#but the unsteadiness of subway really stressed me out

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

On one hand im glad I dont start work until Tuesday cuz it gives me one more day to mentally prepare

But on the other hand the anticipation anxiety is killing me. I can't stop grinding my teeth. I keep having to resist the urge to bite my hands. I cant focus on anything for more than a few minutes

Ik ill calm down once it starts and I see the environment ill be working in and start training and everything. And I know HOW my routine is gonna change as far as when im gonna have to get up and when ill get to come home. But its still a change.

A very large change cuz im gonna have to get up at 6am which is not a time ive ever purposely woken up except for one time for choir in 8th grade and the next time I was supposed to I purposely lied and said we weren't gonna have a spring concert so I wouldn't have to go to it

I just keep reminding myself that I need money so I can get a dog. Having money to live is not enough motivation for me. A dog is tho. That is the goal. I want a puppy. I am going to get a puppy. But I have to do this so I can get money to get a puppy. Im just gonna repeat that to myself every time I start feeling anxious.

[gggoode]

well well well i bet you thought you'd never see the day, me writing something other than crygi who is she x i love showing versatility

~~~

Marcia didn't exactly like the subway, but she found ways to enjoy it.

Sometimes she got to see the rats. That also included seeing people who weren't used to the rats freaking out about the rats.

Mostly she just enjoyed people watching.

There were lots of tourists, obviously. People lugging heavy suitcases and scrutinising the map while they tried not to get toppled over by the train's movements.

There were the performers and buskers, doing their damnedest even as most of the passengers just averted their eyes and tried their best to ignore them.

Her favourites were probably the most boring. The regular people who were just going to work or whatever, but those were the people she knew. Not by name or anything, but she saw them often enough that she recognised them.

There was gym girl who always had a cute matching tracksuit. The woman with twin babies who were now twin toddlers, but they were so well-behaved and they always had cute outfits. There was a man Marcia had never seen without his trumpet case, but she wasn't convinced that it contained an actual trumpet.

Her very favourite was the one she was closest to counting as her friend, though. It was stupid, since they'd never even spoken, but one night Marcia had been sitting and trying her best to ignore a creepy man who was leering over and wouldn't stop talking to her.

She was wearing headphones but not listening to music so she could hear every horrible sleazy word he was saying. He was undeterred by her obvious discomfort, but he was definitely deterred when She came to sit beside Marcia, giving the man a stony glare.

He'd shambled off to the other end of the carriage and gotten off the train at the next stop.

Marcia had given her a grateful smile. The woman was so hot that it was almost funny. She was tall, slim but strong-looking, had a pale scar running through one eyebrow, and was wearing a leather jacket and chunky platform boots.

Marcia usually would have been intimidated but the woman looked much less scary when she grinned back at her, a little lopsided but very cute.

Cute. The woman would probably kick Marcia's ass if she knew she was thinking of her as cute.

But she put in her headphones and settled beside her, and so began their new tradition. Marcia learned that the woman got on the train two stops after her. She was almost always wearing all black, and she'd never seen her without her leather jacket.

Every night she got on at the same carriage and came to sit beside Marcia. Every night they'd exchange the same little smile, nothing more, nothing less.

If there wasn't a seat beside her, the woman would sit opposite. One night the train had been totally rammed and the woman had stood by the door, but when Marcia looked up and caught her eye, she still grinned at her.

It shouldn't have given her butterflies but god, it did.

The train was quiet tonight which was nice after a stressful day at work. Marcia settled into her usual seat and put her headphones in, music quiet enough that she could still hear the clatter of the train over the top of it.

She tried to ignore the now-familiar flutter of excitement as the train pulled into the second stop after hers. Some nights the woman wasn't even there, and it was really embarrassing when Marcia got excited for nothing. Nobody knew about her little infatuation, but she always felt herself going red anyway.

The woman was there. Marcia ignored the way her heart started beating faster at the sight of her.

Tonight something was different. She was squinting as she got on the train, and seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she made her way down the carriage.

She sat beside Marcia as usual but she didn't smile at her. She just hunched over and pressed her hands over her face.

Marcia swallowed. She didn't know if it was normal to freak out so much over this. If it wasn't Her, if it was just some random passenger she'd never encountered before who was clearly in some kind of pain, she'd definitely ask if they were okay.

So she steeled herself as she removed one earphone and touched the woman gently on the shoulder. The leather of her jacket was softer than she'd expected.

"Are you okay?" she asked, speaking up enough that she'd be heard over the noise of the train but hopefully not shouting in her ear.

The woman was still for a moment before shaking her head. "Migraine," she said.

Marcia nodded even though the woman couldn't see her. She thankfully wasn't afflicted with migraines but plenty of her friends were, and she was always prepared. "Do you want a painkiller?"

The woman peeked at her out the corner of her eye, still shielding them from the train's bright fluorescent lights. "Don't they say you're not supposed to accept pills from strangers? Even if they're pretty girls?"

"Oh," was all Marcia could think to say. She couldn't see her reflection but she knew her face had gone the same colour as a tomato. "It's just aspirin."

"Yes please," the woman agreed, and there was a little smile on her face now. "I dunno if I'd count you as a stranger, anyway. Even though I don't know your name."

"Marcia," Marcia said automatically as she dug around in her bag for painkillers. She hoped the woman wasn't looking as she pulled out her silly fluffy bag shaped like a bunny and unzipped it to get the pills.

"Anetra," Anetra said. Of course she had a name like Anetra.

"It's nice to meet you. Officially," Marcia said, handing her over the painkillers. They'd just pulled into a station so Anetra quickly popped two of them out of the packet and into her mouth. She swallowed them dry and Marcia felt her own throat dry up in sympathy. "You want some water? I promise I don't have any diseases. That I know of."

Anetra snorted and nodded, clearing her throat. "I really didn't come prepared today."

Marcia dug out her water bottle and tried not to be embarrassed that it was covered in little yellow ducklings. Usually she liked cute stuff but it made her feel like an idiot next to Anetra. "I'm impressed you're even on the train. My roommate gets migraines and she's kind of pathetic about it."

Anetra was taking careful sips from the water bottle. Whether that was because she didn't want to spill it on the moving train or because she didn't want to put her lips on the bottle too much, Marcia didn't know. "I'll be pathetic about it when I get home, don't worry."

Marcia laughed quietly. "Do you know what causes them?"

"Usually hunger or dehydration," Anetra said, screwing the cap back on the bottle and offering it back to Marcia.

Marcia waved her hand. "Keep drinking if you're dehydrated."

Anetra seemed vaguely amused as she unscrewed it again and took another sip. "I think it's mostly hunger. Today's been crazy and I didn't get time to eat properly."

Marcia didn't know what possessed her to be so bold. Maybe it was Anetra's comment about pretty girls, or maybe it was the fact that they'd been sitting together all this time and she was kind of worried that after tonight they'd go back to their usual silence if she didn't make some kind of move.

So before she could think too much, she was saying, "there's a really good dumpling place right below my apartment."

"Yeah?" Anetra said.

That wasn't an invitation. That was just a statement that didn't mean anything or have any bearing on Anetra's life. If anything, it was like Marcia was just bragging about it. So she cleared her throat to try again. "It's only a couple of minutes away from the station. And it's super quick, you'd have your food in like five minutes."

That still wasn't an invitation but Anetra shifted positions just enough that their shoulders were touching. "If I went to get food there would I have company?"

So Anetra had a migraine and she was still better at asking her out. Marcia nodded eagerly anyway, just relieved that she'd managed to get her point across. "Yeah! Of course. It's just a takeout so we can go upstairs and eat it at my place."

Anetra gave her that lopsided grin she was so fond of. "My dad would be so disappointed in me. Accepting pills from a stranger then accepting an invitation to go to her apartment."

It startled a laugh out of Marcia. "I'm not gonna kidnap you," she promised.

"I'm not worried," Anetra shot back. "I think I could take you if you tried. Even though I've been charmed by the cute water bottle and the little bunny you keep your pills in."

Marcia couldn't even find it in herself to be embarrassed. She'd charmed her.

It felt like no time before they were rolling into her stop. "This is me," Marcia said as the train slowed down.

"I know," Anetra said, because of course she knew. They'd been riding the train together for weeks.

But for the first time they got off together, voices echoing back and forth in the stairwell over the noise of the train as they climbed towards daylight.

[spooderboyandtincan]

You’re Gonna Miss Me

(When I’m Gone)

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Tony doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

That’s a lie. Utter bullshit. He’s lying to himself. Tony knows exactly why his heart is fluttering in his chest like he’d run a marathon, why his chest struggled to rise like there was twenty pound weight rested on it. 

Though to be fair, when he made an anonymous donation of a meager 50,000 dollars to Midtown Science and Technology, he hadn’t expected Peter’s decathlon team to put in a request to the school board to travel abroad, and he definitely hadn’t expected the school to immediately approve it. He thought they’d use it to replace the sudsy water in the bathrooms they called soap with the real stuff or some shit, not whisk his kid away to Vienna for a whole week where Tony couldn’t even hug him, couldn’t protect him. 

Peter is thrilled, though. Ecstatic. When he’d broken the news to Tony and May, he’d been over the moon with excitement, his round cheeks flushed pink and his eyes gleaming. Even two weeks ago, Tony had felt a deep sense of apprehension kindling in his chest, but with the date seemingly so far away, he’d pushed it to the back of his mind. 

He wishes now that he’d done something. He should have told Peter he couldn’t bear to be without him like he was an actor in a cheesy soap opera (it was true, he couldn’t); tell Peter he needed him on a “mission” that would mysteriously be canceled. Though they’d probably end up taking a plane or a suit to Vienna anyways (despite what he liked to say to Rhodey, he was not at all immune to Peter’s puppy eyes); hell, he should have purposely tripped on the stairs and broken his leg so Peter, sweet, kind, empathetic Peter, would immediately decide to stay by his side where Tony could keep him safe.

He missed Peter when he was at his apartment in fucking Queens, thirty minutes from Stark Tower. He didn’t know how he’d handle having him 4,222 miles away. He didn’t know if he could.

“Damn,” he hisses, pushing himself from his bed with a grunt and making a beeline towards Peter’s room. He dashes in. The sight of his sleeping son (read: lump of blankets) is enough to take his breath away.

Tony had missed him. It had been four hours since he’d tucked him in and kissed him goodnight, and Tony had missed him. Peter was fifteen feet away. 

This trip is going to be the death of him. He’s going to drop dead of a goddamn heart attack before Peter even gets on the plane. 

Tony sinks carefully onto the mattress and rests his hand on the boy’s neck, some deep, parental instinct in him immediately soothed by the slow, steady beat of his pulse. Peter is curled under the thick blue blanket, only his chestnut curls visible which are tinged blue from the Iron Man nightlight on the wall, his breath puffing out in those little snuffling snores that Tony absolutely adores. 

He leans down to kiss his temple, inhales the familiar scent of his favorite strawberry shampoo and is overwhelmed by the wave of infinite love that washes over him. He loves this kid so much it sometimes hurts. 

Leaning back, he smooths his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone. He doesn’t want to leave the boy’s side. He doesn’t know if he physically can. Maybe asleep Peter has somehow sensed this, because there’s a small mewl from the bundle of blankets, and two bleary doe eyes flutter open. 

“T’ny?”

“Hey,” Tony whispers, running a hand through his curls. “Hey, jellybean. Sorry I woke you up.” Peter rolls over with heavy limbs and rubs his eyes with a fist in a childlike motion, yawning in a way that resembles all those yawning kitten videos he’s made Tony watch. 

God, he’s adorable, Tony thinks. His heart is melting. He’s so small, so young. Tony feels an instinctual, almost uncontrollable urge to protect this kid, to wrap him in his arms and keep him from harm for the rest of time. 

Peter is oblivious. “‘S… s’okay,” he mumbles. His hand sneaks out of the blankets and tugs on his arm lethargically, which the genius knows is sleepy Peter language for “cuddle with me.” Tony chuckles fondly and slides under the covers.

He props himself up on an elbow and gazes down at his beloved boy, stroking a finger down his cheek. Peter smiles sleepily up at him from his assortment of pillows. “Hi.”

His face splits into a wide grin. “Hi, Pete.” 

Peter frowns at him then, a sudden change from his drowsy, half-asleep state. “You… you ‘kay? Wha’ time’s it?” He tries to sit up, but Tony hushes him gently with a “Everything’s okay, bud, just a typical 2am visit from your friendly neighborhood Iron Man.”

He smiles, so Tony counts the joke as a win. It’s not one of his best, but hey, forgive him if he’s a little anxious about his kid going to another fucking continent. 

(He refuses to acknowledge that it’s not just being away from Peter that’s stressing him out, it’s the fact that anything could happen to him while they’re apart.)

Tony looks back to Peter, opening his mouth to talk, only to find that he’s completely conked out. He balls up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes the line of drool tracing down the boy’s chin away, finding that a soft smile has formed on his face, the one that only makes its appearance around Peter.

Peter snuggles into him the second he lies down, resting his curly head just over his heart. Tony wraps a protective arm around his back and rubs small circles on his soft blanket hoodie. “G’night,” he whispers, bending to kiss the top of his head. “Sweet dreams, baby. I love you.”

He can feel Peter’s heartbeat thumping steadily against his chest- can hear his soft kitten snores. The warm weight of his body is so comforting that for a moment he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this trip isn’t going to be the end of him. That everything’s going to be okay.

