your hand on your jeans before sinking it into your pocket to pull out your phone. You find it empty, the realization that you had given your phone to Woojin just before Chan went in the ring hits you like a sack of bricks. With a deep groan, you pinch your nose and drag your hand down your face.

If Woojin followed your guys’ original plan, he should have called them a cab and be back at your apartment by now. The only issue with that is you yourself have no means of communication nor transportation back to your home. Buses or trains don’t run in this part of Miroh. And you had no way of knowing that the boys did in fact get home safe.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

“Hello… Earth to weirdo?” Your snapped from your thoughts as a hand waves in front of your face. Minho was staring at you with furrowed brows and a frown. He hums, “Still dealing with mind fuckery or something?”

“I’m thinking about the others.”

“Okay?”

“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about your brothers?” You hiss, exasperated at his nonchalant tone. “They could be on their way to a euthanization hospital for all we know right now.”

The male shakes his head, “No way. Woojin-hyung and Channie-hyung are way too smart to get caught. Plus, I don’t smell their scents anymore.”

At his assurance, the heaviness of your chest somewhat lifts. There was still a shred of doubt pointed straight at your heart, but you needed to take what you could get. If Minho says the boys are safe, you have no other choice but to trust him. Let’s hope it doesn’t go wrong in your favor.

“Okay…but what about me?”

“What about you?

“I have no way of contacting anyone or getting back home.”

Minho shrugs, “And? How is that my problem?”

“God, don’t you have some sense of empathy?” A groan escapes your lips as your fingers fly to tug once again at your own hair. “I’m asking for your help.”

“I already helped you. My job is done.”

“But your brothers-”

“-Just because you’re helping them doesn’t mean I have to associate with you.” Minho glares in your direction. You’ve never seen someone look so hateful and loathing. He continues in a hiss, “You probably have some underlying plan anyway that ends with you selling all nine of us somewhere and making bank off bank.”

Your expression becomes horrified, “What? I would never do that.”

Minho sarcastically chuckles, “Uh huh. That’s what they all say.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The ‘nice’ humans.” Out of instinct, you back up as Minho stalks closer. His features threatening and irises as black as night. “The ‘nice’ humans that offer you food, clothing, and a warm place to sleep. They speak to you in that honey, sweet voice and tell you all you have ever wanted to hear after all the fucking shit you’ve been through.”

“The humans that treat you like you’re human only to turn around and leave you on the side of the road with nothing but the clothes on your back and the damn question about what you did wrong.

“That is ‘they’.”

Minho steps away, allowing your lungs to function again. When you’re caught up on your air supply, you turn back to the hybrid and shake your head, “That’s not me.”

“Like I said, that’s what they all say.”

Your anxiety grows as Minho starts to make his way down the alley, his form disappearing further into the darkness. You take off after him, “Wait! Where are you going!?”

“I’m going to find my brothers, all of them, and get somewhere faraway where fucking monsters like you can’t find us.”

“So you’re just going to leave me here!?”

“Pretty much.”

You watch as Minho’s silhouette fades further into the darkness. And whether it was out of desperation or quick-thinking, you call for him one last time:

“You’re just like them, you know.”

Minho stops cold at your comment. At his sides, you can see his hands balling into fists. He whirls his head around and rasps through his teeth, “What the hell did you say to me?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head, “You’re just like the humans who abandon their hybrids and leave them for dead.”

“Don’t you fucking compare me to your species!” You barely have the chance to blink before Minho is in front of you again, fingers digging into the skin of your arms. His breath blows hot against your cheeks as he hisses, “Humans treat us like we’re shit. You have no idea what it’s like to be mistreated and abandoned like you’re nothing.”

Your expression softens and before you can stop your tongue, you whisper, “Yes, I do.”

Minho is silenced at your confession. The contempt within his eyes fades and he lowers his grasp from your arms. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before Minho breaks the silence, “...I’ll help you.”

“Thank y-”

“-But don’t think for a second I’m doing it for you.” Minho’s cold exterior returns in a flash. He turns back toward the end of the alley, waits for you to come next to him and starts to walk, “Channie-hyung seemed to really like you. So I’m doing it for him.”

You shake your head, “How long were you watching us?”

“Ever since you got out of the taxi.” Minho sends you a pointed glance before returning his gaze forward, “Seungmin-ah’s okay too?”

“Yeah. He’s a good kid.”

He nods, “Yeah. He always was.”

You can’t help but feel this weight pressing down on your shoulders. And it only grows worse as both you and the hybrid continue to make your way through the darkness.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“So you’ve just been living on the streets?” You peer through the window full of grime, finding tons of hybrids scattered throughout the dimly lit alleyway. Minho, not wanting to draw attention to your mundane features, had snuck you inside what he called his “home” through the sewer system. And after spending a good five minutes in there, you’d take the trash chute again without hesitation.

Minho lived in an abandoned apartment building that if you were able to guess, went up in flames during the war. The walls were covered in charred remains and the ceilings were stripped, exposing the rusted metal squares making up the roof. The floor was littered with soot, dirt and unsettlingly creaked when you took a step. Minho had set up his little sleeping area in the cleanest corner of the apartment, which basically consisted of a well-worn mattress, a couple ragged blankets and a dented suitcase.

You couldn’t even imagine.

“Pretty much.” A shuffle of fabric occurs over your shoulder. You turn to see Minho sort through his minimal array of clothing, folding the pieces that weren’t in complete rags. He places the folded clothing in the middle of a bed sheet, before tying it into a cute little bundle. An amused smile pulls at your lips, but disappears when you realize he’s intending to take those clothes with him.

“You know, once we get back to my part of town, I can get you some new clothes. Ones that aren’t in tatters.”

Minho shakes his head, “I don’t want anything from you.”

Your heart drops at the rejection. With a sigh, you turn back to look out the filthy glass. Minho hadn’t told you much, but this part of the Forbidden was invested with hundreds of abandoned and runaway hybrids. This is one of the only safe places in Miroh where they’re able to live freely, but at the cost of homelessness and lack of resources. Minho had obviously been surviving off what little he could find, just like these other hybrids. You didn’t even want to think of how they’ve been keeping themselves alive, especially with how cold this winter has been.

“How long?” You ask, watching a cat hybrid pass out blankets and coats to a group of shivering rabbit hybrids. “How long have you been living here?”

“A couple months. I never stay in one place too long.” Through the window reflection, you watch as Minho places as many bundles as he could fit inside his suitcase. Those he couldn’t, he piles onto his bed and shoves into a trash bag.

Your eyebrows furrow, “Where else have you lived?”

“All over. The Capital, the Outskirts, anywhere I could find somewhere to hide.” Minho sighs, caressing the dent in the suitcase. “I guess I was hoping to find my brothers.”

“I mean, you found Hyunjin, didn’t you?”

The hybrid huffs, “Yeah, and then what could I do? It’s not like I could fight for his freedom like Chan-hyung did.”

A moment of tense silence stretches between the two of you. Instead of keeping your eyes on the hybrid family outside, you return your gaze to your unlikely savior. His own gaze was centered on the wall in front of him, his back facing your direction. Out of nowhere, he slams his hands against the surface of his suitcase, effectively causing your body to flinch.

Through gritted teeth, he hisses, “God, I hated watching those bastards throw him in the ring and allow his own brethren to tear him apart like a fucking chew toy.”

“There’s nothing you could have done.” You sigh, “You would’ve only gotten yourself killed in the process.”

Minho doesn’t respond to your statement, nor does he acknowledge you speaking at all. He continues to stare at the wall and scratch his claws alongside the metal container. You debate trying to get his attention again, but decide against it. Whatever demons Minho was facing weren’t like those of Chan, Woojin and Seungmin where you could brush them away with an excerpt of comfort. You’d call him cold, but you understood how that felt.

You used to be the same way.

“Tell me something, (Y/N).” The way Minho so harshly utters your name sends a shudder down your spine. You mask your physical discomfort with a raise of your eyebrows and an acknowledging hum. Minho purses his lips before asking, “Why are you doing this?”

You shake your head, “What do you mean?”

“All of this.” Minho gestures to himself then outside the window, “Why are you helping hybrids?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Minho’s sarcastic cackle has more shivers wracking your figure. Out of instinct, you back up to press yourself against the window, the glass cool against your skin. The hybrid stays where he is, caressing the claws emerging from beneath his fingernails. Goosebumps spread across your flesh as he angles his head to peer at you over his shoulder. Through the dim light, his eyes glowed a bright yellow. He murmurs, “You’re lying. Why are you really doing this?”

“Because I want to help you.”

“Bullshit!” Minho snaps at your repetition, turning his entire body to face you. His features were pulled into an ugly sneer, one that almost didn’t look human. You couldn’t remember what kind of hybrid Chan had said he was, and you were really wishing he would take his hood off so you could see his ears. “There’s always a catch! Humans aren’t capable of doing the right thing!”

As much as you will yourself to remain calm, you were growing very angry. You understand Minho obviously has reason to loathe humans, and you couldn’t imagine what he and any other hybrid has been through, but that doesn’t give him the right to degrade you just because you were born human. Sure, the majority of your species are assholes and have no sense of compassion, but the rest of them don’t define the person you are.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The truth!” Minho hisses, “I want you to look me in the fucking eyes and tell me the real reason you’re rounding us up!”

You seethe, leaving your place at the window to stand right in front of the hybrid. Staring straight into his piercing eyes just how he asked, you speak straight from your heart, “Just because you’ve been through hell and back does not give you the right to paint anyone who offers you kindness as a villain… Do you know how dangerous this is for me? So far, I’ve been cursed at, almost beaten and nearly arrested trying to save your brothers. And not to mention the fucking guilt I’d feel if anything ever happens to one of you.

“Because guess what, Minho? Unlike others, I have a heart. And I may be foolish and a damn idiot for following it, but that’s the kind of person I am.” Minho’s eyes try to avert from yours, but you follow and force his focus to remain on you. With a deep sigh, you finish, “So don’t you dare compare me to ‘them,’ because you know what, I’m putting a lot at risk for you guys. And I’ll be damned if your bitterness stops me from doing so.”

Another awkward silence uptakes the atmosphere. You felt a little bad for snapping at the hybrid, but then again you really didn’t. Everything you said is true. The boys may be in danger, but you are even more so. If you’re caught housing rogue and runaway hybrids, ones especially like these boys, you’d be in big, big trouble. You could spend years locked away in the Capital, disappearing like your grandfather did. Or worse.

Minho sighs before meeting your eyes one last time, his irises back to their normal brown. He shakes his head, “You’re really doing this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.” You nod, “Now, can you actually treat me like a decent person?”

The hybrid says nothing and gathers his belongings. He throws the trash bag over his shoulder, dragging the suitcase across the creaking floor to the doorway. Minho pauses, tilts his head and hums, “You coming or what?”

You sigh. At least he’s not threatening to leave you behind this time.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“Stay close. If these guys figure out you’re human, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.” Minho pulls you into his side, his arm tight around your waist. Although you’re not too happy with the position, you don’t argue. As harmless as majority of the homeless hybrids seem, you know they wouldn’t hesitate to tear you apart. At this point, you just want to get home to the boys.

Get home to Chan.

“Don’t look at anyone. Just keep your head down, got it?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah.”

