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hale-13 · 4 years ago

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By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 25 Prompt - Isolation

Truth is, Peter didn’t do the best alone. He was an extrovert at heart and probably had some repressed abandonment issues he’d rather not think about right now but this was fine. He was fine.

Words: 3213, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark

TW: Depression, Delirium, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Descent into Madness

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter groaned, squinting his eyes shut further instead of trying to open them. His head was throbbing and his thoughts were sluggish and dizzy. He could tell he was lying down but everything seemed to be spinning around him making him feel nauseous – he swallowed down the bile attempting to rise in his throat and took deep breaths through his nose. Mind over matter and all that. Once he felt a little more steady, Peter took stock.

The floor he was lying on was hard and cold and he was positioned awkwardly with his arms folded under him, tingles running through them painfully from the compression of veins and arteries. Carefully, Peter cracked his eyes open. The room he was in was dark and the air had the damp quality of somewhere underground and Peter blinked his eyes shut again. Yeah he had no idea where he was or how he got here.

With effort, he rolled over to lie flat on his back but made no attempt to try and sit up yet. The last thing he remembered was getting up for school. It was Friday and he was looking forward to going to Ned’s after school and spending the weekend having movie marathons and building the newest Star Wars Lego kit Ned had picked up with his birthday money. He remembered getting ready to leave, pulling his Spider-Man suit from his bag and hiding it in his closet (he had promised to take a break since he had been overdoing just a little over the last few weeks), he thumbed past a text from Mr. Stark – he didn’t want to read anything from him right now, fighting stressed him out and he didn’t want to deal with it…

He left his apartment. He was going to walk to school instead of taking the subway because it was hot out and he was feeling a little sensitive today and he wasn’t sure he could handle the smell. His Spidey sense had been tingling since he had gotten up that morning but it had been doing that off and on for days since his fight with…

He was walking to school. Everything was fine.

But now he’s here? How did it happen? Peter’s head throbbed lowly and threateningly as he tried to wrack his memory for the answer so he stopped and tried to make himself relax. He was probably kidnapped right? He had been kidnapped a couple times before and he knew how this worked. Once his assailants realized he was awake and semi-aware they would come in to highlight their terms, probably rough him up a bit and then Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes would track him down and break him out.

But… would Mr. Stark really come to get him now? After everything.

‘Don’t think about that Peter,’ he told himself. He was already about five seconds from a panic attack and that just wouldn’t do. He needed to keep it together. If his captors thought he was breaking so early things could get so much worse. He was fine. Just some deep breaths.

Peter opened his eyes again. The room was almost too dark to see anything, lit only by a small red emergency light in one corner that left strange shadows and distorted shapes and colors. The room was small – maybe ten feet by ten feet if he was lucky – and mostly empty. There were three large cases with water bottles and a few boxes of crackers in one corner and a metal toilet was in the other. A haphazard pile of ratty looking blankets that smelled like mildew were a few feet away from Peter.

This was new. He was almost never provided water or food in the few times he had been taken before, not that he was gone long enough to need anything.

Something felt off.

Using every bit of strength he had left, Peter levered himself up and leaned heavily against the wall while his vision span in circles and nausea crept back up his throat. Whatever he had been dosed with must have been pretty potent to leave him feeling like this. So plans. He would wait to see what the people who took him wanted. He would let his metabolism work off the drugs. Maybe he would crawl over and grab a bottle of water once he felt a little more steady and hope that they hadn’t been tampered with.

It was all a waiting game.

————————————————

Okay so this was weird.

Peter took another sip of his - up tampered thank god – water and swirled it around in his mouth. It had easily been at least a few hours since he had woken up and no one had come through the solid metal door that Perter had yet been able to break through. Someone always came in to monologue.

And it just proved that whoever took him knew he was Spider-Man since he wasn’t able to break out.

��This is fine,” Peter said out loud just to hear something. “They’re just working on a longer timeline is all.”

Truth is, Peter didn’t do the best alone. He was an extrovert at heart and probably had some repressed abandonment issues he’d rather not think about right now but this was fine. He was fine.

More time passed.

And more time.

Pulling one of the blankets around his shoulders and wedging himself into a corner Peter curled tightly around his legs. He was tired and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs or if it had been that long he had been trapped here. Regardless he figured he may as well take a nap. Hopefully it would encourage some asshole into bursting into the room to wake him up and, if it didn’t, maybe sleeping would help clear the remaining fog from Peter’s head.

His sleep was anything but easy though. He woke up continuously as if startled and it took forever to relax enough again to doze. He had nightmares; little nebulous things that made little sense and faded the second he woke up but left his respiratory rate elevated and his heart thudding in his chest. It took time but he eventually was tired enough to sleep deep enough not to dream.

When he woke up the room was completely unchanged and Peter gulped. His mind was spiraling and taking him to dark places and it wasn’t the time to go there yet. He hadn’t even been here for that long he didn’t think. Maybe not even a full day. It wasn’t time to freak out yet.

Peter distracts himself by grabbing another water bottle and a pack of the peanut butter crackers. He eats three of them and saves the rest of the pack for later. Washes it down with a few sips of water and tries to ignore the aching and cramping in his stomach as it growls. Something is telling him to ration his food and water. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to be stuck here after all but it can’t be that much longer right? Mr. Stark will come to get him. He wouldn’t leave him here.

The ‘day’ passes slowly. Peter paces the full length of the room, he searches every nook and cranny for cameras or microphones. He tries to take apart the emergency light but its completely sealed and he doesn’t want to tamper with it and potentially leave himself in complete darkness. He counts his water bottles (one hundred forty-eight since he already drank two) and his crackers (forty-nine and a half packs) and organizes and reorganizes them. He paces some more and practices his breathing exercises.

He falls into an uneasy sleep.

“Okay time to come up with a plan,” Peter tells himself the next day. “A feasible plan.”

He comes up with nothing. He likes brainstorming but he’s always needed to write things down to properly organize anything and he has nothing to write with but blood and nothing to write on but the wall. He’s not desperate enough to do that.

Instead he does fifty push up and sit ups. It feels good to do something physical so he jogs around the room for what’s probably a few hours. He stops when he drains a full bottle of water in a second and he can’t do that. He doesn’t know how long he’s here and he has to ration and what if no one comes to get him and he’s stuck here forever and he runs out of food and water a human can only go without water for a few days and…

Peter gasps and collapses to his knees, bowing his face down to rest his forehead on the cool stone floor as the room spins from lack of oxygen and he tries to control his breathing. Four-Seven-Eight. He remembers that from his, very few, therapy appointments after Ben. Four-Seven-Eight. Four-Seven-Eight.

It’s not working.

Peter sobs brokenly and his throat feels like its closing, his vision is spinning and dimming his muscles are weak and-

He wakes up with a gasp and a cough some untold amount of time later. His head hurts from the panic attack and he lets himself cry quietly for a few minutes. He’s alone. He hates being alone.

How long has he been here?

The laugh that bubbles up from his chest is a little unhinged and that just won’t do. Peter needs to lock it down and get his shit together because he can’t just sit here and lose it because that is flat out unacceptable.

So he gets up and walks around the bare room. He does some yoga that he had been learning from Pepper and May and focuses on his breathing since breathing is important in yoga. When he’s done he does some cool down stretches and feels a lot better. More steady. He eats the other three crackers in the pack he opened up and drinks some water. He’s tired so he curls back up in the corner with his blanket and pillows his head on his arm.

He wakes up and the room is unchanged.

Again.

How long has he been here?

Peter’s stomach feels like its actually eating itself so he eats a couple crackers and indulges in half a bottle of water. It does nothing to make him more full but he pretends it does. He feels a little weak and out of it this ‘morning’ and he stumbles as he walks laps around the room. He hasn’t gone this long without a decent meal since he was bitten and its freaking him out a little.

The yoga worked yesterday. He’s going to do more of that he thinks.

His limbs are shakier than yesterday and he gets out of breath on some of the more advanced poses so he slows down and really takes the time to work through each new position and hold it before slowly transitioning to the next. He’s exhausted when he finishes and can barely do a short cool down due to his painful muscles so he just lies flat on his back for a while and breathes through it.

His head itches from the sweat he’s worked up and when he scratches at his scalp his fingernails come away with little balls of dead skin and blood under them and he crinkles his nose. He hasn’t gone this long without a proper shower in… a long time and he hates it. He wants to be clean. His hair is greasy and flat and flopping into his face.

He could use some of the water. He doesn’t have soap and its not the same as a shower but…

No. He needs to save the water. He can handle being dirty for a few more days. A week tops. He’ll be out of here soon. Maybe he should take a nap to pass the time? He is kinda sleepy from his workout, a nap would be nice.

When he wakes up again he doesn’t bother moving. He’s really tired and its not like he has anywhere to be so what’s the point?

He closes his eyes again.

He’s only eaten two full packs of crackers since he got here so Peter decides to gorge himself and eat a full pack of six and drink a full bottle of water. His throat is dry and his tongue is sticky and tacky in his mouth from dehydration so the food and water are like nectar and ambrosia to him. But…

He had more water right?

Peter counts the bottles and comes up two short. That’s impossible, he’s alone and he didn’t drink two extra bottles so where did they go? His breath is coming out in hasty pumps as he panics and counts again. No! He’s missing three bottles! How is this happening?

Peter stumbles up and goes to the door. Someone has to have come in while he was asleep and taken the water so that means the door was opened. He scrabbles at the edges, tearing his nails to shreds and smearing blood everywhere as he tears at the hinges to try to get it opened. It has to open!

His breath is coming too fast and his lungs are burning and his eyes are burning and he’s choking and falling to the floor and-

He wakes up curled in a ball by the door feeling out of it but more in control. He drags himself back to his pile of water bottles and, very carefully, counts them again.

And once more.

He isn’t missing any after all, he just didn’t count correctly. Peter wants to laugh. Peter wants to cry. He does neither. His muscles are tight and on the verge of cramping so he does some light stretches to try to work everything out. It helps a little but he feels too tired and out of it to do laps around the room or yoga and he’s afraid to meditate so he curls back up in the corner again. He’s hungry but he doesn’t dare eat anymore crackers since he had a full pack already today.