~~~~~

Peter’s starting to regret eating all those waffles for breakfast. He feels shaky all over, like he could collapse or throw up any second. He’d told Tony he was going to pop in the bathroom, but he’s been in there for at least ten minutes, settled back on his heels on the cold, grimy floor of an airport bathroom, trying to breathe properly.

Speaking of Tony, he can hear the man just outside the door, typing on his phone and sipping from a cheap cup of coffee. Peter immediately experiences a hot flash of guilt, realizing that he must have grown worried while he was gone. 

Sure enough, the door swings open and there’s a soft knock. “Pete? Everything okay, bud?”

Peter stands up and unlocks the stall. “Tony,” he sniffles, taking an unsteady step forward. Tony rushes forward and gathers him in his arms

“Whoa, hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says gently, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “You’re okay, Pete. Breathe, just breathe, bud. It’s okay.”

“I don’t-” Peter whispers. “I don’t know, Tony, I-I wanna go, but I can’t, I don’t know w-what to do.” 

“Breathe, honey. It’s okay, I’m here, we��ll figure this out, okay? You just gotta take a breath, alright?” 

Peter tries- fails. Tries again, and manages to gasp a breath in. “Sorry,” he croaks, when he can properly breathe again. “Tony, I-I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Tony murmurs, squeezing him tight. “Nothing to be sorry for, Pete.” After snatching a paper towel and soaking it in the sink, he runs the scratchy cloth over Peter’s face and kisses his forehead when he’s done. “Okay, bubba. You wanna go back out or stay in here?”

“Out,” he replies without hesitation. The flickering white lights above are starting to give him a headache, not to mention the leaky faucet and the freezing tile floors and the faulty air conditioning. Tony leads him out with an arm around his shoulder and guides him to a little nook, where they both plop down on a neon green beanbag. 

“My parents died in a plane crash,” Peter whispers. 

Tony squeezes his shoulder. “I know buddy. I’m sorry.” Unlike a lot of the “sorries” Peter has heard, this one is sincere. Sometimes he forgets that Tony is an orphan too. 

“I- I mean, logically, I know the plane won’t crash,” he continues, “But I guess it’s still hard for me to believe that. Like a- a gut feeling?”

The man nods in understanding. “I know how you feel, kiddo. I was terrified of cars after my parents died- I took the subway everywhere despite the paparazzi bloodhounds.” Tony doesn’t broach the subject of his parent’s deaths often, especially not in a crowded public airport, so Peter makes sure to pay attention. 

“Then, the fear just kinda… vanished.” He wiggles his fingers dramatically. “I started driving without even thinking, didn’t realize I was in a car ‘til I got on the highway. I had to pull over when I did, but since then, I’m perfectly fine with cruisin’ at 80 mph. But,” he says seriously, meeting Peter’s eyes. “I think you should listen to what your gut’s tellin’ you, buddy. It’s important to listen to yourself- what inner you is saying.” He pokes Peter’s belly a couple times for good measure, which makes his face scrunch up adorably. 

Peter nods, and really tries to listen to his gut. The pair both go silent in concentration, and then- his stomach grumbles. They both burst into laughter, born more from nerves than hilarity.

“Inner you wants to eat,” Tony snorts. “I think I saw a place with the biggest blueberry muffins of my life by the escalators, wanna stop there?”

Despite eating a huge stack of waffles just hours earlier, Peter wolfs down two of the gigantic blueberry poppyseed muffins, much to the amusement of Tony.

They made their way to the gate, where Peter’s teacher, Mr. Harrington was lounging, dressed in an ugly red sweater, his long legs stretched in front of him. 

“Peter!” he cried as he spotted them, scrambling to his feet. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I had the wrong date! We’re leaving today, right?”

“Oh, yeah Mr. Harrington, we’re going today!” Peter laughs. He’s used to dealing with his scatter-brained teacher. “I’m actually here early, the plane’s supposed to leave at 1:00.” He gestures vaguely to the big digital clock over his head reading 11:54 AM, EDT. 

Mr. Harrington frowns. “I thought it left at 8 am! You mean I’ve been here for hours in this awful chair when I could have been sipping a piña colada in my jacuzzi?!” He collapses back in his chair and pulls a sleeping mask over his eyes with a sigh.

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Peter chuckles, then pulls Tony to a row of uncomfortable seats in the corner of the waiting area. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit, just watching the various travellers rush past. A little girl, around two or three, comes up and shyly asks for Tony’s autograph, but no one else recognizes the genius. (Thanks to his foolproof disguise of a baseball cap and scarf covering up his iconic beard, the genius claims.)

“So, what are we thinking?” Tony asks after about half an hour. “Do you wanna go?” He secretly hopes Peter will say no, hopes that they can go home and binge watch all of the Star Trek episodes and fill their bodies with junk. 

Peter nods hesitantly. “I think so. I-is that okay? I might change my mind, but- yes. Yeah, I think I want to go.”

 Tony squeezes his hand. “Of course it’s okay baby, that’s perfectly fine. If you change your mind, you know what? That’s great too. Whatever you want, that’s what’s important.” He kisses Peter’s forehead and lets his hand linger for a moment where it rests on the boy’s cheek. “If you change your mind at any point, I’ll come pick you up, okay?”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter breathes, slumping heavily against his side.

“Of course, bud. Anything for my Peter.” 

They stop for lunch at a cozy little coffee shop, which is thankfully devoid of fans and paparazzi. Peter orders (or rather, makes Tony order) a small hot chocolate (with extra marshmallows and whipped cream) even though drinking a lot before a non-stop ten hour flight is probably not the best idea. (He can’t help it. He’s nervous.)

When the pair gets back to their gate, they find Ned and his family. The boy’s greet each other enthusiastically, performing their signature handshake, while Tony simply throws up a peace sign to Ned’s rather stunned parents. 

The friends pull out their phones -probably playing one of those ghastly animated games that Peter is always quoting. Tony pretends to look busy on his phone, but really, he’s just trying to distract himself from the terrifying fact that he’s not going to see Peter for a week.

Too soon, the speaker crackles, a crisp voice announcing, “Attention. We are now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria. Now boarding flight 367 nonstop to Vienna, Austria.”

Tony’s heart stops. Peter freezes. 

No, they think at the same time. Not yet. 

Peter turns to Tony, panicked. “Hey,” the man says, pushing away every anxiety, every worry away so he can focus on his kid. He sees Ned approach them, but stop when his father places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby, it’s okay.” 

“Tony.” Peter wraps his skinny arms around his waist. 

“I know, baby, I know.” Tony kisses the top of his head and hugs him close. “Follow my breathing. You’re okay. We’re good.”

Around them, the members of the decathlon team are rising, but Tony and Peter sit in those unforgettable chairs, clutching each other tightly, not yet ready to let go. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whimpers. 

“I know kiddo, me too. I’m gonna miss you so much, but I’m always gonna be here, okay? If you need me, just call, or text, use morse code, doesn’t matter. I’m always here for you.”

“I’m here for you too,” Peter says. “I- I’ll call you every day.” Peter’s bottom lip is trembling, just barely, but enough for Tony to hug him a little tighter and kiss his forehead. “I love you, Tony,” he sniffs.

“I love you too, Pete. I love you so much.” Tony’s not crying. He’s not. The restaurant a few stores down is just cooking onions, that’s why his eyes are watering. 

Peter pulls away and grabs his duffel bag, taking a step toward the loading dock. Tony tries not to burst into sobs. Stay, his mind whispers. Please stay. 

Then Peter turns around, eyes full of tears, and slams straight into Tony’s chest, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. Tony rocks them back and forth, cherishing everything about his sweet boy. When they finally break apart, Peter says, “I’ll be back before you know it,” echoing what Tony has said to him so many times before he leaves for a business trip. 

Then he smiles a watery smile and runs to catch up with his best friend. Just before he disappears into the loading dock, he turns around and waves wildly at Tony.

Tony waves back, grinning. “I love you,” he mouths.

“I love you too!” Peter mouths back, and steps into the dock.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, hastily wiping the dampness from his eyes. “I love you, Peter.”

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

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[earlgreydream]

acting.

| steve rogers x reader | fluff |

anon requested. Actor!Reader where they finally get their big break as the lead on Broadway and as much as they don’t want to tell the team bc they’re nervous, they end up finding out and going to support them.

You couldn’t believe it. You’d landed the lead in Heathers, the musical you had been dying to star in. Even better, it was on Broadway. You had spent your entire career with the Avengers, working as Tony’s assistant and running data and occasionally assisting on missions with intelligence. All you wanted was to star on Broadway, and you had finally done it. 

You suddenly couldn’t imagine leaving them. The Avengers were your family, and your entire life, down to living in Stark Tower. Steve Rogers, known to most as Captain America, was your boyfriend. Your entire life was intertwined with the team, and you felt a little bit sick at the thought of leaving.

But this was your dream job. Tony had promised that if you ever left, you’d always be welcomed back. And, you knew that they wouldn’t kick you out, you’d always have a home with them, and a family.

But telling them frightened you. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” You nodded at the director, who greeted you warmly. 

You were embraced and welcomed. The rest of the cast introduced themselves to you and you ran through a couple rehearsals. 

After your shifts, you managed to slip away. Steve was gone on missions, and everyone else was too busy to notice your constant absence. You were thankful for the busy insanity, it gave you more time to keep your secret about the musicals. 

You came home one night, the Wednesday before your show. When you walked through the door, it was already past midnight. The rehearsal ran late, and you were stressed and exhausted from working full time, practicing full time, and sneaking around. 

“Where’ve you been, Y/N?”

Steve’s deep voice startled you, his massive frame leaning in your bedroom doorway. You didn’t fear Steve, you knew he’d never hurt you, but he looked mad. 

“Fuck! You scared me,” you breathed, your hand going to your chest. You dropped your bag and he raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s almost one in the morning. Security says you come home late every night I’m not here. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

You swallowed, unprepared for having to tell him right now. You sighed, running your hands through your hair and turning to him. 

“Um...”

“If there’s someone else, just tell me. I don’t want to be blindsided.”

Your head shot up and you gasped. 

“Oh my god you think... NO! Steve, my love, of course not. I would never cheat on you. I love you more than life.” 

Steve stood up off of the doorframe and walked toward you, tilting your chin up. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

His stern command made your knees weak, and you held his arms to steady yourself. You were shaking, and Steve was worried. He didn’t think you’d cheat on him, and he was right. But now, he was concerned that something even more sinister was going on. He didn’t know how Stark had managed to let you run around under the radar. Whenever you left, you took the subways, and always shut off your phone.

“Are you in trouble? Y/N, if you’re in danger-”

“It’s nothing like that, Steve. I swear.”

He patiently waited for you to elaborate, and your breathing grew unsteady as you tried to explain yourself. You were getting nervous, irrational fears that your new job would come between you flooding your mind.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“I got another job... I got the lead in Heathers on Broadway. Our first show is next weekend. I didn’t want anyone to know because I won’t be able to be full time with the Avengers, and I didn’t want it to come between us,” you were hyperventilating, your explanation rushed.

“Y/N! That’s fantastic!” Steve spun you around, surprising you. 

“R-really?”

“Yes! This is your dream, baby, I’m so so proud of you!” Steve celebrated, his eyes filling with delight for you.

“Thank you!” You shrieked, the fear fading as you laughed in his arms. 

“I’m so happy for you, and everyone else will be too! Oh baby, I’m sorry we didn’t know sooner. Nothing is going to change, but we are going to support you. Unconditionally.” Steve promised, kissing you passionately, both of his hands cradling your face and his beard tickling you. 

Steve was waiting when you rushed out from backstage, still in your costume. You jumped into his arms with a scream, giggling as he squeezed you. All of your friends surrounded you with shrieks of congratulations and clapping, making you laugh and giggle. 