You allow Minho to lead you through the packed alleyway, uttering excuses to get through. It may have been your own imagination, but you swear you could feel dozens of eyes staring you down. You push closer to the hybrid, grasping the limb around your torso for comfort. The male acknowledges your anxiety with a gentle pat to your side. It doesn’t ease anything.

Beads of sweat roll down your forehead, which is ironic because the rest of your body felt ice cold. You exhale a deep breath and watch the fog snake in front of your eyes. Panic lurches throughout your veins when you accidentally bump into someone in front of you. Before they could turn, Minho transfers you to his opposite side and apologizes for his clumsiness. You feel your tension recede when the person mutters something out of understanding and goes back to whatever it was they were doing.

You and Minho manage to make it to the end of the alley with no faults. Wracked with heat and shivers, you shove Minho away and collapse against a nearby wall. You tuck your knees into your chest and shield your burning face inside your palms. Minho calls your name, but you can’t respond.

It takes a few moments to ease the panic attack building inside your chest, but you manage to gain control of your own senses again. With a sigh, you uncurl yourself and climb shakily to your feet. Minho offers you a look of concern, one that surprises you, and questions, “You okay?”

You nod and swipe a hand across your sweaty forehead, “Yeah, just needed a minute.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine.”

You sigh, “Listen, you can’t tell Chan about this, okay? I don’t need him to worry about me.”

“Yeah, no problem”

“Thanks.”

You don’t like the stressful edge of the silence. It fills your body with tension once again, and you can’t seem to meet Minho’s piercing gaze anymore.

His next words strike something deep inside you, “Who abandoned you?”

“Wh-what?”

“Earlier you said you knew what it felt like to be abandoned. So who abandoned you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t-”

“-(Y/N)!” Before you can deflect Minho’s interrogation, sudden arms are sweeping you off your feet and lifting you into the air. You can barely breathe with how tightly this stranger was holding you, but luckily, they lower you back to the ground and allow you the chance to utter their name:

“Chan.”

“Thank god, I thought the police got to you.” Chan smooths back the strands of your hair before caressing your cheek. His skin felt good against your own, easing whatever worries from before had remained. “God damn it, (Y/N), whatever happened to sticking to the plan.”

You shake your head, “I wanted you safe. Where’s Woojin and Hyunjin?”

“Back at the apartment.” Chan answers, “I stayed to look for you. There’s a cab waiting for us a couple streets over.

“How did you get out? I mean, there were cops everywhere, (Y/N).”

You chuckle, “Actually, I had a little help.”

Chan follows your gaze, his touch immediately falling away from your body. His expression shifts wildly, first confusion, then surprise, then absolute joy. The biggest grin spreads across his face as he rushes toward the watching hybrid and sweeps the boy into his embrace. Laughter erupts from the two boys, the sound like music within your ears, as they cling to one another. Soon, chuckles and giggles fade and Chan parts from Minho to scan him up and down.

He shakes his head with a laugh, “You were always a sly bastard.”

Minho grins, “What can I say? I wasn’t born a coyote for nothing.”

Chan sniffs, “It’s so good to see you, bro. So, so good.”

“Same here, Channie-hyung. Same here.”

Chan and Minho hug once again. You watch with admiration, loving how content Chan looked at having his long lost brother within his arms. How could the universe treat such a kind and beautiful creature like absolute shit? Chan deserves the world, so do the rest of his brothers.

And like you said to Minho, you’d be damned if anything stops you from giving them that chance.

~~*~~**~~*~~

“You really should have paid more attention, Chan. You could’ve been killed.”

Chan groans, a mix out of frustration and pain. Carefully, you try to be more gentle in sewing the gashes on his arm. When you started, he claimed that it didn’t hurt, but the whites of his knuckles and gritting of his teeth told you otherwise.

“How many times are you going to lecture me about that?” He sends you a teasing smile which shifts into a grimace as you pull the needle through his flesh again. “I still won, didn’t I?”

You sigh, shaking your head with a huff.

“What? You didn’t think I was going to win?”

“It’s not that.” You finish off one of the wounds, tying the string with a small knot. You quickly clean off and sterilize the needle again before tying it to a new thread. Satisfied, you begin stitching the second cut, “I just really don’t like seeing you like this. I think I still have trauma from the time I found you.”

“Well, it’s over and we have Hyunjin and Minho back. That’s all that matters.”

You choose not to respond and continue stitching Chan up in silence. Although you’re completely focused on your work, you can feel Chan’s eyes watching your face. You try to ignore the flitters inside your stomach, passing it off as hunger pains.

You finish the second and third wounds, running a cloth over them to clear any excess blood. Chan raises his arm so you can wrap a bandage around it, his eyes never once leaving your face. With one final pat to his now bandaged arm, you nod, “Okay, I think you’re all set.”

With a smile you meet his gaze, his sparkling brown eyes boring into your own. Your eyes avert to a splotch of dried blood staining just above his right eyebrow. You grab the cloth from before and warn, “Hold still.”

You lean in to lift the moistened rag, swiping it over the smudge with soft strokes. Chan’s warm breath paints your cheeks red hot, and you notice the trembling of your hand at the proximity. Once the blood is gone, you move to retract your limb, but you’re stopped when Chan wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Frozen with shock, you allow Chan to remove the cloth with his other hand. With your hand now free, Chan lowers it into his lap and spreads your fingers into a fan. His pointer finger traces the lines of your palms before lifting it to press a soft kiss to the exact center. His eyes closing in content. A strange heat rushes through your body, a cross between embarrassment and affection, and you make no move to stop him.

When he removes his lips, your flesh feels strangely cold. His eyelids flutter ajar once again, and his dark gaze leaves your lungs without breath. Chan had never looked at you in such a way before, with such admiration and heart. And before you can stop yourself, your eyes are averting down to his lips. Have they always been that pink and plump before?”

“(Y/N),” A shiver runs through your body as your name falls from his lips. You find yourself leaning closer, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was racing nor how you were absolutely shaking. Excitement floods through your veins when the hybrid leans in as well, ears falling to the side, his lips brushing over your cheek as he speaks, “You are the most beautiful human I’ve ever met…”

You find yourself unable to reply, perched on the edge of threading your fingers in his soft hair. Your hand was still on his cheek, and you couldn’t help but think of how beautiful this creature was sitting beneath you. His glittering eyes. Smooth skin. Gentle hands. Everything screamed perfection, even the blemishes he had were perfect.

You haven’t felt like this in a long, long time. And even though you were terrified, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss Chan so badly.

But just before you could, the bathroom door flies open. You jerk away from the wolf hybrid, clumsily climbing to your feet. Seungmin stood in the doorway, a grin on his face and his laptop cradled in his arms. Luckily, it seemed like he hadn’t seen anything, and you can’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

“I think I found Felix! C’mon, you guys have to see this!”

You follow the younger hybrid without acknowledging your previous companion. What were you thinking? Hybrid and human relationships are forbidden in Miroh, much less unheard of. Falling for Chan was like signing your death warrant. Not only could Chan be euthanized, but you could be executed as well. You can’t let that happen again. Not ever.

Even so, you try not to think of how cold and lonely your lips feel.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids au #bang chan x reader #bang chan au #stray kids #bang chan #woojin #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n.#kpop fanfic #kpop au

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

LIMBO

“Does anyone else smell that?” Anne asked. “Smells kinda...fishy in here.”

“I smell it, too.” Katherine agreed. “That’s weird.” She laughed a little.

“It’s probably nothing,” Aragon dismissed it, and her words were followed by a peal of thunder.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Cleves commented idly, staring out the rain-spattered window in the rehearsal room.

“The forecast did say heavy rainfall all week,” Parr mused, remembering what the weather channel had said.

“Let’s not let the poor weather distract us,” Maud said, “Let’s get started, shall we? And someone please wake up our music director.”

The six queens turned in the direction of Maud’s gaze and found that Joan was asleep under the piano, curled up into a ball with her back to them.

“I didn’t even notice her!” Cleves laughed.

“She’s been like that since I got here,” Maud chuckled as Jane walked over to wake up Joan.

“Hey, sweetheart,” The queen gently shook Joan’s shoulder, causing her to look up blearily. Jane smiled warmly. “Rise and shine, sweetie. It’s time to practice.”

Joan stared at her queen for a moment before closing her eyes and promptly curling up back. She buried her face into the jacket she was using as a makeshift pillow.

“Go away.” She mumbled, her voice hoarse and slightly muffled, “I’ve been here since six this morning. Give me a moment to rest my eyes.”

“It’s almost 10:30 right now,” Maud points out, “That would mean you’ve been sleeping for around four hours.”

“Incorrect.” Joan said, not raising her head or even rolling over to speak, “I spent the first two hours working on the sike because, APPARENTLY, that's the music director's job. You know, if they're gonna make me do extra work that doesn't apply to being a music director, then I should get paid more.” She sniffed, clearly miffed. It was quite amusing. “Anyway, then I took out all the instruments, only to put them back because Bessie, Maggie, and Mars don't have to come in today. After that I was going to practice on the piano, but I'm tired and just decided to rest my eyes for a moment. That was at 9:30. SO, it's only been around half an hour.”

Laughter followed her explanation, even a few scattered claps.

“Thank you for that, Joan.” Maud said.

“You're welcome.” Joan replied, “And goodnight.”

Chuckling and shaking her head, Maud decides to let the girl rest for a little while longer. She turns to the queens and began giving directions.

Around thirty minutes pass. The rain starts to fall harder.

“Wonderful, ladies,” Maud said as the queens finish a run-through of Six, “Okay, so, as you all know, we have a tonight show performance coming up. We're going to be combining EX-Wives and Six for it.”

“If it ever gets written,” Anne tittered, side-glancing at Joan.

“I heard that.” Grumbled the music director from under the piano.

“You weren’t even sleeping.” Aragon said.

“I am TRYING to.” Joan retorted. “You gotta remember that I am an insomniac. Getting to sleep is not easy all the time. Especially after being woken up...”

“So you've been awake this whole time?” Parr asked.

“Partially,” Joan answered, “Listen, if you want music, then bring me my keyboard. I'll play it on the floor."

“Just rest, Joan.” Maud said.

“Gladly.” Joan mumbled, digging her face further into the jacket.

Ten minutes pass. Rain pelts down with even more force. Thunder crashes loudly, loud enough to startle Joan awake.

Joan yelped both in fright from the sudden noise and pain when her head slams into the bottom of the piano. Laughter filled the room as she crawled out to where her upper body was sticking out. She sets her chin on the cold floor, grumbling in annoyance.

“Maybe that was a sign,” Katherine giggled.

“Fuck the sign.” Joan grumbled.

She laid there for a moment before pushing herself up completely.

“Finally ready?” Parr asked.

“I'm grabbing a blanket first.”

Joan trudged out and towards the costume room. She rubbed her eyes with a loose fist, still grumbling to herself. When she opens the door to step inside and start searching, a horrible sound reverberates through the air, so loud that it felt as if the entire building had been ripped in half by a simple noise. Joan stumbled and something crashes against her head.

Blackness.

Joan awakes with a groan. She pries open her heavy eyelids, hearing her own shallow breathing and heartbeat in her ears. She pushed herself up, but topples back over onto her face almost immediately. She has to wipe rubble and debris from her face, along with blood.

When she puts it all together, she realizes a piece of the ceiling had fallen onto her head.