Or was it yesterday?

He decides it doesn’t matter – he can’t eat them right now. What he can do is sleep so he does.

His dream is about May. About sitting in the kitchen and listening to classic rock and pretending to do his homework but really gossiping about his classmates and her about her coworkers while she burns pork chops in the oven. They laugh while they fan the smoke away from the blaring fire alarm and out the open window and pull out a take out menu at random from the drawer. They aren’t picky eaters and they’re curled up on the couch watching Stranger Things with tacos. May jumps and launches her taco toward the ceiling and they spend the rest of the night cleaning avocado off the popcorn ceiling.

He wakes up with silent tears leaking down his face and a feeling of desolation eating up his insides. It feels like his heart is clenching and like his chest is closing in painfully and his stomach doesn’t ache from hunger for once but feels like a tightly clenched back hole instead. Peter doesn’t bother wiping his face, just turns over to face the wall and curls up even tighter. It’s too hard to move.

It’s a few days later that his legs start cramping whenever he moves them too suddenly and he feels like screaming from the resisting burning pain. He isn’t really hungry anymore but he forces down a couple of crackers everyday and tries to drink at least half a bottle of water. He’s losing weight as his metabolism eats at his minimal fat stores before starting on his muscles and he panics again when he notices his stomach is starting to become concave.

How long has he been here?

Peter supposes it makes sense though. Why would Mr. Stark come for him now? After what he did? His mentor may be the very definition of a helicopter parent but he wasn’t strict and if Peter would have just listened to him… but now he’s alone.

Peter sniffs loudly. He’s cried a few times since he’s been here but he hasn’t let himself break down. He’s tried to keep it together but is it really worth it? He’s alone. No one’s coming for him.

He’s going to die here. Alone.

He sobs. He wants to cry but the tears won’t come so all that’s left are painful, hitching breaths and horrible whining sounds. He doesn’t think he even sounds human anymore and maybe he isn’t. He doesn’t feel human.

He doesn’t make the effort to eat or drink that day and the next time he wakes up he’s too weak to even crawl over to the pile of water bottles and crackers. He decides that it’s a good thing. He can feel himself losing it, can feel himself falling apart and at least this way he’ll go quicker. He can’t stand this. He can’t stand being alone. He wants May. He wants Ned and MJ. He wants Mr. Stark. He doesn’t want to die and he really doesn’t want to die alone.

This isn’t fair.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair it isn’t fair it isn’t fair it isn’t-

He didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. He hadn’t seen May in two days before he was taken due to her schedule and now he’d never see her again. He was the last of her family and he was being selfish and leaving her alone. He’d already taken away he husband and now look at him? He breaks everything he touches.

He’s tired. He’s so tired. Peter lets his eyes close. He’s just going to nap.

“Kiddo? Rhodey he’s not responding he looks… fuck Rhodey clear me a path I’ve got to get him out of here! Peter, its me kid. You’re okay I’m going to take care of everything now so you just relax alright? Rhodes I swear to god if you don’t handle it.”

Peter frowns in his delirium. That voice sounds like Mr. Stark but that’s impossible. Peter’s dead. He was dying. He gave up right?

“I’ve got you buddy you’re going to be just fine,” the voice says again and it sounds a little robotic – just like Mr. Stark does in the Iron Man armor actually. He feels like he’s floating. “You’re aunt and I have been worried sick Petey, you didn’t even send a postcard!” The voice is trying to be humorous but is falling flat. It’s nice though. It’s been a long time since Peter has heard anything but his own thoughts.

“Just a quick little flight Webs,” he’s told, the ground rocking under him. It almost feels like being carried and it warms him just a little. His brain has been sabotaging him at every turn but at least its making his death peaceful.

“No no buddy,” the voice sounds a little frantic but its like listening through a pool of water. “Stay with me Peter, you’re going to be okay just stay with me.”

He hates disappointing the voice but he’s tired.

So tired.

Peter drifts.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump25 #Prompt: Isolation #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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whumpywhumper · 4 years ago

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Friends

I needed to release some comfort into the world. This skips some of the Hospital Arc, but the pieces will be connected.

Masterpost

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Thank you guys so much for your support, putting up with my questions at weird hours, and being excited about my characters: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire

TW: Intubated whumpee

V***V

Markus isn’t quite sure when he wakes up the first time. Isn’t actually sure if he’s even really conscious. He’s aware, but the world is muted. It feels like early color TV, the hues not quite right and turning into an oversaturated mess the more he tries to force it. So he doesn’t, he stops struggling, just lets everything come back in stages.

His hearing comes back online first.

He hears the steady whoosh, gurgle, and hiss of medical equipment. The occasional urgent toned beep of a IV drip. The soft rustling and hushed voices of people doing their best to be quiet while shoving all of their worry and care into a box.

It’s all muffled and distorted through the cocktail of heady drugs in his system. The sounds swirl, clinging too long to his eardrums before slipping away to nothing. It’s disorienting, confusing, and he welcomes each wave of quiet that surges up to take away the noise.

There’s a growing anxiety that’s sitting heavily in his chest, but it’s not quite reaching him. Leaving him to teeter on the edge, giving him a hard place to fall with any gentle nudge.

Time flows syrupy slow, and it feels like he fades down back toward unconsciousness and up again before anything else becomes relevant. But, eventually, he becomes aware of his body too. He’s numb in the way that means that he’s on the heavy duty kind of drugs, administered correctly so that his pain is far away. Like the anxiety, the fear, the pain is just waiting on him to acknowledge it so that it can take over.

So.

He does his best to ignore it. To float in this absence of pain.

It’s better.

He doesn’t want to think about better than what, he just knows that it’s better.

So he focuses on anything other than the pain. He’s sunk into the softness of the mattress beneath him. The slightly harder cushion of pillows under his side and shoulder. The rhythmic compression and release around his lower legs, the not-painful pressure almost comforting, so much like a kind touch that he hasn’t had in what feels like years.

He almost feels cradled—safe—as something clicks on and warm air curls around his limbs and envelops him. He floats there, up and down, darkness closing over his head in staggering intervals as his body fights its way through the sedation.

It’s quiet, peaceful, for a while, real, deep sleep engulfing him and blotting out the awareness that his body has painstakingly been building up.

He wakes up again, not knowing how long has passed, not really remembering being awake at all. The world is still soft and liquid, slipping through his fingers faster the harder he tries to hold on to it, so he lets it go. Soaks in the myriad of conflicting and confusing sensations.

Time is skewed, but Markus is just starting to struggle with the thinning line between the numbness of his body and the morass of pain when the quiet clack of a curtain moving disturbs the quiet, the heavier tread of boots on hospital tile joining with the hiss-thunk of one of the machines. The sounds swirl around him, swimming up and burbling through thick water.

There’s a lingering silence as Markus feels the weight of this new person’s gaze on his lax limbs. An instinctive fear of the unknown bubbles up in his chest, and suddenly, he feels exposed. Vulnerable. At the mercy of a stranger when he doesn’t remember what mercy is anymore.

Viscerally, his body recalls harsh hands that pushed and pulled at his defenseless body. Hurt him, took advantage of his weakness, callously disregarded him as anything other than an inconvenience.

The silence lasts until there’s a heavy sigh, and the clatter of metal and plastic on tile. The blankets shift, and there’s pressure around his hand, the artificial, sticky feeling of latex that manipulates his limp fingers.

He gets nothing from that pressure other than the sensation of another person touching him without his permission. Desperately, Markus wants the simple comfort of someone holding his hand, that yearning striking a cord deep down, buried under the lingering fear and terror, reminding him of safety and home. But this touch is nothing but latex and a firmly artificial barrier between him and whatever supernatural sense he could gather of this person, leaving him with nothing other than the primal desire to curl into and away from the touch at the same time.

But.

It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’s still far from being able to move, even if he wanted to. Divorced from his flesh, only able to suffer and exist inside of it.

His soul cries out for safety, for someone, anyone, to hear him and take him home.

Something tickles the side of his face, and the person next to him shifts, another latex soft touch brushing over his cheek bone, feeling wet and cold. His hair is gently stroked, and the touch settles over the top of his head. The pressure around his hand tightens briefly, “Markus? Can you hear me, sugar?”

The voice registers, but it’s muffled, the words whisked away just as he’s comprehending them. The sound and the touch though anchor him out of the soupy mire his consciousness has become, but he can’t really respond, doesn’t want to respond. The person doesn’t push, just hums, shushing him nonsensically.

“Alright, sugar, alright,” the low voice rumbles, the words coming tentative and slow, “I know you’re still sleepin’, but David told me that you were tolerating the lowered sedation this time. That maybe a little more of what we’re sayin’ will start stickin’ with ya.” Soft, soothing patterns are drawn into the cold skin at the back of his hand. “Catrina told me not to, uh. . . not to overwhelm you, not to talk about any heavy stuff, just to try and get you to respond, ya know?” A thick, huffed laugh. “She’s kinda terrifying, doesn’t put up with any a’ us trying to bully her for information. So, I’m. . . I’m just gonna hold your hand, and you squeeze when you’re ready, okay?”

The man clears his throat roughly, and the pressure around his hand leaves for the rasp of what sounds like days old stubble, and Markus feels an unexpected, surprising burst of warm affection. An absent thought tiptoed its way across his muzzy consciousness, there and gone moments later: Clint never did like to cry.

The voice—god, it’s familiar, so fucking familiar—quiets for a while, and Markus is so exhausted. He drifts, pulled down by growing fatigue and thickening tendrils of pain. Maybe he slips down into actual sleep again, but the next time he’s aware there’s another voice filling the room.

“—seems kind of distressed.”

“Yeah, I hit the call button just before you came in, Catrina should be here in a second.”

“Good, good, he probably just needs them to check his drip, maybe increase it a little. It’s not easy to titrate these meds.”