You were hugged by all of them, and it felt like the life was nearly squeezed out of you. Bucky had a massive bouquet of roses for you, and you giggled and blushed.

“Thank you!”

“You were amazing, Y/N. Come on, we have reservations,” Stark tried to lead everybody.

“Let me change, quick!” You begged, kissing Steve briefly before running back to the dressing rooms.

“Congrats Y/N!” The cast cheered for you and you thanked them, changing into a glittery red outfit to go out with your boyfriend and friends.

“You’ve got the whole Avengers team here to cheer for you,” someone noted, making you giggle.

“They’re my family!!!”

You squeezed Steve’s hand as your group was led into a five-star restaurant. You kissed him happily, and listened to your friends dote on you and your amazing performance. You were delighted and overwhelmed by the support, including their excitement for you to become a full-time actor. Tony had agreed to send you on missions between shows at your request, and you swore you’d still be able to do some data research for them.

“Don’t worry about that now. You always have a place with us. For now, let’s celebrate!” Tony squeezed your shoulder. 

[waypathfinder]

Crimson Lane - Chapter 11 - The Traitor

Moodboard by @ashtyntaytertot 

Beta’d by @kathknight and @ashtyntaytertot

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Archive of our Own (from the start)

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Chapter Text 

Morning in the city was a deranged cocktail of senses to Kylo: jackhammers pounding, sirens screaming, crying babies, all of it stewing in a pot of pollution and garbage.

He stalked forward, head down with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his path direct; determined. People passed him, bumping against his body while fiddling on their phones, careless and self-absorbed, ignorant of how every touch made him stiffen; hyper-aware.

The product of someone who’d always had to watch their back. 

And never more so than right now.

Normally, if he had to walk down the street, he did so with a pair of earphones in, tuning out the world around him.

But today, there was no music. He needed to be aware.

The noise of the city dulled into the background, the jolting disarray of sound overwhelmed by a subtle roar, breathless and quiet. Like the wind before a train cuts through a subway tunnel.

Everything fell silent but the roar of his inner monologue:  You  were the one who chose this path,  you, a grovelling, terrified teenager.

And now his road cut deep, a chasm with no escape. He’d tried to claw his way out of it many times, but Snoke had always been one step ahead of the game.

Not any more.

Two weeks ago, Kylo Ren waited in Snoke’s office, eyes downcast, hands in pocket, toying nervously with a sleek black cylindrical shaped UBS Drive in his pocket.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Be patient!” Snoke scolded him, hungrily clicking on his mouse, the pink flesh of his tongue coasting across his lips.

“You said it was urgent.”

Snoke glared at him, lips moving, silent and angry.

“Were you on my computer before?”

“No,” Kylo said flatly.

“My settings have changed.” He clicked his mouse in loud tapping motions, annoyed. “That bastard San Tekka has been leaking info to the press again. I thought you were taking care of it.”

“I am. Hux and I have almost tracked him down. We’re close.”

“So you keep saying.”

Snoke clicked on the mouse a few more times, fascinated with whatever was on his screen. “For ex-security, he seems to know a lot about our operation.”

The hairs on the back of Kylo’s neck prickled unsettlingly. “Lor San Tekka may have just been a security guard, but he had the means to access a lot of information.”

Snoke was silent.

Watchful.

Kylo pulled at the collar of his shirt, feeling as if he were being choked.

“Do you think he’s getting his info from someone else?” Kylo asked.

“Possibly.” Snoke shrugged. “What do you think?”

“Unlikely—” he began, then smirked, thinking of a better response, “How much do you trust Hux?”

Snoke’s shoulders moved, a laugh. Kylo was almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief when his boss’s eyes narrowed at him as they flicked between the monitor and him.

“You little fucker!”

Kylo paled, throat closing.

“Did you think I wouldn’t see this?”

Snoke spun his laptop around. The footage was dark and the sound unclear, but there was a clear outline of men wearing black balaclavas. In the middle of the room was an elderly man, blabbering incoherently.

The tallest of the masked assailants took a step towards him and, with lightning speed, kicked him in the loin. The audio bled into weeping screams and Kylo stepped back, turning away. It always made him sick to watch himself work.

“Did I tell you to look away?”

Kylo straightened, his pulse pounding at the base of his neck. “I don’t see what the problem is. You got your money.“

“You call that a Mawashi Geri? You are off-balance. What am I paying you for if you can’t even deliver a simple roundhouse kick?”

“We got the money,” Kylo stressed the point through gritted teeth, balling his fists behind his back.

Snoke rolled his eyes as his lips curled into a sneer.

“It’s not just about the money, son. These vipers need to learn that the First Order owns them. Did he need to go to a hospital?”

No, they had left him bleeding and screaming on the floor. In pain, but not seriously injured.

A failure, in Snoke’s eyes.

“Just what I thought. I have no use for spineless worms who can’t follow orders.”

Kylo nodded, eyes downcast. “Is that all?”

“No.” Snoke stood, his golden robe sweeping around his body in a gesture of grandeur. He glided towards Kylo, slow and smooth as a snake slithers through the grass.

“I have a question for you,” he whispered. “Blonde or brunette?”

“Huh?” Kylo asked, taken aback at the change in conversation.

“What do you like to fuck, blondes or brunettes?”

“I…” he stammered. Some part of him still felt ashamed that he used the girls here. It was— It was not the way he saw his future playing out.

“Which one—” Snoke’s voice rose.

“Brunette.”

“Ha!” Snoke purred. “Interesting. You know, I found a pretty little piece of flesh the other day. Phasma’s going to bring her in. She has no family, is desperate for cash, young. You will like her.  Brunette. ”

“They all do the same job once the lights are off,” Kylo said dryly.

Snoke chuckled to himself, his bony fingers reaching out and squeezing Kylo’s shoulder. “Well, that’s true. I’ll book her in for you. Monday, July 2. Kanjiklub are late with their payment again. I need you to show Tasu Leech we mean business. Smash his kneecap, I don’t care which one. You can have this girl when you’re finished… to unwind.”

“Fine,” Kylo grumbled. “Bring her in.”

“Oh, I will,” he hissed, those icy eyes filling Kylo with a chill that ran straight to his core.

***

Bring her in.

Those three fateful words. Kylo had said them just to shut Snoke up. But his boss had planned this from the beginning, setting the trap, using Rey as the bait. The question was why, now, after all this time, was Snoke so focused on him? Was it a power play, a lesson to bring him into line, or something bigger and far more dangerous?

And Rey.

Snoke had dragged her into this shit-show. Manipulated and lured her into thinking she could pay off her debt—the one he had forced on her.

Kylo stormed past a metal bin anchored to a pole, battered and dented from years of misuse.

Rey.

He kicked it as hard as he could. The metal crash rang out, scattering loose pieces of rubbish on the ground.

He had to keep Snoke away from her, and time was running out.

Kylo kicked the bin again, this time it dislodged from its anchor, and crashed onto the sidewalk, almost taking out a middle-aged couple in the process. They exchanged knowing looks at each other and mouthed the word ‘drugs’.

If only it was drugs. Then he would have an excuse for being the way he was. Violent.  Unbalanced.

He charged down the street, fixated on the passing pavement beneath his feet until he was standing in front of a faded red door.

Kylo hammered on it.

No answer.

Again.

He stopped, knuckles stinging, from the other side there was the sound of rattling keys and... one, two, three: the locks snapped open. The handle turned and the door creaked open, just enough.

A gaunt man with short-cropped white hair, a neat beard and pale blue eyes peered out.

Kylo pushed the door open with his boot and Lor San Tekka took an unsteady step back.

“Look how old you’ve become.”

”Something far worse has happened to you,” Lor replied.

Kylo straightened his spine, glowering. “You know why I’m here.”

“Take a seat.”

Rey crossed her arms, gnawing at the inside of her mouth like she was chewing on a bone.

This was a bad idea.

A  very bad Idea.

“Come on, Rey. I don’t bite,” Poe said, flashing his dazzling white teeth at her.

She studied him warily, noting the way he stood between her and the exit; one hand clutching his briefcase, the other inviting her to sit. Ridiculous smile, glued in place. No doubt he tried to look welcoming, but it was too eager, like she was being lured into a trap.

You could still leave.  She tried to stay calm.  Just turn around and disappear forever.

Poe must have sensed her hesitation, because he sat down with a lazy thump, kicking his feet up on the chair opposite, and casually began reading the menu with a bored expression.

Eventually, Rey took a measured breath and lowered her body slowly into the booth as Poe watched her subtly, peering out beneath his thick brows. At the far end of the room, a tray crashed to the floor and the sound of breaking glass shattered around her. She jumped, skittery as a wild deer. Heart pounding.

“Here.” Poe pushed the menu towards her, his voice placating. “Order whatever you want. My work’s paying.”

She supposed she could stay for a bite to eat if he was paying. After all, Rey looked around at the plush velvet seats, vase centrepieces with explosions of colour… and then there were those rich aromas wafting from the kitchen. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

A restaurant meal. When would she be lucky enough to score one of those again?

“Okay,” she sighed and opened the menu, running her finger down the line of prices.

$29, $35, $32…

Ah. There it was.

“I’ll have that one.” She tapped her finger against the menu.

“The lobster?” Poe squinted at his own menu, jaw dropping. “It’s sixty-five dollars!”

“Yes, that’s the one.” She nodded decisively. “I’ve not tried it before.”

He took her menu back and groaned. “Really? You’ve ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“Did I ?” Rey teased, a picture of innocence.

Poe shook his head, mumbling something about a thirty-dollar limit. It was a small victory, but it was sweet enough.

Once the orders were taken, Poe pulled out a dog-eared file and whacked it on the table.

“Don’t you use computers at the Hosnian Herald?” she asked.

“Cute. You want to be a reporter sweetheart? You watch and learn.”

Rey rolled her eyes, but watched anyway, because hell yes, she wanted to be a reporter.

Poe placed a notepad filled with messy shorthand strokes on the table, followed by a dictaphone.

“I thought you said you left that back at the office?”

“Did I ?”

Rey scowled at him, but that may have been because otherwise she might have smiled.  Bloody reporters!

“Right, let’s get started.“ Poe bypassed the notepad and pressed ‘record’ on the dictaphone.

“So, Rey,” he said, locking his black coffee-coloured eyes on her. “How’s life in the sex industry?”

Shit! She shot her hand to turn off the recording device.

“You can’t record that!”

“For a girl who’s trying to protect her secrets, you’re not very obliging.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to hide anything?”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll call Finn back and he can take notes. Sorry, my bad.”

Rey’s mouth turned to ash, fingernails pushing into her forearms, leaving half-moon pressure marks on her skin. She was stuffed, and could only watch in horror as Poe unlocked his phone, flicking through his contact list.

“Wait!”

Breathe, Rey!  The words were her own, but they had mixed with the gravelly undercurrent of her former Sensei, Master Skywalker. The memory swept her away to a quiet hall with bright, sunlit windows and polished wooden floors.

“ What do you see?” Master Skywalker asked, his voice filtering through her meditation, guiding her.

“The man in black,” she whispered. Those quiet moments of self-reflection always wrenched her back to that cesspit of a home, to the night she was attacked. She could never stop seeing him.

“You see your enemy?” his voice was calm, a safe harbour in stormy seas.

“Yes.”

“Never show weakness before your enemy. Stand strong.”

And like that, she was back, faced with this smiling, ambitious reporter who thought he could bully her into exposing her story.

She stiffened, lifting her eyebrows and meeting his eyes with a level-headed coldness.

“Are you blackmailing me, Poe Dameron?”

“Blackmail?” Poe looked affronted. “What!? No!”

“So, what if I refuse to tell you anything?”

“Then you refuse. There’s not much I can do about it.”

“You won’t tell Finn what I’m doing?”

Poe sighed. “Look, I don’t want your story, Rey. I have no wish to expose you or call you out. I just want you to tell me everything you know about Snoke.

Alexander Snoke. Rey shivered. Even the thought of that deceptively frail, hulking creep made her want to disappear forever. “I don’t know anything about Snoke.”

Poe nodded, as though he expected as much. Untying the document wallet before of him, he opened the flap and pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings.

“Let me enlighten you then.”

Terror bombing kills 120

First Order scores multi-million dollar government security contract

Palpatine’s popularity soars amidst vote of no confidence

Resistance battered into submission, Organa-Solo resigns

“And my personal favourite.”

Reporter targeted in Yavin car bomb

“Your  boss, Alexander Snoke, is behind every single one of these stories.”

Rey sifted through the articles as Poe continued to bring more out, scattering them on the table in a messy collage: reports of beatings, stabbings, robbery, blackmail… the list seemed endless.