She doesn’t know what to do. She can’t just sit there forever, so she waits for the majority of the dizziness to go away before crawling for the exit. She regains mobility, eventually, but still has to use the wall for support. She’s preparing to probably get Jane, as the queen’s gentle touch always took her pain away, but she was halted by a wall of flames when she was about to enter the rehearsal room.

Fire. The entire room was on fire. Just how long was she out, then? Was it the lightning? How could she not hear their screams? Because all of the queens and even Maud were still inside. She could see their charred bodies. Jane even looked like she was still squirming.

Joan staggered backwards. Thunder crashes. Tears staff to fall like the heavy rain outside. Pain radiates through her skull. The fire starts to spread to the ceiling. Crackling from above. Joan doesn't have time to react.

Joan doesn't feel the pain. Not really. And that may sound a little weird because she’s being impaled through the stomach like a shish-kabob by pieces of smoldering wood, but it was true. She could feel the heat from the fire and the blood flooding from her mouth, but not the debris itself. Her nerves were still functioning, apparently (remember the plank had to have cut through, or at least, cut by, her spine), and her hands shot to the object jutting out of her midsection before finally going limp. She gurgles on the red filling her mouth for a moment until her head droops. A crimson haze flares across her vision. The last thing Joan sees clearly is Jane’s scorched corpse, and then she’s standing in a burning field.

Joan gasped and looked around wildly. A distorted, shadowy figure stood a few yards away, crouched on all fours. Its body was still, but it seems to be flickering and glitching out, and its head was twitching around wildly. Red glowing eyes seemed to stare directly into Joan’s soul.

“Where...where am I?” The girl croaked.

No answer.

“Am...am I dead?”

No answer.

The creature slowly stepped forward. It extended one of its hands, fingers widespread and tipped with hooked claws. A talon was pressed to Joan’s chest and pain overtook her once again.

“Your time is not now.”

———

Claw away the darkness.

Joan tries. She really does. She’s weaker. It’s harder to fight.

Animal instincts. That’s what Joan sometimes she feels she has and she isn’t too sure why.

Never trust anyone.

Her claws chip and darkness overtakes her.

Joan is pulled back into a freezing black ocean. Waves batter against her. Salt water stings in her open wounds. Red bubbles explode from her lips and, in return, bloody mouthfuls of sea foam rush down her esophagus.

“...Does anyone else smell that? Smells kinda...fishy in here.”

Over Poseidon’s wrath, she thinks she hears a voice. It’s familiar and the only thing she’s got. She tries to cling to it.

“...I smell it, too! That’s weird.”

Never trust anyone.

“...It’s probably nothing.”

“...It’s really coming down out there.”

“...The forecast did say heavy rain all week.”

But that doesn’t make sense- None is these voices make sense because she saw the owner of the voices-

More sound. More talking. What sounded like twenty thousand voices babble at once and Joan is slipping again. She scrabbles and grips and tries to stay on but she’s falling, falling, falling.

“...Let’s not let the poor weather distract us.”

Coral scrapes her back raw as the riptide captures her. Red mist filled the water and she convulsively swallowed, choking harder as her lungs fill up with the wrong element. The tang of salt and blood swishes in her mouth.

“...Let’s get started, shall we? And someone please wake up our music director.”

It feels like a harpoon has just stabbed her through the stomach and she’s wrenched upwards.

Joan breaches the surface.

She gasped and shot upwards, slamming her skull into something hard. Fresh pain bursts to life in her forehead.

“Looks like she did that for us.”

That sounded like Anne, but that was impossible...

Joan was having a sensory overload. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. Talking shreds her eardrums and the smells are overwhelming. Eyes are drilling into her and she doesn’t blame them; she probably looks like she’s having a panic attack. Maybe she is.

But wait- This is the rehearsal room. And she’s under the piano. Why is she- Wasn’t this place-

Okay, wait a minute. Was that flash of blonde hair-

Oh dear god it is.

Jane Seymour herself is standing a few feet away, eyes alit with maternal worry. All the other queens and Maud are there, too, not a single burn on them.

When her senses somewhat gather, Joan jumped back further and screamed, startling Maud and the queens. Her eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets and she looks like she’s on the verge of having some kind of episode as she blubbers and stutters on her words.

“What has gotten into you?” Aragon asked, and her voice sounds too real.

This doesn’t make sense. Catherine of Aragon is dead. Jane Seymour is dead. Anna of Cleves is dead- they’re all dead! Joan saw them die! How could they be... How could she be...

She died. She remembered dying- she was dead!

It’s-

It’s just a dream. This has to be a dream, the final projections of the brain during death; it’s the only logical explanation to any of this. What else would it be?

“Joan, sweetheart, are you okay?” Maud asked.

Joan doesn’t answer. She’s too busy trying to wrap her head around what was going on.

She was back in the rehearsal room, right before she was woken up by Jane for practice to start. Then...

What if this was a mockery of her life? What if she died in that fire and, instead of going to heaven or hell or purgatory, she’s reliving her downfall? Is this limbo? This is a fate worse than death if you ask her.

“Oh my god...” She finally spoke up in a hoarse voice.

But what if it wasn’t? What if she was weirdly reincarnated back to her former self an hour before the fire? Or maybe it really was all a dream.

Maybe the fire was the dream.

Joan looks up and all of their eyes are alive. They don’t look dead at all.

“You’re alive!”

Emotions were rushing through her. She nearly knocked Jane over when she hugged her. This shocks the queen, as she hadn’t been expecting the sudden embrace, and the girl in her arms was babbling about a fire, which was even more worrying.

Before Jane had the chance to comfort her, Joan pulled back, but it was like she touched fire. She ripped away and stared at her hands like they were drenched in blood then back up at Jane again. The emotion in her eyes was unreadable, but her fear was so obvious. She took off running.

Joan slams the bathroom door shut. She’s breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath, but it feels like air can’t satisfy her lungs anymore. She braces herself over the sink and paws cold water onto her face.

Nothing makes sense.

Nothing makes sense and that scares her even more.

She looks up and yelped loudly, backing up into one of the stall doors. That shadowy figure she had seen was staring back at her from the mirror. It tilts its head slowly, blinking its ruby eyes once, twice.

“Who are you...?”

No answer.

“What’s going on?”

No answer, but only for a moment.

A garbled voice comes from somewhere.

“̶̧̳̟̱̼̗̳͕͍̦̇̈́͂́͑̾͊̅̔̅͂̓̊͗̌̄̎̕͜Y̴̨̛̹͍̩̯͈͎̽͊̒̎́̓̃̈́͊̇͌͗̒̑̔̿͐̕͝͝͝ͅo̴̬͖͍̓̀̿̂̒̈̋̀͋̑̔̄̃͊́̈́͘͝U̸̢̪̟̣͗̓̍̑̿́̍̃̓͋͘͝.̸̨̢̻̗̰̺͔̩̫̜̜̯̮̦͎̈͂̔̅̈͝ ̶̛͕̖̣̟̬͈̤̇̀̅̂̔̀͂̍ͅͅT̷̯͕͎̖̎̈̊̂̒̽̃̕͝r̴̭̲̒̿̍̒͂̕ÿ̷̢̨͕̥͓̳̟̝̦̞͕̭̱̮̗̥͓͜͝.̸̨̢̛͚̫͍̺͎̯͖͖̟̱̱̮̳͚̦̪̀́͌̑́̄̋̇́̒̈́̚͠ͅ ̸̧̥͉͖͙̞͙̱̱̗̙̙̮̤̹͉̈̔Ą̶̛͇͕̩̺̼̮̯̯̯̪̥̬̟̘̗̞̘̜͕͕͔̖̍̓͂͛̋͆̏͐̂̋̚ͅĢ̸̞͎̫̼̱̭͎͉̪̣̣̭̲̜͚̦̺̯̅͗̀͒̿͜͠a̷̧̡̢̭̲̥̳̬͔͚̞̦̝̥̰͍̙͉͎͓̹̹̱̹̠̜͖̔̌̄̿͛̌͛͗͛̓̏̇̆̃̓̒̌͘͘͝͝͝͝i̶̛̝͙͉͌̿́̀͊̍͌̒̋̿͐̃̔̈́̾͑̀̅͊n̴̛͔̻̤͍̬̳̜̲̘̣̖͔͒͑͆̊̂̍͛̎͛̍̋̎̇͊͑͗̊́͐͗̚̕͝͠ͅ.̷̨̡̛͒̈́̔́̋̈́́̇͐͜͝

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. The voice coils up around her neck and directly into her ears. It sounds like this thing has never learned proper English or dialect, as it speaks in broken sentences.

“What are you talking about?”

The creature tilts its head slowly in the other direction.

“̸̢̡͔̜̝̦͚͇̤̙̂̈́̇̿͐͂̕͠Y̵̢̧̧̢͎͕͖̱͇̦͈̬̲̝̼̜̫̳̎̊o̸̡̲̭͔̭̝̬̙͎̙͖̼͖̹̊̅͆̋̑͒̿̿̊̀͗̿̊̓͆̄̕̕̕̚͝u̸̧̨̨̨̠͓̼̦̰̙̲̩͔͎̪͚̠̝͎͆̔͐̈́̋̂̇͐͗͗̏̽͆̕̕͝ͅ.̶̢̨̡̛̝͙͇̙̼̩͇͇̪̪̭̗̳̪͓̝̱̥̫͉͇͑̾̔͒̆́̈́̎͂̏͒̏̀͆́̆̃̾́̄͒͑̕͜͜͠ͅ ̵̧̡̢̛̪̲̮̼̺̞͖̺̠̤͕͗͛̌̒̍̿̍̃̏̈́̈́̒̃̿̚͜͝ͅC̵̡̛̲̦̹̳̲͔̪̮͖̯̲͈͔͕̭̪̺̦͉̺̙̒̍̎̾͑͒̑̃͒h̶̡̢̢̨̤̙̩̗͚͖͖̦͈̗̗̱̳̳̎̽́͛̅ͅA̶͔̜͂̀́̔̇̓̇̋̀́͋̂͊̏̈̓̓̿͂͗͘͘͠͠n̶͉̤̘̰̒̒̒́̾͑̿͋̎͛͗͂̂̈́̃̈́̚͠g̵̟͚̎̿ȩ̴̢̧̛͖̭̘͉̹͚͈̪̯̠̩̰̟̳̮͇̥̱̞̩̖̾̓̀͂͝.̷̧̢̨̢̬͖͎̝̞̹̪͕̰͎͖͙̪̣̞̙̘̖́̾̈̿̾͜ͅͅͅ ̷̧̧̢̛̛͍̪̥̯̤͓̜̪͉̲͔̩̪̥̥̹͕͂͊̎̎̋̓͂̆̎̑͘Ṫ̷̡̧̜̲̰͕͉͖̪̪̦̤̦̬̝͇̻̙̰̲̮͎̥̻̪̣͛͐̋̽̇̅́̔̽͐̎͊̈́̇͐̎̾̋̌͊̕͝͠ḯ̷̛̖̤͍̙̯̖̹̩̫̰̼̜͖͓̳̥̮̟͙̯̟̬̗̏͗̕̕͜͜m̸̧̡̧̧̢̛͇͎̗̞̰͎͇̪͖̗̻̦̜̃̄͛́̽̈̏̿͘͝ͅͅë̶̜̘͍̗̩̳̤͎̲͚̯͔͉̠̞̦́̽̽ͅ.̸̨̧̡̡̛̦͎̙̳̥͔͍̤̩͕͔̺̥̳̦̗̹̻͍͎̳̫̂̏̊̈́̎”̷̧̙͕̳̣̫̯̣̖̪̼̟̺̟͈͔̭̀̀̌̿̌̈́̀̂͛͗̃̈͐͘̚̚͝͝

Change time? Does that mean Joan was getting a second chance at life? Again? More reincarnation? To fix the fire?