He’s too confused, overwhelmed to realize how tense he’s become, to feel the way that his brows have gathered together, the way the muscles in his arms and torso have tightened, or the way that his lungs have started to fight against the tube in his throat.

His chest and throat are sending him urgent messages that there’s something wrong, the intrusion of something hard and unyielding that isn’t supposed to be there making him move automatically. Clumsily, he reaches for whatever is making him hurt, uncoordinated limbs heavy and unwieldy.

“Woah, hey, heyheyhey—” he’s intercepted, and Markus flinches from the gentle restraints as they pull his hands away , “—don’t do that, sugar.”

“Markus, can you hear me, buddy?” The pressure around his hand tightens, cold latex rubbing over his knuckles. “Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?”

Reflexively, he tries to pull away from the restraints, ignoring the request as his heart gives a discordant thump at the whistle of anxiety thrumming through his chest. He stiffens at the brief flash of real pain through his system, muscles protesting as he begs silently for release. Please, please no. He can’t stand the thought of being held down again, being helpless. But even that small of a movement seems to push concrete through his veins, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fatigue weighing him down or the way the others slowly, gently push his hands back to bed that has him settling.

“Shhh, okay, okay,” his shoulder is engulfed by a soft touch, the deeper voice continuing to soothe him, “you’re okay. Markus, can you open your eyes? It’s Evan and Clint, we’d really like to see you, yeah?”

Clint? Evan? It can’t be. . . He wants to see his friends so badly it hurts, even worse than the building ache in his body, but his eyelids must weigh a hundred pounds. He feels the build up of tears behind his eyelids, the heavy droplets slipping free without permission. Please, please be here. . .

“Fuck, Markus,” one of the voices whispers, cracking over his name, a sniffle accompanying it, “Clint, where’s Catrina? I think he’s hurting pretty bad.”

“I’m gonna go see if I can find her, maybe Olivia’s available. I’ll be right back.” There’s the rush of displaced air, sudden coolness of his skin, but Markus’s weak attention is drawn back by the other’s calming voice.

“Okay, buddy, we’re gonna get you taken care of, alright? It’s Evan, Markus, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.”

Markus wanted to sob. He wanted it to actually be his friend so, so much, he remembered how he’d prayed for his friends but they’d never come. His face creased as a wave of pain rolled through him, teeth clamping down around whatever was in his throat. He heard a muted curse, “Fuck this.”

There was the snap of latex, warmth cupping his cheek, and then the overwhelming sense of Evan had Markus drawing from some reserve of energy that he didn’t even know he had. He turned into the palm against his face, fighting his eyelids until they lifted, light and shapes crossing his vision in a blur, and he heard a wet gasp. “Oh my god, hey,” a calloused thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek, smearing the tears across his skin, “hey, buddy, I’m here, you’re safe, okay?”

He blinked sluggishly, taking too long to reopen his eyes, but he finally found a modicum of focus as he took in the image of one of his best friends. He was still blurred, but the salt and pepper of Evan’s hair was visible over the blue of the mask covering the lower half of his face. He didn’t need to make out the details to know his friend now anyway, the skin contact lighting up parts of his magic not used in months. It was enough to push the pain back momentarily, dulling to a hum rather than a roar.

Evan’s other hand closed back around Markus’s, squeezing gently. “Can you understand me, Markus? Squeeze my hand if you can understand me.”

Slowly, his fingers closed around Evan’s, and he heard his friend give a shuddering gasp as Markus blinked slowly again. There was a rush of movement behind Evan, and the other man turned slightly. “He’s conscious and responsive.”

A startled exclamation, and another broad shouldered figure appeared in front of him, leaning over him. Markus drug his glassy stare over, not quite focusing as even these little movements drained whatever energy he’d gathered. “Hey, hey, sugar,” his free hand was scooped up between two latex covered paws, “God, it’s good to see you awake.”

“Take your gloves off,” Evan ordered, “skin contact seems to help. His vitals dropped back down, too.”

The figure did as he was bid, and Markus shuddered, eyelids dropping as relief and the safety of Clint flooded through him. “Fuck,” Clint whispered, voice broken. As well as he could, Markus drifted his thumb across Clint’s hand, and heard a startled exhale that turned into a shaky, surprised laugh. The relieved joy of his friends was bright, buoying him in reality as it curled up in his chest.

Even with the safety of both of his friends surrounding him, the pain came back with a crescendoing wave. He tensed again, eyebrows pulling together as he shifted minutely. God, my chest hurts, it hurts. A few more tears slipped free, and he tugged weakly at Evan’s hand.

“You hurting, buddy?” He squeezed Evan’s hand, and he heard the entire room shift as Evan gave some sort of signal.

“And that’s where I come in,” a friendly, warm voice interjected, coming closer as Clint released his hand. The impersonal feeling of latex took his friend’s place, and Markus was terrified again. Clint, please don’t let him, please. There was a starburst of panic, and Evan hissed in surprise. The beast master’s hand snapped from Markus’s face in time with a sound of alarm from the faceless entity as the latex was pulled away.

“Sorry, doc,” Evan chuckled lowly, “if you’d felt what I just did, you woulda done the same. Gloves, you’ll understand in a second, trust me.”

There was another snap of latex, and a new, slightly cool hand slid into his own. The sense of deep caring and logic accompanied the doctor’s surprised inhale. “HooKay, that’s new.”

Markus relaxed slowly as he felt the other man’s alarm turn into curiosity and concern, but nothing malicious, as Evan explained. “His magic’s coming back. He’s always been extremely empathic, normally has great control of what you sense from him, but in this circumstance. . .” he trailed off with a sigh, bringing his hand back to brush through Markus’s hair.

“Alright then, no more gloves if we can help it,” the other man’s friendly voice turned back to Markus, taking the news in stride. “Markus, can you open your eyes for me?” His tone was authoritative, but gentle, and Markus did his best to obey as a thumb dragged across his skin.

He only saw a bright sliver of light before his heavy lids became too much. Instead, Markus managed to tighten his hand minutely. That was easier for some reason, he didn’t have to try and make sense of the room, could focus on the safety net Evan provided. His friend hadn’t let go of his hand, the warmth of Evan’s skin warming Markus’s even with his poor circulation.

“Okay, Markus, I understand. Can you squeeze my hand again if you’re in pain?”

His fingers twitched, but Markus’s brain was becoming fuzzy on stress hormones, mired in the negative sensations. His lungs felt sticky, like his heart was turning over in his chest. “Okay, yeah, that heart rate is getting elevated again,” the voice was distant in a way that told him he wasn’t being addressed, “Catrina, let's give him one time dose of 50 mcg fentanyl, intravenous, and he can have an as needed dose of 25mcg every hour, if that’s not enough call me. Monitor for how he continues to tolerate the vent.” The voice came back to address him, “Markus, hang on just a second, okay?”

Evan’s hand swept down to drag the back of his knuckles across the side of his face, the touch exactly what he’d been begging for for months. “Go back to sleep, buddy, we’ll be here when you wake up again.”

“You’re not alone anymore, brother.” Clint’s voice trickled in as a wash of cold flowed over his chest, black swallowing up his lingering consciousness. “I promise.”

#Markus/Lucien Series #Intubated Whumpee #Sedated whumpee #whump #hurt/comfort #urban fantasy #magic #magical whump

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yandere-tech · 5 years ago

Text

Jin “Twice” Bubaigawara X Reader

Jin Bubaiguwara. A man so full of love for his fellow League members it felt more like a family due to his presence. Just having him around made everyone feel more at ease. Someone you could easily fall for without hesitation.

And, well, you had.

Oh, good golly, had you fallen for this man. Just hearing his voice would make your head perk up, your eyes alight, a smile gracing your lips. The very name rolling off your tongue made your whole body tingle in a way you hadn't really experienced before. And for the love of all things villainous- his smile was the one thing in the world that would make your face flush a hot red color and your heart burst. You had been teased by Atsuhiro for this multiple times, calling you out, stating how your pupils had almost certainly taken on the shape of hearts.

Anything he gave you suddenly became a prized possession. Anything as silly as a shirt he thought would look nice on you- or a old, beat up plush he grabbed because he 'thought of you' when he saw it.

You wanted nothing more than to be by his side through anything...Through everything. You wanted to be a part of his forever. You though, for certain, one day he'd see just how you look at him. One day he'd notice the small touched, bright smiles, and reassuring shoulder to lean on. Surely, he'd notice the way you got nervous when left alone with him, he'd have to notice the way you said his name different to everyone else's name. Right?

"[Y/N]!" The hiss of Tomura Shigaraki's voice cuts through your thoughts as you snap out of your little trance and look to the man, who stared at you from behind 'Father'.

Giving a sheepish smile, you straighten up. "Sorry, I was coming up with plans." Just not plans for the League. It was probably a pretty bad thing to be so in love with one of the League members. If anyone knew what it meant to be a villain, it was you. Alliances didn't last, ties were broken, promises were made to be snapped in half. And bonds were always seen as weak. Caring was not what a villain did.

And yet, with the league...It didn't seem like that. With Jin, it didn't feel that way.

"I need you to go get Twice. He's been missing for the past three days. I sent Toga yesterday, but she came back after an hour of searching." Tomura states, making you pay attention. Jin hadn't stopped by in the past three days? That wasn't like him. "Make sure you find him- and when you do, tell him that we are going to starting soon." Tomura then turned his attention to Spinner as he entered the warehouse next with information...But you hardly paid attention to that as you gather your things to leave.

As you leave, the events of the past few months ran through your mind, making you frown. Between the events with All for One being put away, losing their hideout, and then the loss of Magne... The last had hit them all so hard. Jin especially... Perhaps that's why he wasn't around lately. Was he...okay? The thought stuck in your mind and made you frantic in your search to find the man.

Checking his apartment- nothing but dead plants, empty cans and clothes strewn about greeted you when you came through the window. Yet, no Jin. So, you had taken to searching the places you knew he frequented. The liquor store manager hadn't seen him in a week- which was strange. The woman running the small restaurant he loved to eat at also hadn't seen him. Speaking to Giran had been a little more helpful though.