“To the public, he is the revered CEO of the First Order. Fortune magnet. But behind the scenes, he is manipulating the government and crushing anyone who gets in his way.”

“What’s his endgame then?” Rey flicked through the pages, amazed at how much Poe had actually pegged against him.

“Power.” Poe twisted his cup of water on the table, watching the way the water stayed still regardless. “By bombing the Resistance, he created a sense of panic. Meanwhile, he has a few quiet words to his mate Palpatine, and what do you know? The First Order scores a huge government contract, providing security and weapons to the police force. Suddenly the Imperial government’s rigid military rule starts to look like a pretty good idea, and since Palpatine owes him a couple favours he can start to cash in and make things go the way he wants on a larger scale.”

“That seems like a bit of a far stretch for a guy who runs a brothel.”

“A brothel  and a multi-billion-dollar company. Anyway, the brothel is just a front, essentially; plus, he likes it. The guy’s a complete sexual deviant.”

Rey thought back to his special cupboard, the way he had filmed her. Poe sure as hell wasn’t wrong about that.

“From Crimson Lane he does all the illegal stuff because he wouldn’t be caught dead doing that at the First Order; it’s under a lot more scrutiny. Also, he can’t fund any underhanded deals through First Order books, so that’s where the loans and drugs come into play. He preys on junkies and anyone else in desperate positions. He finds their weak spot and breaks them through blackmail, loans, threats, addiction, whatever he can to fund his operation.”

Rey searched through the clippings, her expression hollow. It was so much bigger than she ever thought.

And was this what Kylo Ren was part of? She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t.

But…

And there was a  but. A brutal threatening fact that lurked in the shadow of her mind.

Her hand strayed across the Resistance bombing articles, Senator Leia Organa-Solo had stepped down after they had lost so many lives, feeling somehow responsible.

She picked up the largest article on the Resistance attack:

Terror bomb devastates. Beneath the headline was a photograph of broken bodies beneath white sheets that were smeared with blood. From beneath one of them was a child’s hand outstretched, charred and bloody. Lifeless. She had seen images of that hand on the television news that day. It had stayed with her long after.

She read beneath the image.

There are fears up to 120 are dead today after a mysterious bomb blast crushed Resistance headquarters in the early hours of the morning.

A spokesperson for the Police first response team said the perpetrators designed the bomb to cause maximum damage.

The Imperial government has denied any involvement and has condemned the attack as “despicable”.

It looks to be the end of an already embattled Resistance party, after they suffered a landslide defeat in the last election.

Rey glued her eyes to the story, hand trembling.

Did Rose know she was working for the man responsible for her sister’s death? Did any of them?

“How can you be sure that Snoke is behind all of this?”

Poe lowered his head and whispered, “I have a source.”

Rey nodded, furrowing her brow. There was a rising feeling of anxiety from deep within. Poe pressed on, leaning forward.

“I promise you, once we’re finished with this story, Snoke will be done. We’ll have him on the Resistance bombing and so much more. Rey—”

He said her name with a breath of desperation, as though he had come to the point where he would plead his case, but he held back.

Rey gnawed at her fingernails, mind racing. If Snoke was behind all this, then did it mean Kylo was the one inflicting the damage?

“We need to get him, Rey. This bastard never gets his own hands dirty. He gets his army of trained mercenaries to do it for him — he calls them his Knights.”

She nodded, face ashen, the newspaper report on the Resistance bombing trembling in her shaking hands. Her eyes, glued on the pictures of covered bodies. The sound of that explosion, rippling through her brain. The stench, smouldering rubble, singed flesh, sirens, screams, despair. She hadn’t even there, walking two blocks away, but it was close enough.

“What do you know about the Knights?” she asked.

“There are nine of them, headed up by the guy only known as Kylo Ren.” Poe pried the article from her fingers and slipped it back inside his folder. “No one knows who he is or what he looks like, but from what I understand, he comes around the brothel from time to time—”

Her lungs were burning. Why couldn’t she breathe?

Poe paused, eyes narrowing in on her. “Rey, do you know who he is?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and looked away.

“This is important Rey. If you can identify him—”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “I don’t know who it is. I’ve just heard his name mentioned, that’s all.”

Poe exhaled, his demeanour slumping into the chair. “That’s a shame. Well, anyway, if you come across that guy, Rey, you run and don’t look back.”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured and meant it. Sorry that she had lied. That even while she understood Kylo was one of the “bad” guys, deep down she wasn’t ready to believe the worst of him. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was stuck, like she was.

But if Kylo was involved in that bombing, she couldn’t…

She swallowed. Her body was prickling with feverous heat, like the temperature rise before throwing up.

“Do you think he…” She took a drink of water, trying to hide the way she couldn’t stop shaking. “Do you think Kylo Ren was behind the bombing?”

Poe stared at her for a beat.

Too long.

“No. Anything with pyrotechnics is Armitage’s work. Red-headed English guy. A snivelling rat. You’ll know him when you see him. Total psycho. Loves his work.”

Rey startled as the waiter slid their meals in front of them without a word. Rey ignored it, even though her stomach was rumbling and the rich smell of the lobster with white sauce was wafting before her.

“If you’ve got a source, why do you need me?”

“Because I don’t know how much longer I will have him.”

Poe cut into the tender flesh of his steak. The juices bled onto the plate, drowning the rest of his food in red.

“A guy named Lor San Tekka got in touch with me a month ago. He’s been feeding me information on Snoke. He used to work for him until last year as a security guard. He quit after the attack. His wife, Marianne, worked for Senator Organa. She was one of the first ones found in the wreckage that day, or at least, they found parts of her.”

Rey shivered, nausea growing in her gut.

“Why on earth would you tell me who your source is?” Rey asked, horrified. She had learnt that much in the university; never,  ever reveal your sources.

“I’m telling you because I need you to listen out for me. If you hear anything that sounds like they will make a move on San Tekka, I need you to tell me,” Poe said in a hushed voice. “The guy has a USB drive with enough dirt to take down Snoke and the First Order once and for all. But I don’t know…”  He dragged a hand down his face, all of his suave arrogance disappearing in the movement.

“I have a bad feeling about it, Rey. Like it’s all too easy. This San Tekka guy’s got a target on his back. He’s the only one with the motive to take down Snoke. It won’t take them long to figure out he’s the leak... if they haven’t already.”

Rey thought about it. Something wasn’t right here, and she had good instincts about these things.

“So, you have him on the Resistance bombing?” she asked.

“That and so much more, I mean, this last Monday, Tasu Leech, who heads up the Kanjiklub crime family, was left beaten within an inch of his life. That was Kylo Ren’s work apparently, according to my source.”

Monday. Rey felt the blood rushing from her face. Their first night together.

“What else do you have on Kylo Ren?” God, she wished her voice would stop shaking.

“We have everything, Rey. Everything he’s been involved in over the last ten years up until last week. Well, everything except his true identity.”

Rey played with her food, quiet and thoughtful. There were so many mixed emotions fighting within her. And then a thought struck her.

“If San Tekka was just a security guard who quit his job over a year ago, how does he have access to all of this? I mean, these are some of Snoke’s biggest secrets. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Well, wouldn’t it indicate there was  another source? One that still works for Snoke really closely. Perhaps Lor isn’t your primary source. You said his wife was murdered in the attack, but what if he was just a front-man, who was being fed information from the real source, so he or she can stay in a position of trust.”

Poe gawked and then smiled appreciatively. “Well, I’ll be damned, Rey. Finn said you were brilliant.”

“I’m far from brilliant—”  Blighted, more like.

But Poe ignored her. “Tell you what. You help me crack this case and there will be a job for you at the end of all this.”

“What, as your coffee assistant?” she scoffed.

“As a reporter, if that’s what you want? You ask the right questions, Rey, and you can obviously write, since Finn said your first year was on a scholarship. And you’ve got sass. I like that.”

Rey considered his offer. What if, after all of this, she could still have a future… How dangerous could it be?

“You’re thinking about it.” Poe leaned in with a hungry smile. “Maybe once this story is done, I could even give you a joint byline with Finn.”

A byline. Her jaw dropped, eyes smiling.  Could it happen? She almost felt like crying at the possibility.

“Poe, I—”

“Don’t thank me yet. Because there’s one more thing I need from you.”    

Kylo Ren squeezed into the ornate dining chair, covered in floral upholstery. The cushion of the seat was stained yellow and every time he moved it creaked, threatening imminent collapse.

Lor San Tekka’s late sister’s townhouse was a time capsule of 1970s decor, vomited up into the modern day. Vintage brown paper lined the walls and floral drapes with dusty sheer curtains clothed the windows. There were layers of dust upon every surface and it stunk of potpourri.

Next to the front door, a stoic grandfather clock stood guard, passing time with resonant beats. It was near midday. Six hours before he would be with Rey. The thought of it made his throat dry, senses alert.

She had left things …  hopeful.

But he couldn’t think of her now.

Kylo sat alone at a compact dining table with two regency chairs.

The silence of the lounge room forced Kylo to listen to the old man groaning with pain,  accompanied by the sound of an erratic flow of urine splashing into the basin with moans of relief.

Fuck old age. He never wanted to be old and weak. Luckily, he figured his time would come sooner rather than later—

The toilet flushed and Lor battled to return down the hall, face wincing with every step he took towards the small dining area.

Lor smiled weakly. He‘d withered into a shell of a man, with dark circles beneath his eyes, bones protruding against stretched white skin, his hair missing in clumps. And then there was that smell, hidden beneath the layers of potpourri, a stench that hovered like a low cloud blotting out the sun. It was the smell old age, like candle wax and old newspapers; the promise of death. He knew Lor was sick, but he hadn’t realised how close he was to the end.

“How have you been?” Kylo asked, ignoring the expressions of pain that fleeted across Lor’s face as he sat.

“The doctors say there’s not much time left. The cancer has spread too far. Inoperable, apparently. Let this be a warning, young Solo, to get your prostate checked regularly.”

Kylo looked out the window, past dust floating in roads of sunlight. He had known Lor his entire life; the guy was his goddamn Godfather. But even in his old age, Lor had been a beacon of strength, both physical and mental.

That had changed after the bomb. After Marianne had died…

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kylo said, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be.” Lor poured a cup of tea for them both.

“Is there nothing they can do?”

“Why should they do anything?” Lor stirred his tea, spooning out stray tea leaves. “I have been hanging on here by a thread, Ben. I want to go home, I want to be with my wife.”

“Let’s get on with this—” Kylo snapped, pulling a USB stick out of his pocket.

Lor smiled, eyes distant. “You know, I still remember the day I met her. Marianne was an intern for the Resistance, and I was First Order security.” He laughed. “If looks could kill! Well, let’s say I wouldn’t be around to talk to you.”

Kylo flicked him a fake smile, more focussed on the small cylinder of information that could potentially destroy him and everyone else that worked for Snoke, than Lor’s musings of yesteryear.

“She was sharp as a tack, outspoken with a fiery temper. You can only imagine how much grief she gave me.”

Kylo nodded, a half smile. He could imagine Marianne putting San Tekka in his place, almost like… he saw her in his mind’s eye; hazel eyes, sun-kissed cheeks, dotted with a galaxy of stars…

Lor was still talking, but he had stopped listening, although now the old man’s tears fell, simply, without fanfare.: Chronic sadness.

He couldn’t imagine that pain. He wouldn’t let that happen to him, to Rey. Not that he loved Rey, or even…

He didn’t know. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“What’s on your mind, Ben?”

Kylo straightened his back against the chair, hesitant to ask, but he had to know.

“How did you change her mind about you?”

“I didn’t. She fell in love with me despite what I did or the fact I worked for the ‘enemy’. She made me a better man.”

“You sold out then.” Kylo took a sip of his tea, dark eyes flashing up at Lor to check his reaction and was not disappointed,

Lor glowered, cheeks red, the first glimpse of colour on his grey face.

“No, you idiot. She made me  want  to be better.”

“How sweet.” Kylo gave him a wry smile.

“Mock all you like. But I know where you came from, before you called yourself Kylo Ren. I know what lies beneath the darkness.”

“Anyway.” Kylo rolled his eyes, weaving the small cylindrical shaped USB drive between his fingers. “This has all Snoke’s correspondence leading up to the Resistance bombing, and plenty of dirt afterwards. You need to get this to Poe tonight. I won’t be able to get you another copy, I risked everything just getting this one.”

Lor took it from him, appearing to marvel at the size of something so powerful.

“This is it, Lor, this drive has everything we need to take Snoke down.”

“Everything?”