The bathroom door suddenly swung open and Joan yelped loudly. A sharp pain spirals from her chest and the world around her seemed to become black and white. Jane and Maud are coming in, but their strides are slow. Then, they’re going backwards and the door shuts itself.

Joan gasped as she’s released from whatever-that-was. The air had gotten so thick, like it was encasing her in an invisible full-body cast. A heartbeat seemed to pulsate through the atmosphere, beating loudly in her brain. She had absolutely no idea what that was.

“̷̢̨̮̩͖͉̲̤̲͔̳͔̰̫͉̳̙̼̝̘̩͋͂̈́͂͜͜͜ͅỸ̵̠̞͇̬̂́̀̈́ó̴̧̢̤̭̪̘͕̥̺͙̘̯͕̖̜̹͂̀͑̃́͛͜͠͝͝ͅư̶̡̧̛͕̖̯̙̦̗̩̼̮͉̓̆̒̈́̊̓̌̂̀̈́̑̈̎͋͆͐̒̅̾͘͘͝͝͝ͅ.̸̧̢͙͓̹͖͍̩͈͙̬̮͇̬̱͙̩̗̫́́͑̈́̅̈́́́͋́̄͑̾̑̈́͘̕͠͝͝͝͝ͅ ̵̧̫̯̝̠̪͖̹̟̮̤͍̹̰̫̖̲͉̦̭̰͉̻͕̈́́́͋́͝͝ͅͅͅR̵̦͈̰̰̜̭͉̘̙̠͓͖̠͉̞̗̈͐̇̋̀͗́͝ë̸̥̦͍̗̠̠̩͜v̴͈̮̪̦̞̳̳͍̝̦̖͉̫̝̄̽͋̑͂Ȩ̶̞̻̦̙̪̬͙͓͚͒͂͌̎́̒̅͑̏̒͗̄͘̚͘̕͝͝͝ͅr̶̡̛͖̮̟̲̽̈̈̽̅̍́͊̓͛̓̇̂̄̓̽̌͛̄̄̈́̕̕͝͝ͅs̵̡̢̡̬͙̖͍̻̀̎̏͋̅͐̆͛̍̽͌̔͛̄̌̇̈̈́̒̇̕͘͘ͅĕ̴̳̤͔͍͉̯̣̞̩͍̺̖̺͍̾͋̀̑̋̅̊̀̕͘.̴̧̨̧̨̳̯̼͉̗͙̗͇̮͕͕̝̼̔̄͊͒̅̊̏̄͌̾͂̆̓̀͌̀͆̎̔̿̈̈̓͒̕͘̕ͅ ̴̡̨̡̧̣̯͔͔̲͚̬̳̝̘͕̥̺̤͕̻̰͆T̸̡̨̫̣̯͉̼͙͖̤̳̥̬͍̣͈̰̎́͌̽̋̇͋̿̋̌͜͝i̵̢͍͕̹̫͛͊̓̇͘m̶͍̋̃͐́̏́ȩ̷̬̘͕̠̘͙͚̩̟̜̠̞̱͖̠̥̥̱̞̰̝͔̲̍̓̅̾͗̅̑̆̾̊̿̀͂͊͐͜͝͠ͅ.̵̢͈̼̝̯̥̤͛̑̃͋͑͐̀͆̆̈́̋́̾̏̇̒̊̈́́͌̈́̅̓͆͂”̵̡̧͍̬̭̮͉̺̣͕̠̩̳͇̣̹̝̤͉̫̫̰̜̋̀̀̊͜

Joan swallowed hard. That’s what she did? She reversed fucking time?

She remembered the pain she had felt and pulled down the collar of her shirt a little bit. Right above her cleavage was a thin slot carved in her skin. It was around three inches in length and about half an inch in width. The inside was completely blackened, but it seemed to give off a blue glow.

“What...the...fuck...?”

Joan looked up and the creature was gone from the mirror. The bathroom door swung open and Jane and Maud walked in.

“Joan?” Jane called out with her worried mother voice, “Honey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Joan considered telling the truth, but it’s not like anyone would believe her. They would think she’s a total nutcase, and that’s not what she wanted.

“Uhh...sorry.” She said sheepishly, still a little shaken up, “I just... Bad dream.”

“We could tell, hun,” Maud said, “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about it?”

“No, I’m okay,” Joan assured her, “Let’s just...get to practice!”

The way the forty minutes that went by seemed so eerily familiar. So far, things were going just fine. It came around the time that Joan left to go get the blanket, but she didn’t this time, even when she started to shiver. She had to stay put and save everyone.

Or, that’s what she likes to tell herself.

While idly playing Heart of Stone on the piano, Joan caught a strong scent of what she thought was fish. Her nose twitches as she looks around in utter confusion. What was that? Hadn’t Anne brought that up earlier?

Joan decided not to let it bother her. It was probably nothing. She got back to focusing on playing.

Then, the outlet near Jane and Aragon crackled and flames spewed out everywhere. Bright embers caught on the back of Jane’s dress; the queen was on fire. Red and gold engulfed her at a terrifying rate and it would probably only be a few minutes until she was dead. Aragon was burning, too, now, along with Maud and Cleves, and only then does Joan realize she had smelled burning plastic, which gave off a fishy aroma. She could have stopped this. She could have saved Jane. She could have...

She could.

Almost like it knew, Joan’s new ability triggered. The world becomes grey, except for the fire, which is strangely still in color. The burning victims start to flail in reverse until they’re calm again and the flames are pulled off of their bodies by an invisible force. Strings of marigold and orange retract into the electrical socket, becoming perfectly normal once more.

Joan is left gasping after the rewind ends, but she’s far from done. She jumps into action, hurrying over to the group. Even though her mind was set on saving Jane specifically, she had to try and get the other queens and Maud away, too.

“You guys have to move!” She yelled.

Too bad she don’t have time to come up with a believable explanation. That socket was going to pop at any second.

“Joan, what’s gotten into you this time?” Cleves asked, humoring her.

“Guys, please just listen to me. Can’t you just stand somewhere else? Trust me, please.”

The queens exchanged looks, but Maud obliged and waved them to a different section of the room. Joan breathed a sigh of relief just as the socket exploded into flames.

This time, instead of screams of pain, there were screams of terror. Joan hissed when a few flying embers landed on her arm and she clawed to get them off. She stumbled backwards, scratching at her burn to try and soothe the pain. When she turns her head, Joan gives her a shocked look.

“We have to get out of here!” Aragon yelled, and Anne and Katherine were already out the door.

“Cover your mouth with your hand or shirt, just don’t breathe in the smoke!” Parr shouted.

The fire was spreading fast. Queens were running in every direction. Sworn to serve her mistress, even in this life, Joan grabbed Jane’s hand so they wouldn’t get separated. Thick black smog was quickly filling up the rooms.

Even with her collar pulled up in front of her nose and mouth, Joan could still taste the acrid aroma. Her eyes start to water from the smoke, so she has to squint, but she manages to shove her way out of the building safely. The rain felt amazing on her heated skin.

“How...how did you do that?” Aragon asked from a few feet away after taking a few gulps of clean air.

“Do what?” Joan glanced at her, rubbing her burned arm.

“Know that there was going to be a fire. That’s why you told us to move!” The first queen looked a little suspicious.

“The smell,” Joan said cooly, “Melted plastic kinda smells like fish. That meant there could have been a possible electrical fire. I didn’t know it was actually going to happen, though. I just had to play it safe.”

Jane was the first to thank Joan and the embrace the girl earned was warm and sweet, even with the freezing rain.

The firefighters showed up quickly and were able to tame the flames with the help of the storm. Bessie, Maggie, and Maria came, too, and the first thing they did was hug Joan tightly and make sure she was okay. For the first time all day, in their arms, Joan felt safe.

—

Time travel was a huge feat, even if it didn’t make sense or even feel real. Once she was at home, Joan spent at least an hour in her bedroom just testing out her new ability. She would drop something on the ground and then reverse time, putting the object back in its place. It was truly incredible!

While dropping a bunch of journals, Joan yelped when she looked up to see that monster thing in her mirror again.

“You have got to stop doing that!” She snapped like it was a dog or something.

She steps forward and leans on the dresser below the mirror, inspecting the creature closely.

“So, what are you doing here? Have you come to tell me more about my cool new ability? Thanks, by the way. It’s awesome!”

The creature growled lowly and Joan furrowed her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

For a moment, it does nothing. Then, it’s gone, vanishing into tendrils of black smoke in the glass. Joan was about to shrug it off before she heard the squeak of her mattress bending under weight and turned to see the monster in the room with her.

“Oh my god!” She yelled in surprise.

This thing had to be at least seven, maybe eight feet feet tall. It’s crouched on all fours, razor sharp claws gripping into her blankets. The only facial feature Joan can see are its eyes.

“What...what are you...?” Joan asked in a hoarse whisper.

She was suddenly very uncomfortable and intimidated with this thing being face-to-face with her.

Its head continues to twitch around wildly for a moment before stopping. It looks down and raises one arm. The black haze its body seems to give off is gone around the area below the hand, revealing leathery, flesh-colored hide with a rusty tint from something smeared across it. Similar to Joan, there’s spotted burns on its wrist. It looks back up. Joan does, too.

“What are you?” Joan asked again, this time louder.

Her vision was flickering all of a sudden. She could see writing on the walls, the same word over and over and over again.

JEANNE

The weird vision ended and the creature slowly cranes its head down to look at the girl.

“̶͇͚̳̝̤̼̰͉͕̹̝̠̾̚͜ͅḬ̷̣̥̎̈́͆̎͆̆͆.̶͓̯̩͕̖̪͚͊̈̑͝ ̸̨͉͓̻̘̳̑͑̅͑͜Á̶̛͓̮̱̲͔̜͉̭̄͐͗̽̓̽̋̈́̓̽͆́͑͜͜ͅm̶̼͖͙͈̱͇̺̘̰͋͆̌̑.̵̜̳̯̙͓̥̘̟̠͚̞͉́̈́̍̂͗̔̔̎̎͆͝͠ ̷̜̫͉̼̜̥͉̖̰̂͛̍̾̅͆̇̾̈́̇͌̔̾̇ͅỴ̸̨̰̩̭͈̆̔̾̈́́̀́͜o̷͙̰̤͕̬̗͈͎ư̵̲̲̓̇͑͌̋͗͂̅̇͋̚͝.̸̢͙̔̎̅̌͒̈́͑͋̒̏̽̍̄̕

————

Jeanne [name]

Pronunciation- /dʒoʊn/

Gender- Female

Word- French

Meaning- The Lord is merciful

Related names- Jean, João, Ivana, Jovan, Jovana, Jovanka, Ioan, Ioana, Jan, Jann, Yanne, Jouan, Ivan, Siobhán, J̵̨̘̝̣̲̬̖͙̲̟̠̲̽̊̅̈́ ̸̲̪̰̣͚̎̐́̈́̋̉͑̊́̂̈́̕͝o̸͚͋̂̅͜ ̸̜̀̇͌̆̈̾͆̽͋͆a̶̧̮͓̙̘̙̔͂̾̋͆̈́ ̷̨̗̲̰̣͓̒̀̽̈́̕ṉ̶̘̬͊̑͆̇͛̽̂́̑͋͝

#new AU ;)#have fun with this one :))#it's confusing #as it should be :)#it's supposed to be like that #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #joan on the keys #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #maud #time travel au

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idontevenknownemore · 5 years ago

Text

An Angel who Fell, but Not Quite Far Enough - Part One

*A gender-neutral, Good Omens reader-insert in which you are an angel with very bad—er, well nonexistent memory who fell, but not quite far enough...