"Bubaigawara?" The silver haired male asked, eyebrow cocked up. "Yeah, he was here a few hours ago...Didn't look too good." He states, lighting up his cigarette as he spoke. "I couldn't really do much for him, so I told him to try and find someone who would be a little more helpful." The man shrugs.

You couldn't help but get mad. "Seriously? Giran, he needed your help!" You snap at him. "You're suppose to be friends!"

"Never said I sent him away. Besides, would you rather me give him bad advice and he end up worse off?" His words made you recoil with a small frown. "Didn't think so." He states before you take your leave.

Running out of places to go, you call Shigaraki, just to make sure the man hadn't made his way there while you had been searching. No such luck. "Try calling him." Shigaraki states before hanging up.

Damn it! Why hadn't you thought of that sooner? But if he was in a bad place, would he even answer...? And why the hell did you have to do it? Tomura had his number too!

Quickly dialing the number you had memorized like your own name, you silently bite your lip and hope that he picks up.

"The person you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time. Please check the number or try the call again."

Nothing.

Frustrated, you shove your phone into your pocket and start down the street. "Where are you, Jin....?" Staring up at the sky, you suddenly get an idea. Giran had told him to go to someone who could be more helpful. He wouldn't be...

At a full on run, you take off, dashing through the streets until you reach your own apartment complex. Panting, you stare up toward your window, then swiftly head in, taking the stairs as the elevator usually took forever to get you anywhere. Rummaging through your pockets for your keys, you slow down just as you reach your door, jumbling and jamming the key into the lock before shoving it open.

It was quiet, minus the radio you usually left on, as you hated how quiet it could be when you would come home. Tossing your keys into the small bowl beside the door, you look around for any signs that the man may be around, waiting on you.

"Jin...?" You call out before shutting the door and walking into the living room- nothing. Kitchen- nothing. A frown crossed your lips as you think it over. Why in the hell would you even think that Jin would think you were more helpful than Giran anyway? Maybe you were just too hopeful...

Sighing, you check one last place, your bedroom. Stepping inside, a frown etched onto your face, you spot an outline of a person under your blankets, a black and white mask clutched in one hand that dangled off the side of the bed.

Relief washed over you so fast you were sure you would start crying. "Oh thank goodness." You mutter as you slowly approach the sleeping body of the one man who held the key to your heart. Sleeping so softly, so soundly, in your bed. Was it weird that you looked forward to sleeping in the bed tonight- just to smell his scent around you? Probably....

Gently sitting on the side of the bed, you look down at the sleeping face of the blond, his eyes closed, his mouth opened slightly as he snored quietly. He was seriously- so adorable. Even with the dried tear streaks down his face, or the way his hair was messier than usual. How long had he been here? Why didn't he realize you weren't home and go to the league to find you? He knew you hardly ever came home unless you had to be.

While it confused you, you decide to gently place a hand on his cheek. He only flinched a little before gently relaxing into your hand. Sighing lightly, you stroke his cheek before slowly removing your hand and getting up to call Tomura to let him know you found Twice when you feel a hand clasp around your wrist.

Jolting, you quickly look down at Jin to find his grey-blue eyes half open as he stared up at you. "Stay." Was all he said before pulling at your wrist a bit. Without a word, you sit down again as Jin sits up, sitting beside you, pulling his mask halfway onto his head as he sleepily yawned. "Where were you...?" He asks, groggily, making his voice even more butterfly-inducing to you.

A small laugh escaped you. "Where am I usually?" You tease as he rest his head on your shoulder.

"The warehouse..." He mutters, messing with the edge of his mask with a hand. "I know. But...I couldn't go back yet...So I was just. Waiting." He says, closing his eyes as he grips at his head before quickly tugging the mask down in an effort to reduce the usual feeling of splitting apart.

With one arm, you wrap it around him and pull him closer. "Is this about Big Sis?" You ask quietly, feeling the man tense under your grip. There was a long silence that answered your question. Resting your head on top of his, you rub his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Jin..." He pushes you away and holds himself, making your heart shatter.

"It is my fault though! I messed up! I was just- I didn't mean for- a-and Compress- his...his arm-" The words stuttered and shuddered with each new sentence he started. "If i hadn't brought that dumbass yakuza." He was crying- from the way his shoulders trembled, the hiccups from him, and the way he choked on words made it pretty obvious despite the mask to cover it.

Frowning, you reach out and gently unlatch his fingers from digging themselves into his arms any further as you pull him back to you. "Nobody blames you for that, Jin. You couldn't have known that would happen." You try to reason with him. "I know you would NEVER do anything like that to hurt any of us." You keep his head close to your chest, your own eyes closed as you fought off your own downpour of tears. "Of course, we're all hurt that we lost Magne. We're all still recovering but- Jin-" You pull him away and lift his chin to look at you. "You're taking this the hardest. Look at you...Why didn't you come to me sooner? I don't want you to feel this way. No one in the league wants it either. Talk to us, we're not going to shame you." You smile lightly. "You're one of us. I'm sure if Toga knew you were here, sobbing your eyes out, she'd be here too." You tease him, making him choke a watery laugh.

"Atsuhiro got a cool robotic arm now too! That's pretty damn cool, I bet he feels pretty damn high and mighty over it." You say, hoping to get Jin to smile, even if you couldn't see it behind his mask. "And Shigaraki is gonna tear that idiot apart when he gets the chance. It'll be great. And we get to help with that!" He blink as he pulls away from you.

He was silent for a moment as he composed himself, then looked at you. "Right, I have to be there to avenge Big Sis." He straightened up a bit and clenched his fists. "I can't just let her memory die either!" He looks at you. "It's what she'd want." With that, he reaches under one of your pillows and retrieves...a pair of sunglasses. He holds them for a moment in his hand, staring down at them. "I'm going to do my best to keep the rest of you safe. I'll protect every last one of you from the same fate with my last breathe if I have too." He looks at you again. "That's how I'll be forgiven. She'll see I tried and forgive me." He states before removing his mask a bit. This was the longest you'd seen him go without his other sides trying to partake in the conversation. Having the mask just up to the bridge of his nose, he gives you a smile.

And you couldn't help smile back.

"But for now..." He sets the sunglasses on your bedside table and grabs your arm, pulling you forward. You gasp slightly before blinking at him as he laid down with you, his arms secure around you. "I think I still need some time to recover." He sighs lightly.

Your heart was basically a drum being abused at the moment as you felt the way his arm felt around you, his own heartbeat a steady rhythm against your hands as you kept a small barrier between the two of you. How you wanted to move them- to feel every part of him against you. But...

"Aw come on, I don't bite." He says, making you turn a slight bit redder than you already were. Shifting slightly, you remove your hands and drape an arm over him as he presses closer to you. "You're seriously warm, ya know." He states before peeling his mask up over his right eye to look down at you. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing thickly, you nod stiffly. No, no you were not. But now wasn't the time to go and confess your feelings...

"Hey." He says, making you look at him again. "Thanks." He says softly, his smile gone for the moment. "You're...always there for me. I guess that's why I came here... You always seem to make things feel right."

Oh god, was your heartbeat loud enough to sound like it was in stereo.

"I-It's no problem, really. I love being able to help you." You stammer out quickly. "It's my pleasure just to be around you!"

The reemergence of his smile helped calm you. "I think the same thing." He says before staring at you for a little too long- making you a nice cherry bomb red by now. Eventually, he notices and blinks. "You know, Big Sis was trying to help me for so long- but I just couldn't get it right. She would laugh at me every time I tried anything I came up with on her." He states. Giving him a confused look.

"She told me to just go for it... But I just never could. So- maybe I should take her advice... I think she'd be proud of me." He takes a deep breathe as you hold yours. And-

"I love you!" You say out loud, quickly, making him stop in his tracks as you process what you said and feel ice run through your blood. Your eyes were wide as you stare at him, his own eyes blinking at you .

Silence seemed to consume the two of you for way too long. Scrambling, you sit up, your voice higher as you speak. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Jin! I-I was just- caught up in the moment and I thought you were going to say- Oh fuck- oh fuck!" You bury your face in your hands, berating yourself internally.

As you panic, he sits up to sit beside you again, resting his chin on your shoulder as he waited on you to stop freaking out. When you finally quiet down, he smiles. "I love you too." He says softly, raking his fingers through your hair.

Slowly looking at him, you feel your heart ready to explode. "I-I don't think you understand, Jin. I-I mean love as in- love love." You state, hoping this wasn't some misunderstanding. "When I say I love you, I mean it. I want to be with you! I want to be the reason you are excited to come back home! I want to be the one thing you feel you have no matter what happens! You're my everything and I just- want you to know that- I'm so fucking in love with you it hurts! I want to be the place where you belong!" You confess, watching him, watching for a reaction.

He simply gives you a wide eyed expression. Your heart stops in place, time feels slow.

Then his arms wrap around you again, tightly, his face burying in the crook of your neck. Was he- crying again? "Jin...?" You say, worried as you pulls away, wiping at his eyes.

"I-I-" He tries, before he breaks his record of staying together as his other side takes over. "You're so fucking hot, you have no idea how much I wanna-" He grips at his head and whimpers slightly making you quickly hold him. "I want to keep you safe too! I just- why would anyone- ant to-" Gritting his teeth, he hisses. "You should feel lucky I want you so bad!" He covers his mouth and gives you a wide eyed, scared look.

A small laugh escapes you as you press your forehead to his. "Oh, trust me, I feel very lucky." And before you can think about it twice (hah!), you press your lips to his. Feeling him tense before relaxing into it. Pulling away, you look at him and grin. "You have any idea how long I wanted to do that?" You ask.

"Probably as long as I've been thinking of you during long nights by myself." He huffs before pushing his mask fully down. Only to pull another laugh from you.

"That so?" You tease before placing a hand to his chest, earning a stammer, stutter reaction from the poor guy.

"I- well- uh-" He held onto the bottom of his mask like a lifeline.