“Video footage, photos, emails, for the last five years, the lot. It will ruin him.”

“And what about Kylo Ren? Where does he fit in all of this?”

Kylo got up, hands restless as he paced about the room. “I told you, I wasn’t involved in the Resistance bombing—but my hands aren’t clean.” He stopped, meeting Lor’s gaze. “I’m not hiding anything. If the First Order is to burn, Kylo Ren will burn with it.”

“Ben—” Lor leaned in, as though he would stand, but that bolt of pain showed in his face again and he clearly thought better of it. “You can still…“

“No.”

Kylo looked out into the street beyond, face resolute.

“It’s time to let the past die. I’m done with all of it. Snoke, the First Order, the Resistance. Everything.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re rushing this through now,” Lor said “It was safe when we were just trickling information to the press, pulling back when Snoke got suspicious. If this doesn’t go to plan, we’re both dead men.”

Kylo gazed out the window as cars streamed past, colours muted by the lace curtains. On the footpath, children rode their bikes. People. Peace. Life. It went on, regardless of what happened to him, or Lor.

“It’s not negotiable. I need to bring him down by Friday.”

“But why—”

“Because!” Kylo snapped. Because if he didn’t, how could he keep protecting her from Snoke?  No. From Friday, that bastard had cleared her bookings for the rest of the week; apart from the odd session with Hux, the rest he had pencilled in for himself.

Not a fucking chance.

It was the least Kylo could do to make it up to her. For being the one that haunted her nightmares, and terrorised her daydreams. If he couldn’t tell her the truth about that night in Jakku, he would at least do this. To free her. To free them both.

“Very well,” Lor conceded. “I will get this to Poe tonight. It’s time we brought this bastard down once and for all.”

Kylo gave him a solemn nod and turned, throat dry, blinking. He worked to clear it, trying to hold back the unsettled feeling bubbling in his gut.

“There’s one more thing—” Kylo paused as he took a deep breath, forcing himself to look the old man in the eye. “After tonight, you need to leave. Snoke has a hit on you.”

“That old bastard’s had a hit on me since I left the First Order.”

“But this time—” Kylo clamped his jaw, rolling his lips together. Time was running out for Lor.

“Snoke will send you after me.” Lor guessed what he would say. “And Kylo Ren never misses.”

Kylo was silent, but his face gave away the truth, it always did.

“Maybe it’s time I started missing,” said Kylo.

“No.” Lor shook his head. “Not this time. If Snoke discovers you’re the leak, then any chance we had of taking the First Order down is over. You need to protect your position, play the game. It isn’t worth risking everything for—”

“I won’t let him find you.”

“And if he does? What will you do?”

Kylo stared at him, silent.

“You will need to do it, Ben.”

Kylo looked away, eye’s glassy.

“You will do it, won‘t you Ben?”

Lor reached forward, grasping his hand around Kylo’s wrist. His grip was firm, even though his end was coming.

“We have to see this through, Kylo. Who will be next, your father? Your mother? This girl Snoke’s toying with in front of you? The bastard will never stop until he’s removed everyone you’ve ever cared about.”

Kylo pinched the space between his eyes at the sharp pain that was building there, increasing every day.

“He wants you Kylo. You’ve always been a prize to him, something he can covet and keep and control. If he can’t have you, he will destroy you.”

Kylo fingered the keys in his pocket as he nodded a quiet goodbye.

“It’s all right, Ben.” Lor eventually stood again, grasping his shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie. “Whatever happens tonight, it will be all right.”

Kylo moved towards the door, silent and dark, a black shadow disappearing into nothingness. He gripped the front door handle, eyeing the moving hands of the grandfather clock. The noon chimes would sound within the minute. But he had an overwhelming urge to leave before the hour struck. He pulled the door open, just as the sound of the low, ominous toll of the clock chimes followed him out. They were like the strike of a death knell, forcing him to a fate he couldn’t escape.

The door closed behind him and the cries of the clock chased him into the daylight again. He keeled over, pushing his hands against his knees, trying to breathe, trying to think.

But all he could hear was the roar, loud and consuming, tearing at him now.

It was a feeling, a warning, that this plan of theirs was all going to hell.

Poe hesitated, scanning the room before continuing, “If things fall through with Lor—”

She buried her forehead in her hands, dreading what was coming next.

“Rey, this is important. If things fall through with Lor, I need another backup. Someone on the inside who can get close to Snoke and Kylo. Someone who can feed information to us without suspicion.”

Rey groaned and pushed her plate away, no longer hungry. “I knew you would ask me this.”

“People’s lives are on the line.”

She raised her voice. “ My  life is on the line!”

Restaurant patrons froze, forks hovering mid-air to their mouths, looking at her, silent. She slid deeper into her chair, lowering her chin and rubbing her forehead as though she were pushing away a headache.

Poe smirked. “Are you trying to draw attention to us?”

“No,” she sulked, poking at the remains on her dinner plate like it were a dead carcass.

After a time, the diners resumed their chatter and returned to their lunch. Rey breathed a sigh of relief, careful not to draw more attention to them. There was no guarantee that there wasn’t a spy or friend of Snoke’s lurking around, listening.

“Poe, look, you seem like a nice guy. Fighting the good fight and all, but I  need  this job. If I lose it—”

She met his gaze, unflinching and thoughtful. Should she tell him everything? He might know who was holding her ransom with this crippling debt.

The scraping of plates, murmuring patrons and gentle jazz faded away, leaving a heavy silence between them.

“I owe some money, and someone’s after me to get it back,” she whispered.

Poe leaned in; that reporter’s spark shining in his dark, hungry eyes. “Who’s after you?”

“I don’t know his name or anything about him. He wore a black mask and black clothes.”

“Right,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. Thinking. “A man in black. Like in  The Princess Bride ?”

“What?!” she shrieked. “Nothing like the  Princess Bride. Have you even watched that movie?”

“Hey, I saw the trailer. Twice.”

“Well  if you’d watched it you’d know he was trying to rescue her the entire time. He was the love interest. Forget it!” she snapped and grabbed her bag, pushing an uneaten dinner roll into the front pocket.

“Hold on, hold on! I’m sorry, Rey,” Poe pleaded, hand outstretched, patting the table before her. “Don’t go!”

She paused, still clutching her bag, itching to leave.

“Please, Rey,” Poe continued, his voice gentle, disarming. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” she breathed.

He took her hand in his own. It felt warm and rough, thick and gentle. “Try me, sunshine.”

Rey sighed.

“Okay… six years ago.” Her stomach churned at the memory of that time. “I went back to my home in Jakku…”

***

There she was again. Transported to the deserted apartment building, forgotten by everyone except the resident cockroaches moving in scattered swarms across the kitchen floor.

Rey had hauled her dog bed up from the street below, opened the windows, and cleared the cigarettes and beer bongs. Within a week, the chemical haze had disintegrated, and now she almost felt comfortable.

Her late parent’s apartment was scorching in summer. Heat rose through every storey, making her little spot like an oven during the night and even more unbearable in the day. The cockroaches dwindled in number but no matter what she did, there were always flies; buzzing and bouncing around the rooms clumsily.

But, it was home.

The days were easy, filled with scavenging and hunting for treasures she could swap for food. But the nights were something else. The abandoned building had become a hive for squatters; she could hear them through the walls, shouting, fighting, humping. Sometimes, they tried to ransack her room. Banging at the door with broken bottles, asking her to come out. She had bolted the door and hammered planks across the doorframe, barriers to stop them getting in. But there was always the fear it wouldn’t be enough to hold them back.

And it wasn’t.

***

“The chair!” a voice hissed. “Tie her to the chair.”

She scrambled, arms and legs flailing. She lashed out with her nails, kicking at whatever flesh she could find, even biting when she had the chance. The fight was short-lived and pathetic; in under a minute, the cold steel of the chair was hard against her back.

“Stop!” she cried. “I‘m just a scavenger. Can‘t you see I don‘t have anything?”

A man in black towered over her. He was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, and while a balaclava hid his face, she could clearly see his eyes like pieces of coal. Cold and empty.

“Quiet,” he hissed, pinning her hands down with his forearms while he tightened cable ties around her wrists.

“Last month you came into a sum of money…”

“No,” she whimpered. The money she had gotten for selling her body. The money that Unkar Plutt had stolen from her the same day. “I don’t have it!”

He came closer, voice calm and deadly. She felt his gaze all over, studying her from top to bottom, assessing her. A wooden club tapped against his leather palm in a slow staccato rhythm.

“She’s lying.” Another man stepped out of the shadows, also masked, but with fire-red tendrils of hair poking out from beneath his balaclava. “I just got off the phone with him. She has the money to cover the parent’s debt.”

Her assailant stepped forward again, squatting before her, resting his heavy elbows upon her knees. He raised her chin with his club, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze.

“I know you have the money.”

She shook her head again, but he pressed the club hard against her.

“And now you‘re going to give it to me.“

She kicked her legs at him, aiming for his groin, but missed, hitting his shin instead. His eyes twitched with pain, and he wrenched her hands forward, almost ripping her from the chair.

To fight or take flight? There was no longer a question.

She riled. An inferno of heat exploded in Rey’s body. She’d had enough. So far she had been abandoned, abused, taken advantage of and now assaulted.  Enough!

She drew the saliva from her mouth and spat at him with as much force as she could muster, her spittle landing in his eye.

He wiped it away, and she smirked.

“I’m not giving you anything!”

“We’ll see.” He stood, turning away from her as he tapped a number into his phone, bringing it to his ear.

The room fell into silence, the subdued ringer, the only noise in this vacuum of sound. The red-haired man paced in front of her, while the other men anchored around the perimeter fixed their eyes on her like hungry dogs waiting for the kill.

“You were right. The parents died of a drug overdose a year ago,” the man in black spoke quietly into the phone. “The girl’s here like you expected. What do you want me to do with her?”

Silence.

He nodded, covering the mouthpiece to speak to her.

“Is your name Kira?”

“Piss off,” she hissed.

The man gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, it’s Kira.”

He walked around the room, murmuring into the phone inaudibly. At one point, he walked straight over her bed on the floor, tripping on it. He kicked it out of his path, and then paused, looking back at her.

“You got a dog?”

Rey shook her head, brows knitting in confusion until she realised what he was talking about. Her cheeks burned as she looked at the dog bed,  her bed.

He stared at her, almost like he knew. She didn‘t know where to look, because now he studied her with a gravity that made her even more unsettled than the cold darkness in his eyes.

“Right.” He held the phone out to his partner. “He wants to speak with you.”

The red-haired man snatched the phone. “Yes, I’m here,” he said with a pompous voice, too grandiose and out-of-place for a common thug. He walked out with the phone, leaving Rey alone with her assailant and his silent disciples.

She tried to quiet the threatening thoughts in her mind, her imagination running wild, picturing what a gang of criminals might do to her alone, in her apartment, with no one to help her. She closed her eyes, praying to whatever God was listening to her, to get her out of this alive.

When she opened them again, the man in black was right there in front of her, squatting, in her space. She could smell the spicy aroma of his aftershave and see the bags under his eyes.

When he kneeled this close to her, the cruellest thing was that those eyes were not  un kind—in fact, they were almost sensitive.

But there was the lie. For this person was dangerous, a harbinger of all her worst nightmares.

“How old are you?” he asked, voice quiet. She would almost have thought him gentle, had he not been holding a weapon at his side.

She gathered herself, pushing back the tide of terror threatening to overwhelm her.

“I’m s—sixteen.”

He turned away, mouth furrowed.

He went to speak, but just then the door thumped open and the redhead stormed in with a satiated grin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man in black shouted, as his companion held out his phone and hit record.

“The boss wants to watch you work.”

“Turn it off,” he growled.

“No can do. He wants you to break her arms, just to see if it will loosen her tongue.”

Rey’s blood ran cold, and the world slowed into some terrible horror film. The man in black marched to her, gripping her left arm between the fingers of his black gloves.

“Speak,” he ordered, squeezing.

Tears welled, burning her eyes, she couldn’t hold them back. It was too much, the fear, the pain…

“I can’t—- I don’t…” she stammered.

“Tell us where the money is!” The grip on her arm grew tighter,  bruising her flesh.

Her tears came faster now, hot torrents streaming down her cheeks.

It was too much.

She could barely see, vision blurred by those hot salty tears, but she could still make out the baton held back and ready to swing against her arm. And then he crushed his fingers around her tighter, so hard she thought her bones would break.

“Stop!” she screamed. “Stop, it hurts too much.”

He faltered, letting her go. She crouched over as much as her bindings allowed, heaving sobs rushing from her chest, as the men who had watched silently from the edges sniggered.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I don’t have the money. I never had it.”