[ Insert Guide: [Y/N]=“Your Name,” [F/N]=“First Name,” [L/N]=“Last Name,” [F/C]=“Favorite Color” ]

Amnesia wasn't all bad—well, it was, but also...it wasn't? For all [Y/N] knew they could have been a serial killer before forgetting it all, which was most certainly bad. However, whatever they had been before, it didn't weigh them down. There was no baggage, no anxiety-inducing past trauma. They lived whatever life they wanted to. For some reason, they'd never really felt the desire to find out who they were, anyway.

[Y/N]’s first memory consisted of waking up in a dark and dirty alleyway. They later discovered it was London and were very quickly transported to a hospital after a few odd conversations with strangers had prompted someone reporting them to authorities.

No doctor could explain it, nor England's best neuroscientist for that matter—[Y/N]’s brain was functioning entirely normally, they just simply couldn't remember who they were. They had basic knowledge about the world, but when it came to personal knowledge concerning their identity? They simply blanked. At first, they were accused of lying, but after numerous interviews, evaluations, counseling, medications, and even a couple of polygraph tests, there was no choice but to believe them.

Their story inspired a news article or two with headlines like "DOCTORS ASTOUNDED BY PECULIAR AMNESIA PATIENT" and, naturally, internet conspiracy theorists proposed the most outlandish ideas—like perhaps they were a time traveler or an alien or an experimental clone released into society by the government. None of them got anywhere near the truth of the matter. All the buzz even lead to them meeting the Prime Minister once. But, eventually, as with all media, the hyper fixation slowly died away and they were old news. And old news gradually became forgotten news.

After being unsuccessful in their search for their origins, the police and medical personnel eventually agreed to help integrate them into society. They got to choose a name for themselves, which they were rather keen on. After searching the internet for hours, they finally settled on [F/N] [L/N]. It just seemed right.

The doctors had projected that they were in their early twenties, so [Y/N] decided to take advantage of the government funding they were offered and enrolled in University. It seemed they had quite the aptitude for just about any topic they set their mind to; it was strange not really knowing anything and yet knowledge coming so naturally to them—as if, perhaps, they were only remembering what they had forgotten but...not really. Their topic of choice, however, centered on Theology.

They lived quite cozily in their private dorm room, which was kept quite tidy to the extent that they really didn't have many belongings.

One of [Y/N]'s favorite pastimes involved wandering around London, discovering practically everything for the first time. Today was quite rainy, more than usual, but it didn't deter them. They walked on, splashing with each step and gripping tight to their [F/C] umbrella, which was embellished with a pattern of little, silver feathers. A rather strong gush of wind threatened to carry their umbrella away and, so, [Y/N] wandered into the nearest and coziest looking building.

They really hadn't paid attention to what the building was past acknowledging the little 'OPEN' sign, but upon entering they were immediately struck with the inviting warmth that hit them—contrasting so harshly with the cold storm outside. It was like slipping into an entirely opposite dimension. Next, they noticed the scent of old parchment and glue, which reminded them of the University Library except for the fact that there was a sweet undertone to it—was that hot chocolate they were detected? [Y/N] couldn't be sure; they couldn't remember ever having it, but they must have before because they recognized the scent.

Whatever it was, [Y/N] immediately felt guilty for entering a bookshop dripping wet and so they did their very best to dry off before daring to take another step inside. They closed their umbrella tightly and left it by the door along with their raincoat to avoid scattering water any worse than they already had. They sighed, content with the respite they'd found from the storm.

Their eyes grazed over the piles and shelves of books—all old and well-cared for, they could tell. It seemed more like someone's personal collection than a shop, really. They dared to wander over to a shelf to examine the book titles, but before they could comprehend the ornate lettering on one particular book's spine, [Y/N] was alerted by the hasty shuffling of feet.

"Aaaahhh! I do apologize, but we are just about to close," they registered the warm, posh voice before they did the man generating it. [Y/N] immediately tore their eyes away from the shelf and toward him.

The moment they saw him, they were struck with a sense of warmth similar to the bookshop itself—almost as if he were the very heart of it. He had the most brilliant glow about him (an aura, they’d learned to call it from their classes); they had always been able to see them as far as they could recall. There was something familiar about the man. It wasn't his face or his voice or anything like that; it was his energy, his being. At any rate, [Y/N] couldn't exactly pinpoint the strange feeling, but it was there nonetheless.

They smiled apologetically, "Ah, I'm sorry...there weren't any hours posted and, well, with the storm and all, the place looked so inviting...-I'll go," but before [Y/N] could make way to leave, another man rounded the corner. His presence, too, was familiar, but in a much less pleasant way. He didn't frighten them, but rather they felt a sense of unease, almost distrust. His aura was strangely concealed and deceptive, but they could see a slight tinge of darkness surrounding his being--however, it was almost as if that darkness was concealing something else, something more. The smile unconsciously faded from their lips. It was like the two were polar opposites and it wasn't simply because of the way they made [Y/N] feel, but in the way, they dressed and acted as well.

"Forgot to flip the sign to closed again, angel?" The man clad in dark clothes leaned nonchalantly against the shelf and crossed his arms, appearing amused.

The bookkeep's attention seemed to have drifted to the window, seeming somewhat guilty. "Well, it certainly is bucketing down out there, isn't it...?"

"...nice weather...for ducksss," the other man commented under his breath with a shrug and [Y/N] was almost sure, but not definitively, that they detected a hiss in the man’s tone.

"Well, I suppose I'm lucky I enjoy the rain then," [Y/N] broke their silence, feeling a bit embarrassed for having bothered the two when the shop was intended to be closed. "I'll be going, then...," they noted as they made way to retrieve their rain jacket just as a burst of lighting illuminated the shop's window. [Y/N] didn't seem at all bothered—the man on their other hand...

Oh, curse him for forgetting that blasted ‘OPEN’ sign. After all the centuries keeping the shop, you'd think he'd remember a thing like that. Aziraphale bit the inside of his lip as he watched the stranger slip on their coat, feeling Crowley's watchful eyes on him. The sudden flash of lightning only solidified his guilt. Often, the people he rushed out of his shop were argumentative and rude, but this stranger had simply accepted it graciously. Ah, what kind of angel would he be if he let them go out in a storm like that? What if they got hurt? Wouldn't that be his fault for sending them away?

"Aahh, I trust you haven't very far to walk...?" The angel finally piped up.

"...-well, actually...I'll be heading back to the University. I wandered a bit further than I probably should have. It's my own fault for ignoring the weather forecast," they shrugged, still not a care in the world, as they buttoned up their coat. "I am sorry, again, for disturbing you. It's...-you have a really lovely place here." They compliment with a smile.

Blast. They were a kind heart and he was relenting, "My dear, you cannot possibly walk all that way in this weather. It would be quite certainly treacherous."

Crowley perked up a bit, his attention having drifted elsewhere until this moment. He saw where this was going and he knew he wasn't going to like it.

"Oh...," the stranger took a look out the window as if they had only just realized how bad the storm actually was. "But I did walk all the way here just fine...-I'm sure it will be alright." They sent him a smile, grateful for his concern.

Aziraphale jumped into action, nervous as the stranger began to open the door. "W-well, what if we offered you a ride?"

And there it was; Crowley groaned as Aziraphale turned to him with a pleading look. Those big, blue puppy-dog eyes. How many times had he given in to those? "No, no absolutely not. You heard 'em. Said they got here just fine in the first place."

The stranger paused, contemplating this. They thought about accepting until the other man piped up. “I wouldn’t want to intrude more than I already have...”

He wasn’t going to give in. He wasn’t. Those angelic eyes wouldn’t win this tim—Crowley groaned, “Oh, for somebody’s sake...-Fine. But you owe me for this one, angel.”

Aziraphale grinned, the angel pleased to get his way but playing innocent as though he’d never been begging in the first place. Spoiled angel. “Oh, thank you~”

“W-well, then. I would really appreciate the lift...,” the stranger concluded, “...-if that’s really alright...”

[Next]

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfiction #fanfic #good omens fanfic #good omens imagine #reader insert #this is a totally self-serving fic but im sharing it anyways

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whiskeycherrypie · 6 years ago

Text

grateful (1446 words) by whiskeycherrypie

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester

Additional Tags: Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Coda, Episode Related, Alcohol, Sharing a Bed, Suspicions, Implied/Referenced Incest, Pre-Slash, Misunderstandings, Schmoop

Summary:

John says something to Mary. Sam and Dean pass out in bed together.

The timing couldn't be worse.

Happens right after the 300th episode Lebanon, of course contains spoilers.

(ambiguous pairing, could be read both as wincest pre-slash and as gen, because the assumptions made are incorrect at the time)

After John's gone, they all get spectacularly drunk.

The first couple of drinks are needed just to tell Cas what happened and then they just don't stop and for once, even Sam doesn't feel the need to.

Something inside him is completely unraveled, he can feel that, and he kinda hopes the whiskey induced oblivion he's headed into will tide him over until he can figure out how to put himself back together.

Dean probably shouldn't drink so much, lose control that way with Michael in his head, but fuck if Sam's going to stop him. They're slumped at the library table together, bottles scattered like a little forest around them. Mom and Cas are further upfront and Mary has her head propped up on her hand, listening intently to something Cas is quietly telling her. It's some shit about time and souls and apparently it's a long story. Sam doesn't know how she can stand to hear about it, hear all about the machinery of the universe that put them in this shit spot, but it seems to be helping her, so Sam leaves them to it, too.

Minutes tick past in the dim room. Sam starts to lose focus.

“You gon' be okay?” Dean slurs next to him.

“Eventually,” is what Sam manages to squeeze out of himself in reply. He doesn't bother asking Dean, not because he doesn't care, God knows he does, but because he thinks he already knows the answer anyway.

“I think I kinda wanna go to bed,” Dean says a while later, all quiet and grudging, like he's admitting to some big secret. Sam puts some effort into making sure his legs will hold him, stands up, swaying, grabs Dean by the shoulder.

“Come on then.”

They shuffle their way out of the library quietly, their departure either unnoticed (by Mary at least) or ignored. Sam's entered a stage where he can say he is somewhat numbed to it all, but can't properly enjoy it because there's buzzing in his head and walking is really, really an annoyance.

When they make it to the bedroom door – actually, a bedroom door, Sam's a little fuzzy on where they are exactly and where they were headed – he leans on the door frame, tongue all sticky and heavy with whiskey.

“It's just... too much.”

“I know,” Dean grunts from somewhere near Sam's shoulder.

Then it's dark, a plunging mattress underneath him and a warmth all along his back, like a comfort that he has forgotten all about and sorely missed.

The first thing Mary registers when she wakes is the pounding in her head. The second thing she registers is what John had said when they were alone, asking about the boys.