Smiling slyly, you tilt your head "Just call me up next time, loverboy." You say before pushing him back against the bed and laying in his arms. "But for now, I think you need some more rest. You have the darkest circles under your eyes." You close your own eyes. Shigaraki could wait. Right now, you both needed to rest. Both of you needed this. To just lay in each other's embrace, feeling that one thing you both craved. Love. A place to belong. Someone you could trust and be trust by. Companionship. Someone to be there.

Could either of you ask for a better life?

Being here. Being with him. With the league. You were both happy.

And you were both as happy as you could be....

This truly was a happy life.

#this is how I cope #jin bubaigawara #bnha twice #x reader #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bubaigawara #twice x reader #i'm not okay

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saveyourblood · 5 years ago

Text

Prodigy | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: “I find it amusing that we’re all pretending to be normal when we could be insanely interesting instead.” – Atlas.

The one where you're a prodigy, so is he, and he's the only person alive who makes you feel normal.

Notes: IT TOOK ME 20 MINUTES FIGURING OUT HOW TO UPLOAD THAT GIF YALL BETTER APPRECIATE IT I- This is actually an idea I originally had for a screenplay (kind of a modern ‘Doogie Howser’ gender-swap thing), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized how well it would work as a Spencer Reid x Reader fic. So, if you like it, PLEASE, let me know, because otherwise, I'll probably just scrap this entire thing lol.

Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: none I can think of.

Song: Birthday - Gia Margaret

You were out shopping with your friends, like most normal teenagers did on the weekend. You and Idol hit up a few clothing outlets, dragging Jax along.

“Can’t we go somewhere we all like?” Jax whined.

Idol’s arms were already covered with bags. You, on the other hand, had two with only a few items.

Idol turned to Jax, a blank look on her face. “You mean something you like?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms.

She sighed. “Look, we’ve been over this: the first half, I get to do all of the girly things with Y/N. Then, you get to do all the nerdy stuff with her.”

“You guys divvy up the time you spend with me?” you asked, laughing to yourself.

“We have to!” Idol defended.

“You’re so busy with work, we go weeks without hanging out as a team,” Jax agreed. “Hanging out with Idol all the time is boring.”

Idol punched him in the arm.

“I’m sorry, guys, but believe me, I feel the same way,” you said. “Everything’s just been… crazy. Someone just quit, and we’ve been busier than usual. I’m lucky I got these two days in a row off.”

“Speaking of which…” Idol said, linking her arm with yours. “We need to find you a dress for homecoming.”

Jax groaned.

“How about I work on finding a date first,” you chuckled.

“No, no dates! We’re going as a group,” Idol scolded.

You were about to make a witty remark when someone called out.

“Help! We need help!” A frantic woman shouted.

You dropped your bags and started running.

Eventually, you found a bunch of people standing around in a circle. Some had their phones out, others looked around, like Superman would appear out of thin air. You were no Superman, but in some ways, to some people, you were a hero.

You made your way through the crowd, unafraid to shove people aside. Some people made noises or remarks, but mostly, they let you move past. Breathless, you mangled your way to the center of attention.

“Please, please,” a woman sobbed on a man’s chest. He was completely unconscious, laying flat on the food court floor.

“Everyone, back up!” you instructed. “Someone get an AED!”

You knelt beside the man, pressing two fingers to his neck. While you felt for a pulse, you also monitored his chest for breathing. Then, you looked up to his wife. “Please, ma’am, give me some space. I need to start compressions.”

Someone who looked like a family member pulled her aside. Using one hand to stabilize the other, you began pressing two inches deep in the center of his chest. Your movements were fast, and the power behind them came from your entire upper body.

“Who are you?” The wife asked between cries.

“Damn AED is taking too long,” you muttered under your breath.

You stood back, raising a fist about a foot above the man’s chest. Then, in a swift motion, you brought your fist downwards, striking him in the lower third of his sternum.

With a gasp and a cough, the man jolted back into consciousness like he was startled during a deep sleep. “What happened? Where am I?”

You laughed with glee. “You’re in the Pallor Heights Mall; your heart stopped. Clearly, it’s working now.”

A frightened employee stumbled through the crowd, clutching the AED like it was a lifeline.

“We don’t need that anymore,” you said casually. “But, if you could call an ambulance, that’d be great.”

“Who the hell is this girl?” someone in the back of the crowd said.

“She’s our best friend,” Idol said proudly, “the teenage MD.”

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“I want an ECG, CBC, and an angiogram done yesterday,” you said as the patient was rolled into the ER. “His heart needs to be monitored at all times.”

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” the head of ER, Dr. Cabello, asked.

“Hubert Riaz, 52-year-old male with no previous known heart conditions collapsed at the mall,” you explained.

Cabello pulled you aside. “And you were at the mall because…”

“...because it’s my day off?” you finished. “Look, Cabello, I’d love to chat, but there are some tests I should be running.”

“Actually, you should be at the mall, or at home,” he corrected. “You know why?”

“Because it’s my day off,” you grumbled.

“Go home, Y/N, before you have to stay,” he instructed, before following the paramedics as they rolled Mr. Riaz away.

Before you could do anything, Mrs. Riaz pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she cried before going to join her husband.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, but she was already gone. That didn’t stop you from smiling.

You looked up to find a familiar face. “Dad!” you called out, jogging to catch up with him. “What are you doing in the ER?”

“What are you doing in the hospital?” He frowned, looking at a chart.

Eli Abner — the best Cardiac surgeon on the East Coast, maybe the entire country. He also happened to be your father. In a weird way, you balanced each other out: he was famous in the world of medicine, you were famous in every other world. People didn’t stop him on the street to ask him about his high school and college career. You couldn’t say the same.

“I asked you first,” you said.

“I was called down for a consult, 50-something male collapsed in the mall,” he recalled. “Your turn.”

You couldn’t fight the grin on your face. “Guess who revived him?”

He raised his eyebrows. “AED?”

“Precordial Thump,” you corrected.

His face morphed back into a frown; it was his default expression. “Percussion Pacing isn’t recommended for out-of-hospital use.”

“How about: ‘Good job, Y/N! You saved a life today, Y/N!’” you said.

As if on cue, Idol and Jax entered the ER.

“Dr. Abner!” Jax called with a smile. She was of course referring to your father — you couldn’t remember the last time someone at the hospital called you that.

“Hello, Jax,” he said, formal as always. “Idol. It’s good to see you both.”

“Sir, could you please tell your wonderful daughter that she’s not supposed to be here on her days off?” Idol asked.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eli repeated. “Go, enjoy your time off.”

A few hours later, and you were confident your two best friends wished they left you at the hospital.

Rather than going back to the mall, you opted to just go home. Apparently, Jax and Idol weren’t bored of you yet, so they followed you upstairs to your room. Unfortunately for them, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rant.

“What the fuck is wrong with those two?!” you shouted, pacing across your bedroom. “It’s like they wanted me to go away.”

“They want you to have a life outside of your job,” Idol said. She was laying on your bed, propping up her head with one arm. “Is that really such a crime, Y/N?”

“It’s like they don’t want me to be a doctor,” you corrected. “Cabello couldn’t wait to just swoop in and get the poor guy away from me. Not to mention, he didn’t even call me ‘doctor’ — he said ‘Y/N’, like I’m his kid. Oh, and don’t even get me started on my father!”

“I won’t,” Jax said, playing with a model skull that sat on your desk.

“He didn’t say anything good about what I did. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I saved a guy in a mall food court, and my he criticizes my method,” you continued, ignoring Jax’s remark. “God, what a dick! Both of them! Both of them are dicks.”

Idol sat up with a sigh. “You know what you have to do, right?”

“If you say ‘let it go’, I swear to god, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“You’re a doctor: you should know girls don’t have nuts. Oh, also: you’re a doctor!” She said. “And you’re 17. They feel threatened, Y/N. That’s why they don’t give you any credit! They’re amazing doctors, but they’ll never be amazing teen doctors. Not like you could be.”

“Alright, genius,” you said. “What do I do?”

“For being a prodigy, you can be really dumb sometimes,” Idol groaned. “You be amazing.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Idol,” you said sarcastically. “Thanks for enlightening me. I feel so much better.”

“You didn’t let me finish, bitch,” she said, standing up. “You have to be amazing, and you can’t be afraid to talk about it.”

“You want me to brag about my accomplishments?”

“You’re a good doctor, right?” She asked.

You nodded. “I like to think so, yeah.”

“Then make them know you know,” Idol said. “They only push you over because you let them. Don’t.”

You leaned over to look at Jax. “Do you know what the hell she’s talking about?”

“Treat others how you’d like to be treated,” he summarized. “When Cabello and your dad are being dicks, be dicks back.”

“Good advice. Thanks, Jax.”

“Wow, if only I had thought of that!” Idol said sarcastically before flopping into your bed in exasperation.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

You flipped through a few records in your favorite Vinyl shop, The Rusty Spoon. They sold new and secondhand records, all of which you loved dearly. You mostly bought new ones, as your favorite artists were more modern, but you liked to look through and occasionally purchase the classics. You had yet to buy a damaged record, as the store provided a turntable at the register to try any second hand vinyls.

As you thumbed through the discounted albums, you found a cover that was an elegant shade of red. The top corners had intricate golden designs. A thin line of the same color stretched the width of the cover. You pulled it up from the rack to get a good look. An oil painting of a familiar face decorated the front. In a fine, cursive font read ‘The Best of Beethoven’. After a moment of consideration, you tucked it into the crook of your arm, which already held 3 records.

“You listen to Beethoven?” A gentle, curious voice asked from beside you.

You looked over quickly, not realizing someone was next to you. Your eyes trailed upwards to meet the gaze of a young man — he couldn’t be older than 25. His hair was straight and tucked behind his ears, which propped up the frames of his dark glasses. His jawline was square, and his body was scrawny. He had the strap of a bag across his chest, which was covered by a red sweater vest.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, raising his hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stuttered out. “My name’s Spencer. I’m sorry.”