The heaving breaths would not subside and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the crack that would splinter her bones.

A beat of wind rushed past her and every muscle in her body clenched as she waited for impact. There was a loud crash, followed by a ruckus of yelling and swearing. A wall mirror shattered, shards of it cascading around her.

Rey lifted her head, confused. He hadn’t hit her.

Another smash, but this time she had seen the moment the man in black had raised a chair above his head, throwing it across the room and smashing a coffee table, destroying a thousand-piece puzzle she had been constructing.

“Speak, or it will be your head next!” he roared, with a voice as wild and untamed as a feral beast.

“I don’t—” she sobbed, her voice coming in waves of sound and silence. He was going to kill her. This monster would be the last person she would ever see. Even as her tears came, he smashed his club around the room, forcing holes within the wall, destroying pictures, every last thing she had ever owned.

Rey watched them all fall in pieces at her feet.

“Are you quite finished?” the red-headed man sneered at him, holding the phone up to get a better angle of her attacker.

“I’ll  make  her talk,” the man in black growled.

“I knew you wouldn’t be man enough to follow through. Do it.” He turned his rat-shaped eyes intently toward Rey. “If that doesn’t loosen her tongue then she can pay off her debt in the brothel. We can all help her, lads, can’t we?”

The men cheered. Rey tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like flint. The only one who hadn’t cajoled was the man in black. But his expression was different, fiercely intent and no less terrifying.

Rey’s heart dropped. Was this what her life would be reduced to? To spend her life as a whore, without love, without a home, a slave—

She was jolted out of her thoughts as the chair she was tied to was dragged backwards, the sound of metal screeching across the tile floor. All she could do was look back at the surprised eyes of the men who watched her being dragged away.

Alone, with this psycho.

She squeezed her eyelids shut. Preparing herself for whatever was coming next.

“Open your eyes.” His voice was like steel, firm and low, cutting sharp in the scorched air.

She did. They were alone in the kitchen.  

And he had her knives.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

A blast of hot wind blew in from the open window as he unrolled a small bundle of Brazilian knives. She had kept those on the bench for cooking. Meticulously, he slid one out, flicking the blade, testing the sharpness by pressing the point through the finger of his glove, making it bleed.

He came to her with silent footsteps, sucking the blood from his finger. He pulled her chair in front of the window with a rough jolt.

From here she could see the street, five storeys below, empty and black. She thought about screaming.

He placed a hand on either side of the armrest, and he peered at her again, biting his lip.

“You know I can take whatever I want.”

Rey swallowed. Her tears were dry now, courage resurfacing. “That’s no less than I would expect from a monster in a mask.”

“A monster?” He stepped back.

He lifted his hands, the black leather gloves pulling up the base of his balaclava. Rey’s panic increased tenfold; everyone knew an attacker who was willing to betray their own identity was going to go the whole way.

He pulled it up over his chin, revealing a narrow jaw and then…

He stopped, before she had seen anything, as if suddenly changing his mind.

An ambiguous looked passed between them before he went back to the knives, placing one in each hand.

“I never miss,” he said calmly, lifting a filleting knife up for her to see.

He flung it at her and it speared past her head, smashing through the windows and clattering onto the dilapidated fire escape outside.

Rey shrieked, and he threw another, cutting through the wind beside her ear on the other side. More glass.

She had no more words; they were drowned by her sobs. She wanted her mother. Her drugged-up, absent mother. Anyone—anyone else in the world other than  him!

“You need to learn how to fight,” he said surely.

The words surprised her, but only for a moment because then he slammed the wooden baton against one leg of her chair, the force of it flipping her face down against the tiles.

She lifted her body, just enough as to splay her hands against the cutting board on the floor. He grabbed her fingers, forcing them flat on the board. She fought against him, trying to clench her fist shut.

“Spread them.”

She shook her head, tears spilling on the white tiles.

“I said spread your fucking fingers!”

She obeyed, waiting for the pain of losing them.

“Bring her back in here,” the redhead’s voice came from the other room. “Or do I need to come into that fucking roach-infested kitchen?”

“Keep still,” the man in black whispered, eyes narrowed, knife poised.

“Please!” she cried once more.

“Still!” he roared, and she closed her eyes, keeping her fingers as steady as she could.

There was the clean-cut sound of a knife slicing downwards and Rey jumped as it landed with a thud.

She opened her eyes to see a silver blade wavering between her index and middle finger. And then his feet, perched either side of her, crouched down, breath pressing against her ear, dark wet hair falling onto her cheek.

“I suggest you think  very hard about what you will do next. You have two minutes.”

***

“Rey, I—” Poe stammered, his face the colour of curdled milk. “What happened next?”

“He left me there,” she said, taking a shaking breath. “As soon as he was gone, I used the knife to cut the ties on my wrists and then my feet. I jumped out to the fire escape before he came back. The bloody thing almost collapsed. I ran and ran. I don’t know if he saw me go. I didn’t look back.”

Poe bit his lip, eyebrows knitted, like a thought was building that he wasn’t ready to speak yet.

“And then what?”

Rey smiled, face wistful, as she remembered the moment Maz had found her curled up behind a dumpster. The barely-there woman with dark skin and large thick glasses crawled down on her hands and knees to get her. She never did ask Maz how she managed to find her there.

“A woman named Maz Kanata found me, she has a home…"

“…for disadvantaged kids,” Poe finished the sentence, face brightening as he spoke. “Yeah, I know Maz. We go way back.”

Rey took a napkin and dabbed at her eyes. Retelling the full story for the first time had felt cathartic. But she was surprised to find her eyes were still wet with tears.

“How do you know her?”

“I used to work as press secretary with a close friend of hers, Senator Leia Organa-Solo.”

“Senator Organa? That’s big time, Poe,” Rey gushed, before blushing at how pathetic it sounded. “She’s practically a hero.”

“She’s a good woman. Our families have been friends for years,” he said. “Small world, hey?”

Rey nodded, a little more impressed by him.

“I thought Maz only took on younger kids though?” Poe asked.

“Normally she does,” Rey said. “But I think I looked too pathetic. She was amazing, she put me through school during the day and tutored me at night. On the weekend she arranged private self-defence lessons at Skywalker Academy—”

She was rambling, relishing the happy memories that followed. She hadn’t even noticed the way Poe scrunched his face in thought and worry.

“Rey, who is your debt to?”

She shifted. “I—I don’t know.”

“Have you got anything, a business name, email, phone number, anything?” His voice was urgent, pressed.

She shook her head, but then remembered. Fishing around in her bag, she grabbed her wallet and pulled out a crumpled-up note

“All I have is an account number.” She pushed it across the table. “Do you think you can find out who owns it?”

“It’s not much to go on, but maybe.” He pocketed the piece of paper, looking over to the door and eventually behind Rey with a half-smile.

Rey started, feeling two warm hands on her shoulders.

Finn!

She jumped up and gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Finn laughed, his broad lips and wide smile settling the fear and worry in her heart.

“I missed you too, peanut!” he joked. “Poe, I have no idea where you’ve put your dictaphone, mate.”

“Oh.” Poe smiled guiltily and exchanged glances with Rey. He stood, leaving a wad of cash on the table. “Not to worry, I’ll find it somewhere. By the way, your girl’s going to work with us on the Snoke story.”

“No, I didn’t say…”

Poe stood suddenly, eyes fixed on some point outside.

“Poe?” Rey asked, but he was transfixed.

“I’ll be goddamned,” Poe said to himself. “It’s Ben.”

“Who—”

Poe dashed out of the cafe without a word.

“Well, that wasn’t weird,” Finn said, grabbing the files and papers Poe had left sprawled all over the table.

Rey smiled. “Is he always like that?”  

“Pretty much.”

Finn pulled her close, beaming with excitement.

“Oh my God, peanut! I’m so excited you’re going to work with us.” They walked towards the door, Finn’s arm resting on her shoulders. “I told him you were bloody brilliant. You won’t regret this.”

Rey blushed, punching him gently to stop. Up ahead Poe was waving his hands wildly. Then his booming voice made almost every passerby stop and gawk at him as he bellowed, “Ben Solo, over here!”

In the distance, a tall, dark-haired man, in a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, froze on the footpath.

He had his back to her, and even though he looked different, polished and pristine, Rey knew at once.

It was  him.

And that meant she held the most dangerous secret of all.

The real identity of Kylo Ren.

[snaurus]

PROMPTS: gladnoctweek - cuddly gladdy

Pairings: Gladiolus Amicitia/Noctis Lucis Caelum Ratings: K+ Categories: Angst Warnings: Spoilers for the Omen Trailer & Chapter 10: The Heart of a King

Noctis is visited by a nightmare that isn’t a nightmare, if matters don’t change course soon. He’s seen it all happen before. 

My friends, at long last the time I’ve anxiously been waiting for is upon us: @gladnoctweek has officially started and for Day One: Cuddly Gladdy I bring you...sadness, hah hah. But there’s a very happy ending, I assure you! After all, Gladio’s arms are big enough to carry his sword, his shield, and his prince to a better state of mind. So it must be so. :’)

I recommend readers being familiar with the Omen Trailer and having played past Chapter 10 (aka: That Lover’s Tiff of cosmic proportions) to fully enjoy the scope of the story. I know everyone, including myself, has already addressed this part of the narrative before, but it’s my personal life mission to expand or altogether fix it in every conceivable way possible. I’m not the only one who feels that way, right? Multiple attempts should be encouraged and welcome?? 

Beta read by @glyphenthusiast, for whom this story (and pretty much all the stories I was able to cram before the deadline) owes its beautification to. Their support and dedication means so much to me, so thanks to them for being my guide!

Noctis drifts by himself, but he isn't alone. Insomnia is laden with Niflheim soldiers. They fill the streets, the subway platform, the train – crowding the area to the point he knocks shoulders with them in his attempts to get by.

He starts running.

Gunfire explodes everywhere around him. Machines and armored men alike give chase. The environment blurs and shifts. The city turns to a Niflheim military base to a desert – though he's never been to one – and tilts as he falls through the world

to awaken on a cot. Gasping, sweating, hands fisted in the sheets, Noctis bolted upright in bed. The total darkness of the room threatened to choke him. It's pitch blackness was confining except for the periodic flashes of street lamps outside the single window. There shouldn't be any light, the night all-encompassing.

That difference, the reality of it all, should have relieved Noctis of his nightmare. He did realize he'd had a nightmare and it was over; he'd experienced that exact one several times in the past. But he hadn't been on a train heading to the center of Niflheim during those previous episodes. The transport's rumbling along the tracks mirrored Noctis' dreamscape too well to alleviate his heart racing.

Noctis shoved the covers aside and stumbled out of bed. Sans shoes and jacket, he darted from the private compartment and into the hallway. In his recklessness, his shoulder bounced off the wall as he rammed into it.

There were only two directions to take and he blindly chose one, using the momentum from his crashing into the wall to go right. At this late hour the sleeping car was empty, which allowed him to race through unimpeded. Noctis fled his personal daemons until he came to a dead end.

He staggered into the Regalia, his palms held out in front of him. Noctis caught himself from falling flat across the hood and saved his face from ramming into its wide expanse. The cool, familiar texture of the metal shocked him from his stupor. He hovered there, breathing heavy and watching his hazy reflection.

When he’d calmed, Noctis straightened in place and took in the sight of the storage hold. Nobody was here, either – just him and his father's vehicle. His legs were unsteady; he used the side of the car as a guide to drag himself to the rear passenger door. Fumbling with the handle, he eventually manhandled it open and collapsed inside.

Noctis closed his eyes and rested both hands on his face, letting himself simply be. The smell of the leather interior, the sensation of the seat cushions underneath him, the shade from the retractable top – all of it screamed 'safe'. So why couldn't he relax?

He'd always possessed a sort of reverence for his dad's car. Most of his childhood had been spent in this very spot, going between important meetings, visiting dignitaries, or attending political functions. In some respects, whenever him and his father traveled it was the most personal time they'd ever spent alone together.

Despite how expert a job Cindy did detailing the Regalia, Noctis swore he still detected hints of his father's cologne. It was as if a part of him remained with Noctis. The lack of comfort that fact brought him was distressing. He'd rushed here, even unconsciously, to seek solace and it wasn't working like any of the instances before.

There came footsteps. Noctis hadn't heard the approach until they were nearly upon him. He dragged his hands down his face and dropped them in his lap, but didn't turn to acknowledge anyone.