It comes to her with clarity that is cruel in the face of her hangover. As though during her whiskey soaked sleep, what she didn't want and couldn't understand worked its way through her mind and handed itself to her on a silver platter.

“So, the boys. They're good, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are, they... you did well.”

“I gotta say, where I'm at, it was kinda touch and go for a while whether Dean would just hang it up and run off with Sam.”

“Really? I thought it was only when Sam's girl, Jessica...”

“I don't know. Dean wasn't doing too well. So they're like this now? This is their home? No girlfriends, normal life...?”

“Not lately as far as I know. It's the life. And there's so much going on.”

“And you don't-”

“What?”

“Are they... never mind. Tell me what you have been doing.”

She sits, stomach heaving threateningly. She blames it on the hangover.

She let that go, what John was asking, the intent in his eyes as he watched her answer his question, like he was looking for a crack, for an answer. She let it go then because she just wanted to see him, kiss him, allow herself the comfort of everything she had been so sorely missing.

But now he's gone again and she's sleeping in a cold bed and realizing what it was he wanted to find out.

She wants a shower and coffee and maybe more whiskey. It's too much.

Sam always sleeps like a log when he's really, really drunk. It's handy if he wants to knock himself out, but the mornings are a pain of full bladder and aching muscles and his head feeling like it's just a sponge that needs to be wrung out to start functioning again. Today is no different and he wakes, eyes still closed, taking stock of just how bad it is. Yeah, his right arm is pretty much numb and he needs to piss badly and that's not to mention the headache slowly creeping up into his temples.

He's also painfully aware of everything that happened the night before.

Shifting slightly, he comes to a stop and his eyes fly open, squinting into the dimness of the room. Dean's room. Huh. And the reason his arm is numb is because Dean's lying on it.

So maybe he's not aware of everything that happened. But it figures, he thinks, that seeing Dad would send him and Dean into some old habits, like sharing a bed, because that was the norm on the road until they got too big to really fit. The bunker beds aren't the smallest, but Sam still tries to catalog if he's about to fall on his ass over the edge. They're spooning, kinda, Sam's arm trapped under Dean, chest to back. They didn't make it under the covers.

Dean wakes then, grunting and lifting himself up just enough that Sam can get his arm back, then flopping onto his back.

“'Time is it?”

Sam squints at Dean's alarm clock. His headache is just getting worse. “Half past nine.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, voice sleepy, like he only just noticed this isn't how they usually wake up.

“No idea,” Sam admits. “I think I just passed out.”

“How do you like the memory foam?”

Sam snorts, burying his head into the pillow, making himself comfortable. Bathroom can wait for a little while yet. It's comfortable here and not because of the mattress. It's Dean's space, smells like him, feels like him and there is still, even at his age and after everything they've been through some basic, instinctual part of Sam's brain that relaxes when Dean is near.

It's nice, having privacy. Having their own rooms. But it's also nice to be close.

“You up for breakfast?”

The trip for coffee takes her by Dean's room and she pauses when she sees the door ajar, peeking in.

They're both there. Nearly too big for the bed, dressed on top of the covers, but undeniably together, Sam draped all along Dean's back, holding him.

They don't wake.

“Oh.”

“What?”

Dean hands him a piece of paper and the words take some time to penetrate Sam's insufficiently caffeinated brain. But then they do.

Mom needs space, again. He can't say it doesn't hurt after last night, after everything, but hell, he was her husband. Seeing John put them all through the wringer and he and Dean were the ones to cause it and then come back saying John needed to disappear again or they all would.

“I thought... ” he says. Dean pours him some more coffee, dropping heavily onto the seat opposite of Sam's. “I mean, she's done this before, but I don't know, I thought this time it wouldn't be like that. I thought this time we could deal with it together, you know?”

“Yeah.” Dean's voice is all gravelly and Sam looks at him, feeling both very fond and very sad at the sight of his brother's mussed hair and puffy eyes. “Listen, this puts us back to square one on the Michael front, but do you think we could take it easy today?”

Dean, actually asking for time off. As if Sam could say no to that.

“Of course, yeah. If you want. You wanna watch a movie or go for a drive or something?”

“Maybe, yeah. Either's good. Listen, Sammy...”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. For everything. And hey, don't look at me like that, this is not my deathbed thank you, okay? This is a normal, stayin' alive thank you.”

Sam nods, swallowing hard. He's grateful too. He's grateful for Dean most of all.

Dean doesn't need to hear it, not right now anyway, because Sam's said it before. But he will do ever better than that. He's going to show him. Get rid of Michael. Get rid of anything that comes after.

And he's going to stay.

#spn spoilers #14x13 lebanon #my fic #wincest #gencest #sam #dean #fanfiction

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luminous-grace · 6 years ago

Text

“Slow night?”

Castiel jerks his head up from where it’d been resting on his arms. He blinks a few times, his gaze landing on a blurry shape shifting its weight awkwardly in front of him. Grumbling, Castiel fumbles for his glasses. “You could say that.”

Distractedly, he waves his hand at the overhead sign. “All the prices are right here. One dollar for a kiss, fifty cents for a kiss on the cheek, etc. If you want to buy more than two at once we ask that you first go to the back of line to give others a turn.”

The man laughs. “Oh no, sorry. I mean, not that I’m not interested but I just came over here to make sure you were sleeping and not, like, actually dead.”

Castiel frowns, finally locating his glasses. He slips them on and once he does the most attractive men he’s ever seen blinks into focus.

Castiel stares. The man seems to be around his own age, maybe a few years younger. He’s sporting a dark grey henley and a leather jacket that clings to him perfectly, as if its entire purpose is to wreak havoc on Castiel’s higher brain function. In the end, it’s the bright green eyes and lopsided grin that have Castiel doing the double take. He’s so focused on his examination that he completely misses the treat being offered to him until it’s practically shoved under his nose.

“Here, uh, I figured you could use this. On the house.”

Castiel blinks, finally looking away, and his gaze falls to a cupcake covered in slightly too much rainbow frosting and dozen little white sprinkles. His stomach growls, and the man grins.

“See, I knew they were keeping you trapped here.”

Cas huffs a laugh, but takes the offered treat.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The man scratches at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “To be honest, talking to you seemed like a good excuse to take a breather from my own crap.”

He gestures behind him to another booth about twenty feet or so away. Squinting, Castiel catches sight of an assortment of baked goods and a little cardboard cutout of a pie. Farther back, the giant banner Castiel had spent entirely too much time on hangs from the ceiling, the words "FUNdraising Carnival Night” glaring at him in large block letters.

“Also,” Castiel’s gaze snaps back as the man continues speaking, “you got a little, uh-” he gestures at his face and Castiel raises a hand in confusion only to brush away a couple of those tiny star confetti’s scattered across his booth.

Castiel frowns at it tiredly. “Ugh. Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be finding fifty more of those later.”

“Long day?”

Castiel sighs, removing his glasses for a moment to rub at his eyes. “Long night, I suppose. All that paper grading finally caught up to me.”

“Oh shit, do you teach here?” The man sounds annoyed on his behalf. “And they’re making you work the booth, too? That sucks, dude.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I teach at the university next door. My daughter, Claire, attends here and I’m volunteering for the evening. Are you a parent?” Castiel adds as an afterthought. Mostly to be polite, but also because he doesn’t think he’s seen him around before at any of the school functions before.

The man shakes his head. “Nah, my brother’s kid is a student here. I’m just helpin’ out the cause.” He leans over to nudge at a shoebox lying at his feet. Its contents jangle. “Band.”

Castiel gestures at the half-full jar in front of him. “Soccer team.”

The man grins, sticking out his hand.

“Dean.”

“Castiel.”

The sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. The hallway they’ve been assigned to is deserted except for the two of them, and if it weren’t for the muffled sounds of music floating from the central hall, Castiel might think that everyone else had gone home early.

“So a kissing booth, huh?” Dean’s voice breaks the quiet. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t know they still did those. Did you draw the short straw or something?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat to it. “My brother’s idea, unfortunately. He said that with my “‘irresistible charm’” I should have customers lining up. Why he’s even thought about that, I don’t think I want to know, but my daughter jumped at the chance chance of embarrassing me, so.”

Dean snorts. “Middle schooler?”

“Middle schooler.”

Nodding sagely, Dean takes a sip of his drink. “So how’s business been? Any of these parents out here hot for teacher?” He waggles his eyebrows, and Castiel feels his mouth twitch.

“Well, considering my only options are total strangers or the parents of my daughter’s friends, I’d say I’m doing about as well as could be expected.”

Dean winces. “Yeah that sucks, dude.”

Castiel picks at the wrapper of his cupcake. “It’s not so bad. Mr. Turner’s already been though a couple times. Single dad, sweet man.” Castiel gives up on the wrapper, opts instead to use his finger to take a long swipe of frosting off the top before popping it in his mouth. “A very generous tipper.”

Dean chokes. “Yeah?”

Castiel snickers, abandoning the cupcake to wipe his hands on his thighs. “Yeah, if you consider fifty cents for a peck on the cheek generous.”

"Huh.” Dean says. They talk for a while, after that. They discover that Castiel’s daughter is only a year ahead of Sam’s, but that little Mary is so smart they’ll probably be sharing classes by next year. She’s learning to play the french horn, much to Sam’s dismay and Dean’s glee, which Claire’s soccer team is all set to win their tournament the upcoming weekend provided they can get enough money to get there.

Every so often, Dean’s gaze will drop to Castiel’s lips before he seems to catch himself, jerking his eyes back up and going slightly pink at the ears. Castiel isn’t shy about letting Dean know he’s been found out, and each time it happens the other man seems to grow more and more flustered.

Eventually, Dean gestures somewhat desperately at the sign above Castiel’s head. “Pretty cheap going rate. What’ve you made so far?”

Castel tilts his head, eyeing his jar critically. “I’d say... around thirty dollars or so? So all in all, not terrible.”

Dean snorts, mutters what sounds like “buncha tightwads” under his breath before raising his voice again. “So how’s this whole thing work, anyway? I give you cash and however much I give decides what I get?”

Castiel shrugs. “Essentially, yes. It’s all strictly PG of course, and I reserve the right to veto.” He drops his voice, so Dean has to lean in even closer to hear. “Somehow, I doubt that’ll be an issue.”

Dean grins at him, and there’s something new in it now that sends a rush of heat through Castiel. "So what you’re saying is, I get to lay one on the hottest guy here and donate to a worthy cause at the same time?”

Mouth twitching, Castiel lets his eyes drop to Dean’s lips momentarily before flicking back up.

“Your very selfless act of charity is appreciated.”

Dean inhales sharply, and they’re close enough that Castiel can see it when he bites his lip, eyes fixated on Castiel’s mouth. He starts to lean in, and Castiel lets his eyes flutter closed-

“Shit.” Castiel opens his eyes in time to see Dean pull back abruptly.

“What?”

Dean starts reaching for his pockets, hands patting himself frantically. “I, uh, think I left my wallet in the car.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, because what the fuck. “Are we really keeping up that pretense now?”

Dean pauses, mouth opening and closing a few times “Okay, you got me there. But-” he continues, “I do actually want to support your shit, man. Just give me like, two minutes.”

Castiel sighs, unable to bring himself to be properly annoyed because damnit, who even is this guy? “If you insist,” he says instead. “I’d hurry though. My booth closes in-” he makes a show of checking his watch “-about five minutes.”