You chuckled softly at the idea that he could come off as threatening in any way. You also laughed because he looked cute when he was frazzled.

“It’s okay,” you promised, then offered him your hand. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

He rubbed his hands on his pants nervously.

Without a second thought, you lowered your hand. “I get it — hands are kind of disgusting. It’s actually safer to kiss a stranger than shake their hand, ya know, considering the pathogens,” you said without thinking. You closed your eyes and laughed in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I actually said that.”

“That’s why I don’t shake hands, actually,” Spencer responded. “Most people don’t understand.”

“It’s a biology class you never forget,” you joked.

“Biology? You must be smart,” he remarked kindly. “What are you going to school for?”

“I want to be a doctor,” you replied after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t something you wanted to keep talking about, either. Once people learned you were a child prodigy, it was like they forgot how to speak. “What about you? Are you still going to school?”

“I have a doctorate in Mathematics,” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow. You don’t look old enough to have a doctorate.”

“I was in an advanced program,” Spencer responded.

You knew a thing or two about that.

His eyes drifted to the albums in the crook of your arm. “You listen to Beethoven?” He repeated.

You chuckled, somewhat nervously. “Is that so unbelievable?”

“No! No, I uh, I think it’s great,” Spencer assured, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s a fantastic composer, one of history’s finest.”

You nodded. “I’m sure Für Elise will be on here, but I’ve heard good things about Symphony No. 9.”

Spencer smiled, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. Somehow, they made him look even more charming. “It ends with the chorus to Friedrich Schiller’s ‘An Die Freude’ poem.”

While having a photographic memory made you remember far more than the average person, sometimes, it felt like all the information in your head — useful and not — got muddled together. When it came to passive facts, it sometimes took you a moment to recall. But, when you did, your eyes lit up and you smiled uncontrollably.

“Ode to Joy!” you exclaimed in realization. “Wow, that’s so cool.”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You fished it out, glancing at the notification. You got a text from your father, reading ‘When will you be home?’.

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Spencer asked genuinely.

You put your phone back in your pocket and smiled. “There’s a coffee shop down the street. Can I buy you a drink?”

Spencer smiled.

Sitting in a coffee shop, laughing with a man you barely knew, sipping a latte that was impossible to make yourself… it was the closest you ever felt to being normal.

The two of you talked about everything and nothing. You asked Spencer if he lived in town, he said he was in New York on work. He asked if you had a job, you said you worked at a hospital in the city. He assumed you were an ER technician or a CNA, you didn’t deny. You knew you should feel guilty for lying to the poor guy, but in the grand scheme of the conversation, it didn’t seem to matter. You were able to talk to him freely and easily, and it wasn’t just about your degree or how you completed high school in the span of 2 months.

By the time you looked down at your watch, you realized hours had passed. A waitress had kindly swapped the two of you out for plain, black coffee, and she regularly made her rounds to refill your mugs.

“It’s already 3 o’clock,” you said in shock, looking at your watch. “I promised my friends I would meet them for dinner.”

“I should get going too,” Spencer agreed, somewhat sadly. “Work never does itself.”

You threw down a twenty dollar bill, knowing it was enough to cover the bill plus a tip. Still, Spencer reached for his wallet.

“You said you live in DC, right Spencer?” You asked.

He nodded.

“You’ll pay next time, then,” you said with a smile.

You weren’t sure what made you feel so bold all of a sudden, but clearly, it was working. Spencer grinned and looked down before nodding.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Where were you?” Your father asked the moment you got through the door.

You slung your backpack onto the couch. He didn’t even bother to look up from his laptop as he spoke to you.

“I was out,” you replied simply. “Idol, Jax and I ate dinner together.”

“You said you’d be back from shopping at 3,” he retorted. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose as he observed the screen sitting in his lap. Your father was by no means an ugly man, but the manner made him appear older.

You shrugged. “Plans change. Public transportation is unreliable on a good day.”

Your dad finally looked up for the first time in the conversation. He observed the gift bag in your hand. “What’s that?”

“A little something from Jax and Idol,” you replied. “They saw it and thought of me.”

“That’s nice of them,” he said before getting back to his work.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “really nice.”

“What’s that, dear?” Your father asked as you walked up the stairs.

“I said I’ll be in my room if you need me!” you lied.

Of course it was nice to get a gift from your best friends. However, it was even nicer to get one from your sole parent. Hell, you’d even accept some acknowledgment.

All you wanted on your 18th birthday was to be seen, and your dad couldn’t even seem to do that.

Once you closed the door to your bedroom, the tears began to flow. In anger, you picked up the ‘anatomically correct’ gummy bear figurine you got last year on your birthday. The clear case was obviously that of a gummy bear, but on the inside was a skeleton and colored organs. It was equally creepy as it was cute. You loved it.

But, in a moment of rage, you picked it up and threw it on the floor. The case popped open and the pieces split apart. The skeleton dismembered, the organs shifted from their place to the floor. You joined them there, curling up into a ball as you sobbed quietly.

You’d put the pieces back tomorrow. You’d do the same with yourself.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

“Pediatrics wants you back on their floor,” Cabello remarked.

The two of you stood at the front desk, reviewing a few charts. Hospital staff, paramedics, and strangers swirled around you — there was never a dull moment at Carabine Memorial’s ER.

“Everyone wants me,” you said back, flipping to the next page.

Cabello was silent for a moment, which wasn’t his normal behavior. He always seemed to have a reply or a retort of some kind. You smirked in success. Maybe your friends’ advice could get you somewhere.

“Your Senior Resident thinks you haven’t picked a specialty yet,” Cabello continued.

“I’ve been in the Emergency Department for 2 years,” you replied, closing your binder and handing it off to a nurse. You finally looked at your superior. “I don’t want to be a surgeon, I want nothing to do with palliative care or cardio, and pediatrics isn’t my strong suit. The ER makes sense for me: it’s fast, reliant on instincts, and I get to see a little bit of everything.”

“But is Emergency work what you want to do, Y/N?” Cabello asked, leaning against the counter.

“Is it what you want me to do?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “Or are you trying to get rid of me, Jason?”

He moved back in shock. “It’s Dr. Cabello,” he corrected calmly.

You took a step forward. “It’s Dr. Abner.”

Very rarely, you were grateful for a swarm of people to come through the ambulance bay doors. In that moment, however, you were. And apparently, the universe picked up on that, because it wasn’t just paramedics that stormed in — several police officers came in with them.

“Where is the department manager?” One officer called.

Cabello approached, and you followed suit.

“I’m Dr. Cabello, the Director of the Emergency Department,” Cabello declared. “What do you need, officer?”

“We believe this boy — Joshua Parker — is the second victim of a serial offender,” the officer described in a low voice. “I can discuss details later, in private, but for now, I need you to know the basics.”

“Which are?”

He glanced around briefly, before staring at you.

“She can be here,” Cabello said, surprising both you and the officer. “Aside from me, Dr. Abner will be Joshua’s primary physician as long as he’s in this department.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to punish you or not. Regardless, you didn’t object.

“Joshua shows signs of serious trauma and PTSD,” the officer explained. “The only way we got him into the ambulance was by sedating him. Once he wakes up, odds are, he’ll become violent again. You should prepare your staff.”

Cabello nodded, before turning to you. “Go, make yourself useful,” he instructed, “but only use whoever you have to. Don’t smother the poor boy with unnecessary nurses or aids.”

You nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

The police officer was absolutely correct: once Joshua woke up, it was almost impossible to do any work on him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, especially the words ‘let me out’, and whenever someone tried to touch him, he began to thrash around. Once another resident and a nurse managed to hold his arm down for an IV, he began biting at them. It was equally heartbreaking and scary.

After consulting with your senior Resident, you decided the only way to get any work done on Joshua was to sedate him for a second time. While it wasn’t necessarily good for him, neither was the violent behavior he exhibited when conscious. Sedation seemed like the lesser of two evils.

When Josh was unconscious, you and Cabello managed to work efficiently. You meticulously pulled at splinters buried in his skin, while Cabello dealt with several puncture wounds all over his body. Where his skin wasn’t red and blotchy, it appeared to be a faint purple color. The whites of his eyes had gone yellow and the muscles in his legs and arms were atrophied.

“Someone put this boy through hell,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Cabello snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the trashcan by the door. “I’m not assigning you any more patients this shift,” he said. “Joshua is your top priority.”

“Understood.”

Cabello nodded, then stepped out.

Joshua was asleep for at least 3 hours after his second round of medication. You spent most of that time in his room, researching ways to help him once he woke up. Eventually, Cabello came in with a distraught couple, and without saying anything, you knew they were his parents. You decided to give them some space.

“A few agents from the FBI are here,” Cabello said as the two of you walked to the front desk. “They want to talk about Joshua’s condition.”

“I can handle it,” you assured.

“They’re just down the hall. You three can talk in the conference room.”

You stuck your hands in the pockets of your scrub top, walking down the hall with a sigh. Compared to the rest of the department, it was calm; hardly anyone brushed by you, and the steady buzz of noise turned into a faint chatter the farther you walked.

When you finally looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The hair, the sweater vest, the glasses… you’d recognize him anywhere. When Spencer met your gaze, it was clear he remembered you too.

In that moment, you really wished he hadn’t.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Notes: Like what you read? Let me know! Feedback seriously keeps me inspired to write <3

Want to be tagged in future parts? Shoot me an ask!

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds reader insert #spencer x reader #spencer reid/reader #spencer/reader #criminalminds #criminal minds x reader #prodigy #part 1 #i live for spencer in glasses #just sayin

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withastolenlantern · 5 years ago

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A million thoughts raced through the detective’s mind at once. Her initial reaction was to lunge for him, to grab his throat in her hands and squeeze until his lips turned blue and the life drained from his eyes. But she couldn’t, not here in the middle of a crowded ballroom; and more to the matter, she wasn’t sure that’s what her father would have wanted, or if it’s even what she wanted. In the years that had passed she’d pictured this moment many times, envisioning multiple scenarios of public humiliation, or private torture, or a combination of both. No form of retribution seemed too severe, nor completely appropriate.