Gladiolus opened the opposite set of doors and bent over, ducking his head in. The length of his arm braced against the metal exterior while his opposite hand gripped the doorframe. Of course it was him. Noctis had bolted like a bat out of hell, so it was no wonder that their lightest sleeper had heard his escape. It was peculiar that the others hadn't been disturbed – or they might have, and Gladiolus had requested to check up on him alone. Noctis was unsure which he'd prefer.

"There room for one more?" Gladiolus asked.

He shrugged, as good an invitation as he was willing to give. It was good enough for Gladiolus, anyway, the other man accepting the offer to join him in the backseat. There was a gap between them, Gladiolus keeping to his side and Noctis staying on his.

It didn't used to be like this.

From an early age, Noctis had learned Gladiolus was a really tactile person. The slaps on the back and high-fives were just a small portion of the touches he'd freely give. He figured being an Amicitia had something to do with it. Iris loved hanging onto Noctis' arm and when Noctis was a child Clarus had even patted him on the head once in greeting.

That wasn't the extent of it, though. Once they started traveling together Gladiolus got more intense. Noctis had protested, often loudly, about the treatment. He'd brush off Gladiolus' playful shoves or the ruffling of his hair in their lighter moments. Complaints about Gladiolus' close proximity in the tent or how absurdly long his legs were as Gladiolus' boots knocked against his in the Regalia were frequent.

All of it stopped after Altissia.

And Noctis felt emptier for it.

This distance was so much worse, so much more, than them losing the understanding they'd developed growing up. They didn't need words to communicate, when a simple glance or nod of the head was sufficient to convey their meaning. Now neither of them could interact, much less speak, to one another without it dissolving into fits. After the near-failure in retrieving his ancestor's katana they'd agreed to work through their differences, but where to start? The divide seemed insurmountable.

Gladiolus cleared his throat. "Bad dream, I take it?"

"Yeah. A 'bad dream'." Noctis' face contorted from some kind of emotion he couldn't identify. He didn't know the source of his irritation (or if it was even directed at Gladiolus), much less how to deal with it. "The same one I've had since Lestallum and all the fucking time."

Which wasn't entirely true. Only certain parts of the nightmare stuck with him after waking. The worst of it had been prior to confronting Titan, which is when the night terror first occurred, and since then only sporadically.

It tended to transpire whenever Noctis was stressed, such as the night before Gladiolus left to undertake his family's trials or…before Luna's sacrifice. Such a pattern couldn't be coincidence, so whenever the nightmare made a resurgence Noctis had taken it as the ill-omen it might be intended. Stranger things had happened in his life.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Gladiolus' jaw working, like he was grinding his teeth. Probably irritated over another subject that Noctis had denied making him privy to, but why would he have? Discussing personal interests or private matters often ended up embarrassing for the both of them. Still, Noctis anticipated an explosion or Gladiolus to leave.

Noctis wouldn't hold it against him in either case. He was surprised Gladiolus' patience had lasted as long as it had, that the man had settled on voicing his every grievance or sitting on the outskirts of their camp in the Fodina Caestino Mine instead of…he didn't know what. Returning to Lucis to rejoin the Crownsguard or facing Niflheim by himself, maybe. Someone of Gladiolus' stature and aptitude wasn't without options, a dark part of Noctis often reminded him.

To his surprise, Gladiolus asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Snippets of having to confront armies, of bleeding and hurting without the support of his friends or family, had Noctis snuffling. He rubbed irritably under an eye to cover the slight, but he thankfully found the last vestiges of sweat from his night terror and not any wetness from tears. His hand shook during the process, so he returned it to his lap.

"I just want them to stop." Noctis meant for the words to come out sharp and cut the conversation off, but to his own ears he sounded like a scared, defenseless child. Once again, he made himself a fool in front of Gladiolus at the worst of times.

"Then tell me. It might help," Gladiolus persisted. He reached out a hand, hesitating, and opted to loop his arm around Noctis' headrest so as to ease closer without making contact. The gesture was most likely borne of thoughtfulness, but Noctis was only left feeling hollow.

"How? It's just a stupid nightmare, I already know that! It can't hurt me."

"Because—" Gladiolus started, his tone terse until he forcefully gathered his composure, "because I want my friend back."

Noctis' shoulders went taut, his gaze kept forward. He couldn't bring himself to ask for clarification and risk shattering the moment. But he was listening, hoping—

"I miss the guy who came back for his training, all those years ago. Who hasn't let himself get knocked down and stayed down since then." Gladiolus ran his tongue along his bottom lip before resolving to continue, Noctis gradually starting to incline his head to look up at him. "The same guy who always made time for my bratty little sister and anyone else that's needed his help, no matter their situation. His people, our friends…I need him.

"If confiding in me can bring him back, then I'm here. Anytime, anywhere."

"And if he's gone?"

Noctis didn't realize he was clenching his hands over his knees, the knuckles bone white, until Gladiolus' reached over to grab one. He pried it off his pant leg and let Noctis clench his palm in a death grip, instead. His skin was dry and hot, but the pressure was steady.

Gladiolus let out a soft hum, it sounding like Noctis' name, before he said, "Not gone – lost, maybe. His sense of direction is kind of shitty. But I have it on good authority that I'm the best tracker there is, so I'll guide him home. If he lets me."

Their problem, Noctis concluded in that moment, was twofold.

Part of it were his own actions. Gladiolus had respected Noctis' space during his time of mourning, but Noctis was never very good at processing situations. Without the other man's guidance he'd receded deeper inside himself. Noctis festered, considering himself finally broken. The way Gladiolus looked at him right now, however, didn't resemble pity or sympathy.

But they'd both been stubborn, neither willing to bend. Noctis had wanted to stay distant, once he was huddled and hiding inside himself, lest his weakness infringe on his friends. Gladiolus had wanted Noctis to be something, someone, that he wasn't. They'd come to that conclusion a little late, with Noctis a tad slower than Gladiolus on the uptake, apparently. The epiphany came in the face of what Gladiolus was offering him: his way out.

Gladiolus had met him halfway, and Noctis needed to do the same.

Noctis' concession came in the form of scooting closer to him on the seat. The motion was all the prompting Gladiolus needed to swoop in and envelope him in a hug. Greedily, Noctis took in everything he'd been denied – the body heat and solid weight of him. While Gladiolus nuzzled the top of his head, adjusting Noctis under his chin, it occurred to him that he'd never comprehended just how much he'd depended on Gladiolus to initiate these moments. The idea of going back to a life without it terrified him.

With that in mind, Noctis haltingly admitted as much. His explanations were stunted, and without practice these kinds of exchanges may never become easier, but Gladiolus had bared his soul to him. Noctis wanted to return the favor. Cuddled against Gladiolus' side, with the other man’s fingers carding through the shorter hairs at the base of Noctis' neck, he opened up to him and told Gladiolus everything.

And for the first time in a long while Noctis felt ready to face tomorrow.

[myperfectlittlecupcake]

Home (k.n.)

~A/N~

Namjoon x reader

Genres: Angst, a tiny sprinkle of fluff?, rebound, therapy, rape au

Trigger warning: this contains scenes allusive to abuse, sexual harassment, violent behaviour (all very mild but beware)

Synopsis: So basically y/n comes home after being ever so destroyed by the so-called “sexual harassment”, or “abuse”. Namjoon, her longtime best friend and roommate, quickly catches on and later becomes her only rock.

(this is kind of roughly edited cause I just needed to get it out)

I closed the front door to my apartment, sighing of relief as to finally being inside my apartment. I took off my shoes and headed straight to my room, dropping off my bag and clashing onto my bed. I felt this weird sense of sadness, even though I couldn’t really put my finger on why, as exhaustion heavied my eyelids and deepened my breaths.

-Y/N? you’re back?-namjoon lightly knocked on the door of my room, finding me laying face down on my bed.-Y/N?

-Yeah, sorry...hi.-I sighed, turning onto my back.-I just had a rough day, my back hurts, my head hurts, everything is just ugh, I’m sorry.

-Nah, it’s fine...-he sighed, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door frame.-Mine was just as boring...Wanna order takeout?

-Not hungry, sorry.

-Hmkay, I’ll make you a sandwich and put it on the microwave.-he nodded, closing my door, making me sigh.

Always so considering.

Sigh.

The truth was me and namjoon had known each other since the 1 st day of high school. We had stuck together since day 1, and we had gone through thick and thin together over these past 5 years. We had grown together, we had been heartbroken together, we had had our 1st party together, we had been thrown out together, we had slept on subways together, we had failed classes together, we had had A’s together, we had cried together, we had laughed together. It honestly felt like a lifetime, me and him.

Why did I feel like I had let him down now?

Even though my mind refused to keep quiet, I soon fell into a deep slumber, my thoughts blank for long quiet hours until the next morning wordlessly rolled in.

I turned to my side, lazily rubbing my eyes when his scent finally hit my senses. 

I turned again, furrowing my eyebrows, my mind not clicking yet again as I tried to distinguish what I was feeling.

This smells like...sweat.

I could smell his sweat all over me, on my arms, on my hair, on my clothes, weirdly mixed with my own scent, shivers now going down my spine. I sat up, sighing, flashbacks of yesterday now echoing through my mind.

Fuck.

I smelled myself again, as insane as it looked, trying to reassure myself that he wasn’t really here, that his imprint hadn’t really stayed, when I noticed the strange mix of deodorant and perfume and sweat I had tried to layer last night- and it all became unbearable.

It all became real again.

Fuck.

I actually hate myself.

I layed back on my bed again, staring up at the ceiling as tears rolled down my cheeks, soft wet tingles as they make their path down my neck, my thoughts managing to scream louder than my sniffles. 

Never in my life had I felt this rage at my own self, wanting to shake my own shoulders and yell, slap my round expressionless face until red marks appear on the side of my cheeks.

How could I have been so stupid?

 How could I let him touch me?

I layed there for what felt like another life, as if I would wake up again and namjoon would be a different kind of older, newspaper would be written on holographic walls and dogs would be programmed to chase their owners instead of taught. Or maybe everyone would be dead and the world would just move on as it always has, looking exactly the same.

With a guilty sink to my stomach, I finally got up, sneaking into the bathroom to shower, deciding to finally put an end to that god awful terrifying smell.

I stripped down and immediately put all my clothes away, not even wanting to think about them, when I got a glimpse of myself at the mirror, naive and frail, hooded eyes and translucent thin skin.

 Fragile, was the only word that came up to my head as I stared into my own eyes, sparkless and red from crying, dark circles beneath them, proof of such delicate soul.

I should take better care of myself. I sighed as I looked at my reflexion, wondering if it was all a part of my imagination, or if stress had really eaten away a part of me.

As I washed my body I desperately tried making the lingering feeling of his fingers trailing down my skin disappear. I mixed in body washes upon body oils, I made up new combinations of shampoos with shower gels, I tried covering every inch of m skin with body scrubs, trying to clean and clean and clean, but nothing would make the burning inside my chest cease. As tears started to cloud my eyes, I tried new mixes upon new mixes, now wondering if my skin would take it any further. But then again, his scent still managed to creep up on me, sighs of defeat leaving my mouth.

Why won’t you fucking leave?!

 What the hell do I have to fucking do ?!, I cried out, scrubbing for what felt the 100th time, my arms and legs, places I knew still smelled like him.  

I felt so ridiculous. 

I couldn’t even touch myself without having flashbacks of his smirk, nor without sickly chills running down my spine and my stomach twisting and turning. I just wanted to hide - somewhere, anywhere. But how could I, if the thing I wanted to run away from the most was my own body?

Ugh, how stupid. 

How naive.

Besides, it’s not like I’m in a relationship. I should’ve enjoyed the attention I got. I just sat there and let everything happen, it’s not like I screamed or hit him in the balls- it all just eventually came crashing down on me once I left.

I’m so fucking stupid.

I went back to my room, grabbing my phone, deciding upon myself that I would try to distract myself. I was exhausted of everything and, to be honest, I just wanted to feel safe- to feel at home. And so, I grabbed a blanket and pulled out one of my favorite tv shows, ignoring the screaming thoughts inside my head, my heart at a rushing pace as I noticed how suddenly lonely I still felt, as if everything was still wrong, as if everything had never quite been right from the start.

 -Y’N, you put these shorts to wash yesterday, do you want me to wash them again already?-namjoon knocked again, my heart sinking down to my feet.

 He must’ve gone to the bathroom. Fuck..

 -Huh, yeah... Do you mind?- he stared at me between his furrowed eyebrows once again.-Also, can you put my bag to wash as well? I’ll pay you back, don’t worry.

-Hmhm-he nodded, still staring at me, his piercing eyes running chills down my spine.- Are you okay?

Hmph. What an easy question.

No.

-Yeah yeah yeah, I just feel tired.- I smiled, trying to reassure him.