“Shit.” Dean jumps up quickly, causing the chair he was in to topple over. He glares at Castiel as if daring him to laugh before jabbing a finger his direction. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Dean hurries out of sight, and Castiel takes a moment to shake his head at himself. He sets about carefully dismantling his stand, starting with the decorations and leaving the booth itself for last. He’s just sat back down for a moment to check his phone when the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps makes him look up.

Dean skids to a halt in front of him, doubling over to plant his hands on his knees, panting.

Castiel opens his mouth to speak but Dean holds up a finger. He wheezes a couple more times before straightening up and slapping a crumpled wad of cash down onto the table.

Castiel blinks at money and then back up at Dean. “Did- did you run here?”

Dean glares at Castiel incredulously. “Dude you’re like, twenty different levels of hot. Of course I ran.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, and Dean flushes. It’s sort of adorable.

“Dean, there’s like $40 here.”

“Okay, in my defense-”

“You gave me a cupcake. I think technically I owe you money.”

“Listen-”

But Castiel doesn’t listen, choosing instead to tug Dean downward to kiss him. It’s a little awkward and he has to lean up across the booth to reach a still standing Dean, but the surprised noise the other man makes against his mouth as they meet is worth it.

It’s just a quick press of the lips, there and back in a moment but it sets Castiel’s heart racing. Reluctantly, he breaks away first- mostly deserted or not, this is still a public place- but the second Castiel pulls back Dean’s chokes out a “nuh-uh”, fumbles another dollar down, and reels him back in.

The second kiss is firmer, more sure. Dean slides a hand up the the side of Castiel’s face to cradle his jaw, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck and Castiel hums in appreciation. Their lips slide across each other for a moment, parting before coming together again and again, each time a little more purposeful. Feeling daring, Cas tilts his head, lets his tongue drag ever so slightly across Dean’s bottom lip. He’s rewarded with a gasp, and feels Dean’s fingers tighten against the side of his face.

Dean pulls back slightly, knocking their foreheads together as his other hand comes up to cup Castiel’s face.

“Shit. Can I buy you a drink, Cas?”

“What about your booth?”

Dean nips at the corner of his mouth. “Brother’ll take care of it."

Castiel smirks, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Dean’s palm just to watch the way his eyes flash. “I don’t know,” he says slowly, cutting his eyes purposefully to the money on the tabletop. “Are you sure you can afford it at this point?”

Dean lets out a low laugh. It sends a thrill of heat through Castiel, who has to dart in again to see how that laugh tastes. This time the kiss is a little wetter, a little dirtier. Castiel isn’t sure who opens for who first, but he does know that Dean tastes like sugary sweet rainbow frosting and Castiel can’t get enough of it. Dean’s hand slides to rest against his hip, warm and heavy, and Castiel shivers as his thumb traces circles there. Castiel fists his hand in Dean’s collar, bites at his lip in payback and the other man groans, the sound quickly swallowed up between them.

Dean pulls back first this time, dropping his head to Castiel’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he exhales on a shaky laugh. Castiel can’t help but agree. They stand there for a moment, breathing heavily, and it’s only the threat of potential detection that keeps Castiel from shoving Dean back into the dark corner of the hallway for round three.

Dean must have a similar thought, because all too soon he’s taking a step backwards. Carefully, he reaches forward to smooth out Castiel’s tie before letting his hands drop to his shoulders. He nods to himself. “Drinks first, then...” Dean lets the sentence trail off, and Castiel smirks at him, sneaking a hand down his side to tug at a belt loop.

“Dessert?”

Dean groans. “God, fuck you. Okay, let’s go or we’re never gonna make it past my car and I really want to buy you a drink.”

Castiel grins, taking pity on him. He steps back before reaching down to pick up his Dean’s shoebox and his own jar of money.

He shakes the jar lightly, turning to Dean with a grin. “It’s my treat.”

#what is this #idk but here it is in all its 0-100% glory ksnfldskf #destiel #deancas fic #destiel fic #supernatural #spn #my fic

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nebulaedaniel · 6 years ago

Text

Calm beyond the Storm

ship: Dan and Phil

word count: 4k

trigger warning: suicide, death description, blood, suffocating, grief, brief mention of alcohol.

summary: Dan dies suddenly and Phil can’t handle the grief.

a/n: hi! it’s been like a year since i last posted a fic, but i’m really happy with this one!! it’s a lot of death in it, so if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever, i suggest you read something else vnkdjbfk enjoy!

“breathe, just breathe, okay?” the stranger said as I was sitting on the ground. I was numb. It was like my lungs had gotten clamped shut and I couldn’t get a single breath in or out. My body felt limp and I was surprised that I was even sitting up.

He was laying there. On the ground. Face down. A white blanket had been draped over his body, but the blood gushing out of his cracked skull had stained the fabric. He had been proclaimed dead as soon as the police got there. His lips had been blue and his left arm was broken. When I got there, 4 minutes after the police, the ambulance was on its way.

I was surprised that the cops let me see him. I was crying, saying I was his boyfriend, and they let me through. They shouldn’t have let me. I shouldn’t have been allowed to see him. But I did. And as soon as I did, I ran off. I ran up the hill and up on the bridge, because that’s what he had done. He had gotten up on this very bridge and jumped off it.

He must’ve known that he would die right away. The water that used to be under the bridge had been removed, it was just dry concrete under the bridge. He must’ve known that he wasn’t going to survive. It was a 15-meters drop from where he must’ve stood. At the hospital, the doctors said that he had been there, dead, for a few hours at most. But it was winter, and the cold and the severe hit to the head, had him dead within minutes. I was standing on the bridge. Adrenaline pumping though my veins. I was going to jump. I was going to jump and join him again. Climbing up on the rails, I hear someone yell from down below. “Hey! Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” It was an officer, looking up at me. I smiled. “I’m going to join him.” I calmly said. There was more yelling from down below, but I zoned out, preparing for the fall to my death. It would take minutes for me to die, just like it was for him. Not enough time to get me to a hospital. It was inevitable, when I fell off this bridge, I was going to die. Suddenly I’m pulled back. An officer was holding me by the back of my shirt. I tried to get free, but his grip was too strong. He said something to another officer, and I was removed from the bridge, out on the street. “Hey, can you hear me?” A voice registered in my brain. I came back to reality. The painful replay of last week’s memories faded away. I looked around and saw people standing around me. “Where am I?” I asked. I looked around again and saw my parents. “Honey, you’re at… Dan’s funeral.” My mom said, hesitating before saying his name. “Remember? We drove here together?” She carried on, but I was standing up. “Where is he?” I tried to push my way through the crowd surrounding me, but I was stopped. “Phil, honey, he was lowered just a few minutes ago. Then you ran off…” My mother continued, and her gentle hands gripped my shoulders. She turned me around to face her. She moved to wipe my cheeks. I hadn’t even noticed I was crying.

“Mom. Can we leave?” I felt like a little boy again, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my afternoon around strangers, most of them relatives or Dan’s friends. I didn’t want anything reminding me of the fact that he was gone. My parents lead me out of the graveyard and put me in the back of their car.

The flat felt empty without him. Doors were left shut, it was too painful to get glimpses of rooms were Dan’s presence used to be. Dan’s bedroom door had remained shut ever since he died. It felt like a knife went through his heart when he was in the lounge, Phil couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go into Dan’s old bedroom. Nightmares were a common occurrence, images of Dan’s lifeless body filling his brain. Phil would wake up in a cold sweat, and not being able to fall asleep again. The most sleep he had gotten since Dan died was the night after the funeral. He was just numb, and he didn’t remember anything he had dreamt when he woke up. When he had gotten back to the apartment, the nightmares had gotten more common, and now, four weeks after Dan’s death, Phil was lucky if he got three hours of sleep.

Four months had gone by, and Phil was ready for a change. He was moving back to Manchester. London wasn’t home anymore. The apartment wasn’t home anymore. He had managed to get an apartment, with one bedroom. When he had looked up apartments online, he had subconsciously clicked the “two bedrooms” option, and broken-down crying. He had gotten offers from friends to move in with him, but Phil didn’t want someone to replace Dan. Phil understood why his friends didn’t want him living on his own, they were afraid he’d try to join Dan. Phil hadn’t told anyone, but he had tried. And he was going to try again. Phil had it all planned out, he was going to go to the new flat, and hang himself. Sure, it wasn’t the most glamorous plan or anything, but Phil didn’t want anything amazing, he just wanted Dan with him again, and this was the only way to do it.

Moving day was here and Phil was all packed up, ready to leave. He didn’t even look back at the apartment while walking out. There weren’t any sentimental feelings with him. He just slammed the door shut behind him and locked the door. Leaving the key for the landlord had felt like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He was free from the nightmare known as his apartment. Going to the new place wasn’t exciting, Phil was too numb. Empty, empty, empty, is what he told his friends when they asked how he was doing. He was too numb to even try to make it seem like it was okay. A part of him had died, metaphorically and literally. The cab ride to the train station seemed to go on forever, the driver trying to make conversation, and when Phil didn’t reply for the fifth time, the driver called him a “boring twat” and finally kept his mouth shut, only occasionally mumbling about how insensitive people can be these days. They finally got to the train, Phil payed, got out, and the car sped off. He was alone. Again. He has no one next to him that he could make jokes to, no one’s hand to hold, nothing. He was all alone. Twenty minutes later, Phil was on the train. An older man sat down next to him and started reading some book, and Phil put on his headphones and fell asleep.

After four flights of stairs, Phil unlocked his apartment. Going inside felt like a joke, like this wasn’t the place he was going to stay in from now on. He stepped inside and heard a buzz come from his phone. PJ: “hey man, hope you’re settling in okay! Sophie and I were thinking about visiting you next week, is that alright?” Phil sighed and put his phone back in his pocket, making a mental note to answer that later. Walking through the new apartment felt wrong, it’s too empty, too lifeless, too much and too little at the same time.

A week had gone by, Phil hadn’t gotten any decorations up, only a few pictures of him and Dan. The fridge was constantly empty, Phil only ate when he remembered to, which wasn’t often. Some furniture was scattered over the flat, a bed here, a table there, nothing was properly organized, Phil didn’t see a reason for it to be neat, he’d be dead soon anyway. He had to see PJ and Sophie first though, he couldn’t have them worry about him and end up breaking in to his apartment, only to find him dead, hanging from the ceiling. Phil ended up sitting down and making a checklist of all the things he needed to do before he died. Plan a funeral. Write a suicide note. Skype his parents. Meet with all of his friends (possibly during a housewarming party?), write a will (remember to give his family most of his money, donate the rest), make a video explaining the situation and queue it to after he dies. Phil stopped writing, water was dripping down on the paper. Phil brought his hands up to his face to feel his wet cheeks. Phil rested his face in his hands, loud sobs escaped from his lips, his body shook, his brain slowly emptying. His sobs echoed off the walls, the walls of the flat becoming stained with his sadness. Phil’s arms eventually gave out, the grief hitting him hard all of a sudden, his breathing getting caught in his throat and soon he was just spilling silent tears onto the checklist.