The exercise had always seemed a fantasy, though, and she’d always had the luxury of imagination without the restraint of practicality. At no time had she ever expected to be face to face with the man, and certainly not in a context where the only ones surrounding them were a coterie of socialites who could do nothing to stop any force she might perpetrate. Now, presented with the actual situation she’d practiced thousands of times in her head, she was confronted by the multitude of possibilities and found herself frozen with indecision. A myriad of voices trapped inside her all screamed furiously forward various iterations of fight or flight, scream or sob, and trapped behind all of them a single, mournful image of her father’s casket draped in a flag.

Instead, she breathed deep and long, steadying herself with a pull from her glass. The color and warmth still flushed her face, her knees weak, her head swimming; anyone looking hard would no doubt recognize the inner conflict, no matter how subtle. She’d been here many times before- on helicopter approaches viewed through thermographic optics, on night watches overlooking rural Pakistani villages… and propped on an aluminum folding chair at the rear of a South African funeral parlor. It was, in many ways, her nature; not by choice or inclination but necessity.

The detective swallowed her pride deep through gritted teeth and offered a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, no. Detective Inspector Chatham, His Royal Majesty’s Enquiry Service.”

The man took her hand with a gentleness she hadn’t expected from a veteran of the Commonwealth’s military campaigns. Her recollection was that Travers had been an aviation mechanic before he’d moved into the intelligence service, and then Internal Security. She suspected that the military posting had been purely performative; his father was the Viscount Hulmeville, a title that would some day pass to him. The family was old aristocracy, running back at least to the Victorians; they’d owned a slew of coal mines in Yorkshire, and when the demand for fossil fuels had dried up they’d made another fortune converting and leasing the land for agricultural use. The current Viscount’s son had likely been long groomed for a position in the Government, and it came as no surprise to Chatham that he now held a seat on the Consortium’s Board. Like always does seem to attract like.

“Sir Roger Travers,” he said flatly. If he recognized the detective at all, he didn’t show it. They’d had an official military funeral for her father, but only her mother had attended. She’d been too overcome with grief to handle the cameras and the pageantry over an incident she’d always felt could have been avoided. The then-Minister had offered token condolences to her mother, and thanked her for her father’s sacrifice. Days later Chatham had seen him making rounds on the news circuit, defending the Service’s use of force and decrying the “rioters and terrorists” for forcing his hand. Evidently he’d been knighted in the interim, and she hoped deeply it was for some other “service” to the crown.

“The detective is investigating some thefts from our warehouses and fabs,” the Lady explained.

“So I’ve heard,” Travers replied. “And how is your investigation going, inspector?”

“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to discuss that in public,” Chatham countered. She was gripping her glass so tightly that it was at risk of cracking the crystal and compressing the peat in the whiskey into diamond.

Newby-Ross turned and shooed away her retinue of followers with a simple wave, and they disappeared without complaint as if scattered apart by a subtle wind. The detective was impressed at the authority the lady commanded; she may be a member of the peerage but those titles were more ceremonial than authoritative, or at least Chatham had thought.

“Continue, Detective,” she instructed.

“Mum, if it’s all the same, I sent a copy of our report to the Earl, but I haven’t had a chance to debrief him personally yet, and as he’s the head of the Consortium I’d prefer…” the inspector started awkwardly willing herself to be anywhere else.

“Come, come, out with it,” the heiress beckoned, with a tone that indicated she was not accustomed to accepting refusal. “James is in Singapore for at least another few days, and I have full authority from the Board to act as his proxy in emergencies, isn’t that right Roger?”

“That’s correct,” he confirmed, obviously also anxious to hear what the detective had to say without having to get it second-hand through the filters of the Consortium’s management. And so their plan was now laid bare, just as Chatham had surmised. She swore to herself silently, for what must have the hundredth time that week.

“Well, mum, we, by which I mean Mister Santomas and I…” Chatham started, gesturing toward the engineer beside her. If she was going to be dragged into this, she wasn’t going alone. “We visited one of the autofabricators in the Carribean that was reporting a strange status. What we found was quite irregular.”

“They were up and running,” Davis chimed in, accepting his role in the pageantry.

“I thought all of the Carribean units were shut down,” Travers said.

“They’re supposed to be,” the engineer replied.

“What do you mean ‘supposed to be’? I thought these things were impossible to access except by our people?” the Lady said.

“They’re supposed to be,” Santomas said again.

“And what were they doing?” Newby-Ross pressed.

“It appeared they were manufacturing weapons, and some kind of… drug, or something. We found several smugglers inside the loading area but they got away before I could apprehend them,” the detective explained.

“You let them get away?” Travers exclaimed, suddenly very animated. Many in the crowd turned toward the new commotion, but the Lady turned, smiled brightly, and shooed everyone back to their revelry.

“They were armed, sir, and we weren’t exactly expecting a fight. We were lucky to escape unharmed,” she said, frustration evident and a mixture of panic and wrath threatening to bubble to the surface. “We’re running facial recognition through the various Commonwealth databases.”

“And what about these ‘drugs’ you mentioned?” the Lady Swansea continued.

“I don’t know, mum. I’m running an analysis on the chemical structure in the labs, but it’s complicated,” Santomas interjected, perhaps sensing the inspector’s unease. “Chemistry’s not really my area of expertise, and it’s got a weird composition.”

“Is it the same thing you found off the African coast?”

“It appears so, but we are trying to confirm that,” Chatham said.

“How did they get access to the fabs in the first place?” Travers asked.

“I don’t know, sir. We’re still trying to work that out,” the engineer said.

“Well what the bloody hell do you know?” the board member growled.

The detective nearly reached her breaking point. She could apparently handle the subtle discourtesy of being summoned here, forced to bow and dance and sing at the whims of the aristocracy, to hide her anger and hold her tongue, but the disrespect shown for her professional efforts pushed her to the limit. Chatham raised her arm in fury, intending to unload on the former Minister, but as she did so, the Lady Swansea put her hand gently on his shoulder.

“I’m sure they’re doing their best, Roger,” she chided him quietly,. “Thank you, Detective, for your efforts. I have the utmost confidence you will bring these nefarious criminals to justice. I think that’s enough shop talk for today, though, don’t you think? I believe they’ll be serving dinner shortly. Lamb chops I think. Sustainably source from the local farms, of course.”

Travers bristled and nodded vaguely in Chatham and Santomas’ direction before heading off to join the Lady’s original group. The hostess leaned in closely to embrace the detective and air-kiss her cheeks. “I’m sorry about that,” she whispered. “He can be… well. I have faith in you. Please enjoy the rest of the evening. I know James is quite looking forward to your report.”

The heiress turned on a heel with practiced ease, threw her hands in the air in exaggerated jubilation, and returned to her original crowd.

Santomas stood sheepishly, not sure what to do or say. “Well that was… terrible. Any other awkward conversations you want to drag me into tonight, or can I go back to drinking myself into oblivion?”

Chatham took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse and her thoughts. Whatever she was expecting from the moment she met her father’s indirect executioner, that certainly had not been it. But she had survived unscathed, physically at least. It would take a long time for her to process the feelings of fury and disdain that were currently causing her hands to tremble uncontrollably and a bead of cold sweat to run down her spine.

“Yes, Mister Santomas, but only if you take me with you.”

#the world ocean #long post #part 2 #i had a really really hard time writing this section #and it probably still needs A Lot of work

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voidendron · 5 years ago

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Deep Blue Sea: Ch 11

Chapter 11: Headcount Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

Warnings: Swearing, Vomit Characters: Chase Brody, Marvin the Magnificent, Dr. Schneeplestein, Jackieboy Man, Jameson Jackson POV: Chase Brody

Chase went to scrub at his teary eyes only for his hands to hit the glass of his mask. All he could do was stare at Lifepod Three’s ripped open wall. His team’s fucking Seaglide had exploded. They’d never even gotten a chance to leave the pod.

When his PDA warned him of low oxygen, Chase swallowed and kicked for the surface; his jaw was aching from biting down on the mouthpiece so hard for so long. Every time he felt a sob trying to surface, he’d bite down. It kept him focused enough to keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

He kept Mason’s cracked PDA clutched tight against his chest. It was all he could think to do. The remaining two of his little maintenance team had had a chance. They’d landed—sure, their pod sank, but they’d landed. they’d been alive probably not even two hours ago—and if Chase had just been a little faster to get out here…

Reaching the surface, the man pushed his mask up and scrubbed at his eyes. The water stung them but he frankly couldn’t care even as he knew they’d start turning red. If they weren’t already.

God… Romero had three kids back on one of the Alterra colonies. Did they even know the Aurora had crashed? Who would bring them the news that their mother was probably dead on some alien planet? And—and Mason’s siblings. He was the youngest of four, wasn’t he? Their baby brother was gone. Their families couldn’t even have the closure of burying them because there was just…nothing left.

…Chase’s kids. He was still alive, but…they’d be told he was dead once Alterra realized what happened, wouldn’t they? Or that if he wasn’t, there was no way to get to him. What if he never saw them again?

He bit his tongue when another sob tried to surface.

No, no. Rescue would be sent. Eventually.

Who was he kidding? They were well outside of Alterra space. He—and any other survivors who may be out there—would just have to hope they got lucky and another ship happened through the system to pick up on the Aurora’s likely weak signal.

Back to Five. That’s all you can do now, Brody. The rest of the pods could still be checked. Just because those two hadn’t made it didn’t mean there couldn’t be other survivors.

He’d seen…he’d seen who? Keen. He remembered seeing Keen getting in a pod. …Nineteen? Fuck. If he remembered the coordinates, that would be one of the hardest to reach. His, and the CTO’s and her partner’s, Twelve that he didn’t know who had taken. One of the security guys had gone into one that was pretty deep, too. The rest should be easy(ish?) to get to.

…Hopefully.

That entertainer had taken Pod Four, but he didn’t know who was in the rest. Get back to Five, gather your wits, and get to…Four, he supposed? At least that one was at the surface.