-Do you mind if I come in?

-Of course not, joon.- I smilled again, sitting up.

He quietly came in and sat down beside me, staring down at his own hands, seeming to be gathering his thoughts. I frowned up at him, my heart still managing to flutter a bit, even though a big pain soon came after it.

I hugged my knees into my chest, as I tried to focus on something else, my breathing becoming unsteady.

Fuck.

I hated this.

-You’re not sick, are you?- he looked at me again, his eyes shining with genuine concern.

-No, joon, I promise you.- our eyes stared at each other for a few seconds, my mind racing to the point where I could feel my heart loudly beat inside my chest.

-You’ve been acting really weird...y/n, you know you can trust me, right?-he sighed.

-What do you mean?

-I just want to help you.-he sighed, now seeming lost in his own thoughts again, making me frown once more. He reached up to touch one of my legs but I quickly shrugged it off, his eyes going wide.-Are you scared of me?

-No, joon, I promise-

-I’m sorry. I’ll leave.-he looked down and stood up, slowly going for the door as my heart raced and tears quickly formed in my eyes.

What the actual hell?!

-Joon?!-I screamed, getting up.

-No no no, it’s okay...-he scratched the back of his neck.-I’ll go to my room and leave yo-

 -What the actual fuck, joon?!- I sobbed, covering my face with my hands, namjoon completely dumbfounded.- You motherfucker, not everything is about you!

 I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, dropping down and hugging my knees up to my chest, now fully breaking down and sobbing the hardest I had in years.

 -What the hell do you mean?- he sighed, scared to even move a finger from where he was standing.

 -It’s always about you, isn’t it?! You always think -oh I’ll just leave her to it because it’s always my damn fault all the damn time. If you want to leave then just fucking do it already! I don’t fucking care!- I screamed at the top of my lungs as I broke down, my unsteady breaths making me gasp for air in between sentences.

-Y/n, you’re not making any sense...-he sighed, trying to step closer, but me shrugging once again, hugging my knees even closer to my chest.

-I can’t get him out of my head, joon. His fucking smell, his fucking touch... I hate myself so fucking much... It’s my own fault...It’s all my fault...I fucking hate it all...

He sighed once again, pulling his hair back with his hand in frustration, clearly still trying to grasp what was going on-

-...Can I step closer? I promise I won’t hurt you... C’mon, y/n, it’s me your joonie.-he sighed once again, making me smile at the nickname I had given him years ago. I shakily nodded, letting him sit beside me, my heart still racing.

He quiet sat down next to me, looking down at his hands, not once looking up at me, which I took as a sign that he was serious.

-I’m sorry for being stupid.-he fidgeted his fingers beside me, making me smile once again.-...I want you to tell me everything. I didn’t understand half of that, you need to start from the start.

-Y’know it’s weird.-I sniffled, running my fingers playfully along my knees.-I just fucking hate myself so much for letting something happen and I-

My voice cracked once more, tears violently streaming down my face as we both sat in silence on the floor for a little while, both of our minds wandering about everything and anything, him waiting until my breaths had finally seemed to calm to ask any further.

He looked up at me and raised his arm, something he used to do since we were kids, and I smiled, hesitantly scooting closer and leaning up against his chest as he wrapped his arm around me, me ignoring the unsettling feeling inside my stomach.

 If I couldn’t feel anything else, I could at least have this.

-I’m sorry.-I whispered, tears seeming to still run down my cheeks, staining his t-shirt bellow me.

-It’s okay.-he whispered back, kissing the top of my head.-It’s all okay now.

Somehow I was finally home.

[proudsuperwholockian3]

The Mark Of The Voices

Chapter Two: “What the f--”

They reached Ashewater by 7:30, stopping a couple times, one for gas, one for a snack break. Pulling into Ashewater Inn, the coziest and nicest inn in town, Andrew kept the engine running and checked them in, getting a couple rooms. Hopping back in, he moved and parked near the edge of the parking lot. 

Madison clambered out, and staggered when her feet hit the ground. Rosita steadied her and stretched her legs.

“Dinner?” Andrew suggested. Madison immediately perked up at the promise of food, gaining a chuckle from Andrew. They walked across the street to a diner named Dixie’s. The chime of the bell brought back memories. He felt at home.

Dixie’s didn’t change from when he first started dating Jim. The booths kept their same old brown leather which had seen better days, the counters were still dark polished logs, and the tables kept their signature license-plate-under-glass design. Dixie’s daughter, Christie, a waitress and future owner of the restaurant looked up from the counter and beamed at Andrew.

“Andy!” she shouted in glee. Several people turned to the three in the doorway. A few of them smiled and greeted Andrew. 

“Hello, Christie.” Andrew returned the greeting with the same amount of energy she had.

She hopped over the counter and pulled him into a Christie Hug, the bone-crushing, ‘can’t breathe’ hug. Letting go of her death grip on him, she kept her hands on his biceps.

“How have you been?” she inquired. “It’s been so long.”

Andrew laughed. “It’s only been five years.”

She scoffed, “Five years too long! Last I saw you was when you and Jimmy were getting married.” She let out a sigh of contentment, thinking back that happy memory as she led them to the corner booth by the kitchen “It was a beautiful wedding. You looking fine in that white suit and the tears Jimmy tried to hide. I’m glad I got a picture of you smashing his face with that handful of whipped cream, though.”

Andrew laughed. 

“I remember that.” he mused. 

“The look on his face was totally worth it.” Christie giggled. Rosita chuckled and was pulled into a Christie Hug.

“How are you doing?” She turned her attention to Rosita and Madison.

“We’re doing wonderfully.” Rosita answered.

“How’s Mom?” Andrew asked, looking for his mother in the restaurant.

Christie’s face when grim. She looked up at her brother, eyes flooded with pain.

“You may need to sit down for this.” she suggested. 

Andrew did as she said and sat down in the booth. Rosita ushered Madison in the booth next to her, across from Andrew.

Christie took a shuddering breath in, and opened her mouth.

“Mom has cancer. And she only has a few days left.”

~~~~~

Jim stared at the road in front of him, not really seeing it. His mind kept going back to one question. How had he been found out? He and Andrew had been so careful, always taking precautions. There were no cameras in his office, or in his truck. The cameras they had at home were connected to a private server in their vault.

“Hey,” Dustin noticed Jim’s scrunched forehead and distant eyes, “what’s on your mind?”

Jim shook his head, temporarily ridding the question from his mind.

“It’s nothing.”

And that was all Dustin got. He sighed and pulled out his phone. Shooting a text to Rosita, he kept it in his hand, waiting for the vibration telling him he got a reply. They were about ten minutes away from Ashewater, and the Rocky mountains seemed to have grown taller, looming over them, just like the questions and fears in Jim’s mind.

When they finally got into Ashewater, they drove to the Ashewater Inn and parked next to Andrew’s Mustang. Seeing the familiar vehicle, Jim felt relief and joy course through his vein, flooding his body. He quickly hopped out of the truck and closed his eyes.

Breathing in the fresh air, he let his senses take full control, trying to locate Andrew’s aura. His senses took him to Dixie’s. But, his senses didn’t like how Andrew’s arua was blue-ish grey. Something was wrong.

Jim’s eyes flew open and he sprinted across the road to Dixie’s. Dustin shouted after him, trying to keep up, but Jim ignored him. He needed to get to Andrew. He stopped at the door and took a breath, trying to slow his racing heart. As calmly as he could, he opened the door, and heard the familiar tinkle of the bell. It brought back memories, but he had no time to visit the past.

He immediately found Andrew, in their corner, with Christie, Rosita, and Madison. Christie was holding Andrew in her arms, and Jim saw his body trembling. Dustin stopped at Jim’s side and was about to attempt to catch his breath, but Jim rushed to Andrew in an instant.

Andrew felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, and looked back. A fresh wave of tears spilled from his eyes and he clung to Jim right away. Jim gave Christie a questioning look. 

“Mom’s dying.” she whispered, loud enough for him to hear over the noise of the chatter. 

Jim stayed silent, but his eyes spoke his condolences. He held Andrew tighter and rested his cheek on top of Andrew’s head.

“From what?” Dustin asked, sitting down next to Rosita, stroking Madison’s hair.

“Lung cancer.” Christie muttered.

The family stayed quiet, mourning the fate of the one who held them all together and had loved them all unconditionally.

“Where is she?” Dustin asked.

“Banselle’s Hospital.” Christie snarled. Madison jumped at her harsh tone, and Jim swore.

“Hound territory?” Andrew snapped, “Why the hell would you take her there?”

“I didn’t!” Christie shot back, “I woke up a few weeks ago and found a note from the Hounds telling me that they took her.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me!?” Andrew spat.

“Well, I’m sorry that you changed your number and ignored our asses for the past five years!” Christie screamed.

“Hey, let’s take this somewhere else. Not so public.” Jim’s voice was low. 

That was when Andrew and Christie noticed the silence. Fuming, Christie led Andrew and Jim through the kitchen to the back alleyway. And as soon as the door slammed shut, Christie slapped Andrew. The force of her hit had knocked him off balance.

Jim shifted back, but when Christie swung at her brother again, he caught her wrist. She whipped around to him, rage clear on her face. Her eyes glowed red and black runes covered her body.

“Shit!” Jim swore. He only had time to protect his head when she launched herself at him. He threw her off and stood in front of Andrew as she picked herself up from the ground. In the light of the setting sun, he watched as her nails grow sharper and a thin, whip-like black tail with a barb lashed out.

“What’s going on?” Andrew asked, holding a hand to his cheek. A bright red hand print was visible in the dimming light. 

“Red-eyed and tailed,” Jim said. Andrew sighed. 

“Cover me,” he said.

Jim nodded and got ready to protect him and Andrew. By that time, Christie had thrown a hand in their direction. Jim flew away from Andrew and was pinned to the wall by an unknown source, leaving Andrew unprotected. 

Christie stalked closer to her brother, a smirk on her face. Andrew had his eyes closed and was muttering an ancient language under his breath. Jim’s eyes widened. He knew that language. Struggling against the hold on him, he prayed that Dustin wouldn’t witness what was about to happen.

When Christie was a few feet away from Andrew, his eyes opened and had become a dark purple. Small black horns peeked from under his hair.

“Hello, sister.” Andrew spoke in Andvaulian. 

“Hello, brother. What has prompted your appearance?” Christie replied.

“It was you, my dear sister. It is time for you to pay for your crimes against Hell.”

“Crimes? What crimes have I committed, brother? My love for humanity? My desire to help them?”

“Your love for humanity? Sister, what you are doing is not helping them, it is hurting them. This is not love, this is annihilation. You have caused so many wars, and that is not even your name. You are Rage, not War, not Death.” Andrew said.

“That is easy for you to say, Chaos. No one questions your actions, just as long as you create chaos. I kill some people and all of the sudden, I am being charged for not following my namesake.” Christie spat, “Now, brother, tell me how that is fair.”

“You have slaughtered millions, doing something that was Plague’s job. The Black Death was all you, not her. And you killed people in random places, angering Death, who you know is not someone you want to anger.” Andrew looked stressed. “Your job is to make people angry, not kill them or cause wars. And because of this, you are coming back with me to Hell, where you will live out eternity in The Pits.”

“I am not going anywhere.” A shadow figure with sharp nails and a thin, whip-like jumped out of Christie’s body and ran down the alley, away from Andrew. Another shadow figure leapt from Andrew with small horns and ran after the first shadow.

Jim was released from the hold on him and slid down the wall. Christie was on the ground, unconscious, and Andrew was unsteady on his feet, holding his head in his hands. The two brothers went to Christie’s still form and were about to pick her up when the back door from the kitchen slammed shut.

Jim let his senses take over and had detected Dustin’s aura, earning a sort of groan/sigh from him.

“Dammit.” he muttered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” Andrew said, “Go after him. He needs you.”

Jim shot him a look of gratitude before letting his senses take over again. Eyes closed, he ran off, following the trail left by his brother’s aura, trusting his senses to keep him safe. 

Around walls, over bumpy ground, and through a tunnel, his senses led him to Dustin, keeping on the trail. When the trail ended, he opened his eyes to an abandoned subway station. He got a cold feeling, as though something about it wasn’t quite right.

He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and shot a quick text to Andrew and Rosita, telling them where he was and to get there immediately. And it only took them five minutes to get there.

“He went in there.” Jim gestured to the station in front of him.

“Well, what’re we waiting for?” Andrew said.

Hand-in-hand, they all walked into the abandoned station, that seemed to have been waiting for their arrival. Yet, Jim still couldn’t shake off the cold feeling.