** “I’m so glad you’re doing alright.” PJ said, sitting on Phil’s new sofa in the, now filled, living room. Music was blasting from the new set of speakers, people were dancing along to the playlist. The windows were open and some old classmates were smoking by the window, but Phil couldn’t care less. “Yeah, me too.” Phil said and flashed PJ a smile. The sofa felt odd and Phil wondered if anyone else could tell. It was too hard, not used at all, Phil had run out and gotten everything that you need in a functioning household just a few days ago, he hadn’t even noticed the price tags on the new chairs until 5 minutes before the first guest arrived. Phil looked around the apartment, attempting to look happy. He spotted Louise, and hastily stood up to leave. She always had a way for seeing right through him, she’d know within seconds that he was actually breaking on the inside. He couldn’t have her worry. “I’m going to the bathroom; can you greet the new guests?” Phil asked in PJ’s general direction, and then walked off. Phil pushed through sweaty bodies, reeking of alcohol, to finally reach the bathroom. He swung the door open, to reveal two girls kissing. Phil took a step back in surprise, did he know these girls? It must be someone’s friend of a friend, Phil wasn’t strict as to who was invited. He ended up closing the door, the girls didn’t even notice the brief disturbance. Phil looked around, his eyes getting stuck at the front door. He needed a break. Out on the street, he could still hear the music blaring from his apartment. “thought I’d find you out here,” A voice came from behind Phil. He spun around, and there was Louise. “parties weren’t ever your strong side.” She smiled at him, holding up one of the red plastic cups he’d ran out and bought in a hurry. “No, I guess not.” Phil laughed, looking down at the ground, he couldn’t meet Louise’s strong gaze. “So, how are you?” she came closer, a caring hand touching his arm. She put down her cup on the ground and gently grabbed both his arms, forcing him to look at her. “Phil?” He wasn’t supposed to do it. He was supposed to be strong, keep up the act he started once Dan died. He was fine. And yet, warm tears trickled down his cheeks, with heaving breaths Phil tried to get his composure back. But Louise didn’t let him, she wrapped her arms around him and calmly stroked his back. Loud sobs echoed off the empty street. “I know, I know, shh, Phil it’s okay. You’re okay, I got you.” Louise’s soft words filled Phil and made him cry harder. “I… I miss him so much…” Phil managed to get out between sobs. He wrapped his arms around Louise and held her close, squeezing to try to relieve some of the pressure on his tightening chest. They stayed like that for 20 minutes, Louise saying gentle things in to Phil’s chest, and Phil sobbing louder with every word. Eventually Phil let go, feeling his legs give out as he fell down to the ground. He stayed there, not having enough energy to stand up again. Louise laid down too. “He’s up there, you know? He’s watching over us right now.” Louise said, pointing up at the stars. “We both know he’s not up there, he’s below us.” Phil joked, letting out a small laugh. Louise chuckled before speaking again. “And we both also know that that’s not true, however much he wanted us to believe it. He belongs in heaven. He’s an angel now. I always knew he was good, and I know you knew that too.” “yeah, he was good. Too good for his own good.” Phil sighed. “I’ll always wonder what was going through his mind when he jumped off the bridge. He was doing so good, he said he was and I saw it too. He was filming videos non-stop, his channel was so active. I wonder if he wanted our fans to think he was okay. I wonder if he lied to them. Fuck, I wonder if he lied to me.” More tears spilled from his eyes, and Louise took his hand. “If he lied, it was only to protect you. You know Dan, he cared so much for you, if he was planning to do something that could hurt you, he wouldn’t ever tell you, he’d try to push you away.” “Phil, I promise, I’m fine!” Dan’s voice carried through the apartment, hitting Phil hard. “Dan… can’t you just talk to me? I know you and I know you’re not okay.” Phil moved to walk closer to Dan. Dan’s hand was threateningly gripping the door handle, he was seconds away from storming out of the house. “Phil. I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.” Dan spat out, voice venomous. Dan walked out, slamming the door behind him, making the walls vibrate slightly before settling in again. The quiet unsettled Phil, he never did well in quiet homes, it felt too lifeless. A small hint of guilt pooled in Phil’s stomach, maybe he pushed Dan too much this time. “Phil? Are you okay?” Louise’s voice snapped him back to reality and he sat up, eyes rapid, trying to put the pieces together. His breathing quickened and the air around him felt like it was boiling. “Phil? Oh god!” Louise wrapped her cardigan over Phil, he hadn’t even realized that he was shivering. “I killed him.” Phil suddenly stopped, and Louise did too. Phil’s words hung in the air and neither of them said anything. “What are you talking about?” Louise finally said, shaking her head. “You were at home when it happened, you called me right before he did… it.” Louise was careful with her words, but nothing could hurt Phil anymore. “Before he left… We had an argument. I knew he wasn’t okay, I was just trying to help him,” Phil’s head snapped up to look at Louise’s worried face. “but then he left, and he jumped off. If I hadn’t tried to make him talk he might’ve still been alive today! Louise oh fuck what have I done?” Phil stared blankly ahead, the shivering starting again, but there were no tears. He had nothing left. He made Dan kill himself. “Look at me.” Louise was grabbing Phil’s face, staring into his eyes. “You did not kill him, you hear me? He jumped off the bridge, he made that choice, for all we know he could’ve decided it weeks in advance, there’s nothing you could’ve said that’d change his mind. He didn’t want to be a burden to you, he loved you too much. Phil, he loves you too much.” “I didn’t even get to say that I loved him before he left! Did he know? Did he know how much I loved him?” Phil felt like a child again, asking these foolish questions to someone that couldn’t possibly know the answer. “I’m sure he did.” Louise’s voice was soft, and she was hugging him again.

“Yes, everything is fine here, how are you?” Phil smiled, looking in to the camera on his computer, his parent’s faces filling up the screen. “We’re quite well here! Martyn was just visiting; did you hear that he and Cornelia are engaged?” His mom gushed, clearly overjoyed. “Yes, he told me a few days ago. I’m surprised it took him this long to ask her though, it’s been obvious that she’d say yes for months now.” “Oh, and Cornelia wants to bring me when she goes dress shopping! Of course, their wedding won’t be until next summer, but she said she wanted to keep an eye on the wedding dress market, so we’re going to go out looking when she and Martyn are visiting again! I think she’d look gorgeous in a nice light blue dress with frills, but she said she wanted it classical and…” Phil zoned out, too tired to pay attention to what his mother was talking about. She didn’t even notice, continuing her rant about Cornelia’s wedding dress. It seemed like everyone was moving on with their lives except Phil, he was stuck in the endless circle of pain and grief. He’d lost half of him. Dan was gone. Wasn’t ever coming back. “Phil? Are you alright dear?” His mother’s worried voice made him snap back. “I know it’s been a rough few months…” She trailed off, Phil knew what she was trying to say. “it’s been a rough few months, but you should let him go.” “It has been rough, but I’ll manage,” Phil smiled again, “I’m actually going out to see Louise today, she visited and she absolutely hated what I’ve done with the place, so she’s forcing me to go shopping with her.” Phil laughed. Lies. All lies. “Oh good! I’m going to get going now, I have to help your dad with dinner, we’ll talk soon okay? Love you! Bye!” They waved goodbye. Phil brought out the checklist, and checking off “skype with parents”. On the paper, there were more things checked off, writing a suicide note, having a party, and planning a funeral. The only things left to do was to write a will and film a video.

“Hey guys! I apologize for the lack of content lately, as you all probably know, Dan died a few months ago. And… I’m going to join him.” Phil took a breath. “So, if this video gets uploaded, that means I’ve died. I’m sorry, I love you all so much, Dan did too, but I can’t deal with the grief anymore. So, family, friends, followers, goodbye for the last time.” Phil turned off the camera.

The will was written. The video was queued to go live in six hours. The suicide note and the will were placed next to where he’ll be hanging. The day before, Phil had gone out to get a hook to screw into the ceiling, and some rope, for the obvious reason. It was now 10am, and Phil was setting it all up, the hook was securely screwed into the ceiling, he’d tied the rope to the hook. Phil walked through the apartment, making sure he hadn’t forgotten to do anything. All the blinds were drawn shut, his phone was turned off, the door was locked. Nothing could disturb him. He was ready. Phil got up on the chair, looking at the picture he’d hung up of Dan, on purpose of course. There weren’t any tears, he was empty, the pure willpower of wanting to be with Dan again made him want to go through with this. He stood on his tiptoes as he tied the rope around his neck, tightly enough to suffocate. He took a struggling breath, and kicked away the chair from under his feet. The pressure on his head was unreal, it felt like his head would pop off his body. Phil forced his eyes open to look at Dan’s picture. He looked so good that day. Phil had taken the picture on their second trip to Japan, Dan had just woken up and they were sitting on the balcony eating their room service breakfast. Dan wasn’t aware of the picture, Phil hadn’t shown it to anyone. Dan’s hair was messy, sleep was still in his eyes as he looked out over Tokyo, a soft smile spreading on his face. Dan was always so beautiful, too beautiful. “Phil! Why are you always taking pictures of me! We need to go!” Dan said in a stressed tone, but Phil could tell that he was enjoying it. “Haven’t you ever heard the quote ‘if you ever want to know what someone is most afraid to lose, look at what they photograph’?” Phil laughed, running up to kiss Dan on the cheek, which was a lot more difficult than Phil anticipated since they were walking, so Phil ended up kissing Dan on the jaw. “Oh yeah? If it’s a quote, who said it?” Dan giggled, smiling at Phil, already knowing the answer. “It’s an old quote! It was probably some random rich guy, but still, it’s a good quote!” Phil’s response triggered a fit of laughter from them both, Dan stopping to grab Phil’s face and kiss him. “I love you, you absolute dork.” Phil was crying now, he wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of the rope around his neck, or from the memory. Phil’s eyes started to close as he got lightheaded. Soon, this thing would be over with. He tried to get a breath in, his body was trying to save him, but it was no use. The rope was too tight for him to be able to breathe. His hands started to shake, then his arms, then his legs, and soon his whole body was shaking, the final, desperate attempt, to get free and survive. No use. The wall in front of Phil darkened and a light emerged from the middle of the wall, the room spinning. This was it, the final seconds of his life. Phil desperately tried to focus on the picture of Dan, but the light was coming closer and closer, soon filling his whole vision. His ears were ringing, eyes rolling back, and his body finally going limp.

“As you all know, Dan is dead. I’ve been trying to get over it and get better, but it’s no use. Without Dan, I don’t have a reason to live. I’m sorry. This is the best thing for me to do, if I live, I’ll never be able to love anyone again. Dan was my soulmate, and nothing can change that. Mom, dad, Martyn, I’m sorry and I love you. I know you’ll all be filled with sadness, but don’t be sad, I’ll be with Dan again, and that’ll make me happy. Martyn, I’m sorry that I’ll be missing yours and Cornelia’s wedding, I know you’ll make a beautiful husband and wife. If you ever have a child, please tell them about me, will you? Mom, dad, I’m sorry that you won’t be seeing me again, but I’ll be watching over you both. I’m sorry that I won’t be bringing home any grandchildren for you, and I’m sorry if I’m letting you down by doing this, it was my only option. Friends, I love you all so. I’m sorry for doing this. You’ll all forget and forgive me eventually, I’m sure of it. And finally, mine and Dan’s dear followers. We’re ever so grateful for you all. I’m sorry that we’re ending up leaving you. I hope you’ll forgive us. We love you, thank you for all the memories, and we hope that you won’t forget us. I’ll see you all soon enough.

Philip Michael Lester/AmazingPhil”

#phanfic #phanfiction #my fics #my writing

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