A steadying breath and Chase pulled his mask back down to start the swim back.

He hadn’t even made it completely to his pod when he saw someone else farther out. They looked exhausted and was laying on one of the weird spire-things that stuck out of the shallows almost to the surface.

The entertainer; he recognized the long, dyed hair. It was still partially pulled back, but a lot had come loose and was sticking to the sides of his face and the mask. The man was panting and had a hand over his chest.

All Chase could feel was relief as he abandoned his objective for Five and took off toward the man.

He pushed his mask up, spluttering a little when he splashed himself in the face. “Hey!” he called. “Hey!”

The other man startled and flinched as he bolted upright before his shoulders sagged with relief.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he groaned, letting himself tip backward again so he was laying on the slightly submerged surface.

Chase floundered up onto the jutting stone formation and if it wasn’t for the fact they were both gross and sweaty and didn’t know each other he probably would have hugged the guy right then and there. “Which pod are you from?”

The guy started laughing—actually laughing—and Chase had to wonder if he was okay. “Don’t even try goin’ back there,” he said between, admittedly very tired-sounding, giggles. “That thing’ll swallow you whole.”

“…Huh?”

“The fuckin’…the Reaper. I’ve never seen an animal so goddamn big…” He’d stopped laughing at least; he honestly just looked like he wanted to sleep.

Chase shook his shoulder and dragged the guy into sitting up. “Big?”

“Mhm.” He rubbed at the bump on his head. Looked like he’d hit it pretty hard; Chase subconsciously pressed a hand to his own temple where the loose panel had hit him. “The thing just…I didn’t know somethin’ could be that big.”

A calming breath. Maybe the guy was just in shock or something. Or did he really not want to talk about whatever a “Reaper” was? “Dude. How big?”

“Mandibles longer than you are tall. It dragged my fuckin’ lifepod under the surface like it was nothing.”

Chase blinked. “Uh…dude. There’s no way there’s somethin’ that big out there. You sure you weren’t just panicking?”

That seemed to snap him out of it.

“Panicking?! I’m not fuckin’ exaggerating. That thing dragged Four so damn far down my ears popped. One of its mandibles broke through the pod’s exterior. If I hadn’t had a goddamn decoy I wouldn’t have even made it here.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair and took a steadying breath. “Just…don’t go to Four, okay? That thing’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Chase’s PDA chirped and he blinked down at it. The entertainer’s had as well.

Close proximity. They were sharing information with each other.

One such bit of information was the Reaper’s file. His heart dropped when he looked it over.

There was no way something that big was on the planet.

…Right?

That made things a whole lot more complicated. Maybe they just…stuck around one area? Hopefully?

At least the other man’s PDA must not have been as damaged as his. A ton of blueprints filtered through that his had been missing.

Chase took a slow breath, then nudged the other man. “I…didn’t catch your name?”

“Uh. Right. Marvin.”

“Chase.”

The handshake was…beyond awkward, to say the least.

“I—”

“Hey!” He could hear a machine and splashing.

Two…no, no, three more survivors. One had a Seaglide (that was probably the machine he heard. no fair, why hadn’t Five been equipped with one?) and…one wasn’t moving. The biggest man, who Chase recognized as one of the ship’s doctors but didn’t know the name of, was more or less on his back and dragging the third man who—Jameson.

Both Chase and Marvin threw themselves off the rock and back into the water to meet the trio. Jameson wasn’t breathing.

“Wh… The fuck happened?!”

“He drowned, what does it look like?” the doctor snapped (great. he was that type of guy). “Open the pod and help get him inside!”

It ended up being the security guy (Jackie, apparently) and Chase who went into the pod with Jameson. Neither of them had been swimming for their lives (technically. Chase wasn’t going to count getting away from those shark-things after knowing what Marvin had faced) or carrying an unconscious passenger, so they had the most energy of the four. Energy would be needed, Chase thought as he swapped places with Jackie for the second time to begin chest compressions.

It wasn’t long into the next swap—Jackie was panting as he pressed down on Jameson’s chest (they were pretty sure they’d broken at least two ribs by that point). they were both exhausted and unsure if the other man would even make it—that the chef spluttered and threw up some water. They hurriedly turned him onto his side so he wouldn’t start choking as he gagged and spat. He didn’t throw up nearly as much water as Chase had been expecting.

Still, he finally let himself breathe with relief.

Jameson’s eyes were glassy and dazed, but he was breathing again. Now they’d just have to keep an eye on him for a while (the doctor had mentioned he could end up with pneumonia) to make sure he was doing all right.

Jackie went to get the doctor and Chase ducked out as soon as…Schneeplestein, that was it, right? he’d go with Schneep, entered the pod.

The remaining three—Chase, Marvin, and Jackie—found their way back to the barely submerged rock formation and sat themselves down.

“Okay.” Jackie looked expectantly between them. He was still carrying the metal rod (apparently it was a broken flare) and had it pressed into the stone so he could lean against it. “Now what?”

“Probably a habitat builder.” Chase gestured out at the setting sun. “Three, max, can be in a pod at once, so we at least need a basic room where we can sleep and start storin’ supplies.”

Marvin furrowed his brows. “But…we’re not gonna be here that long, are we? What about rescue?”

Chase snorted at that. “We’re outside’a Alterra space. Call me cynical but I don’t,” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked, “think anyone’s comin’.”

The color drained from the poor entertainer’s face.

“I mean…” Jackie gestured out at the Aurora. “It’s still mostly in one piece. We’d need radiation suits if what Marvin said is right, but…maybe it’s repairable?” …He looked right at Chase when he said it.

“I’m a repairman, not an engineer. Yu might still be alive, though, so if we find her and Berkeley, then I think we’d have a chance dependin’ on how sever the damage it.”

“Um…what’s the difference..?” Marvin asked.

Chase couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Nonessential maintenance. I repair stuff the engineers can’t be bothered with. Uh…changing light bulbs, fixing doors, makin’ sure intercoms are workin’.”

“…An electrician?”

“Sorta? Repairman’s still a better way to describe it. We’re kinda offtrack, though, guys?”

“Okay, right…” Jackie leaned his forehead against the broken flare. “So where are we starting? Habitat builder, ah..?”

“Seaglides for the red of us, and better air tanks,” Chase answered.

“Rebreathers?” Jackie suggested.

“Yeah. That’s…actually a really good idea. And…I guess just start collectin’ stuff? And we’re gonna need lots of food and purified water. Let’s start with the habitat builder so we can get somewhere for Jameson to properly lay down, then I guess. Go from there?”

#fanfic #jacksepticeye #writersofjack #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #dr. schneeplestein #jackieboy man #jameson jackson #deep blue sea #subnautica crossover #dbs ch11 #blitz indites #swearing /#vomit /

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thepuckishrogue · 6 years ago

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The Batboys in: “I’m late.” Take one.

A/n: Y’all ready for some cliches? No? Well too fucking bad because that’s what you’re getting lmao. This time around I’ve only got fills for Jaybird and Timmy-boy, but fear not--Dick and Older!Dami’s will be up sometime this week. For right now except these humble offerings, crafted in the thick of my sleep derivation... [This has since edited to match the AO3 version--my apologies to all who read that first, hella rough draft. Also! Part 2 is done now!]

Taglist [if you want in on some of this sweet, sweet tagging action just hit me up in an ask]: @aspiratinganxiety

Prompt: “I’m late.”

Presented For your consideration/entertainment:

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

Just because you weren’t ready didn’t mean that you didn’t want it...

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

When you see an opportunity you take it. That’s one of the things he loves about you the most.

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

As you stare down at the single pink line on the tiny display your feelings are mixed.

On the one hand you’re hardly ready to raise a child, not when you still feel like a kid yourself most days, and that’s saying nothing of Jay’s chosen profession. Vigilantism is hardly conducive to home and hearth, after all. But despite knowing all of this you still feel… oddly crushed?

In the hours since your shaky murmur of “I’m late” was breathed into the crook of his neck, visions of little girls with inky ringlets and toddling boys with irises the color of a Caribbean tide had embedded themselves in your mind’s eye. With each minute that passed you allowed yourself to dream up a whole new life with Jason, one full of tiny giggles and toothless smiles and scabby knees. You saw your son seated aloft his broad shoulders, content and happy; your daughter on his knee as he read her his favorite Doctor Seuss book; you saw a future filled to bursting with things you’d never knew you wanted, knew you needed until that moment.

Hours to build up that new life in your head, and only two minutes to see it collapse around you.

“Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?”

You finally tear your eyes away from the line, but you still can’t bring yourself to face the man that hovers behind you. “No,” you start after a few long seconds. “But it’s for the best… Right?”

You don’t know what Jay sees in your eyes when you finally meet his in the bathroom’s mirror, but you do know what you see in his—that same future that had shone so brief, but brilliant.

There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a fragility that leaves you choking on a sob. Before the first tears even fully form you’re being spun around and gathered up into his arms. Jason’s hands trail the length of your spine in long, lulling strokes even as you dig your nails into the muscles of his back and pull yourself flush against him. Your grip is firm bordering on bruising, but if it hurts him he doesn’t show it. He whispers words of comfort that echo in his chest, and reverberate through you. The feeling registers more than his voice, and while it’s calming in a way it still not enough.

“This is so stupid. Why am I crying? I’m not pregnant so I can’t even blame my hormones!” The sentences come between heaving breaths and gasping sobs.

“It’s not stupid,” he assures you, hands still working at soothing your quaking frame. “If you want a family with me honey, you say the word and I’ll give you one. But it’ll be on our terms, and not the result of a bad batch of birth control or a faulty Trojan.”

You laugh a bit at that, sniff loudly, then look up at him. You know you must be a sight—eyes and nose red and wet, face splotchy and puffy—but he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. Your answering smile is a small thing that trembles a bit with the last dregs of your breakdown, but it’s there and it’s real and it’s hopeful. You don’t know when the pair of you will be ready for a family, if ever, but just knowing that the option is there enough for now.

Jay returns your smile as he wipes away the wetness on you cheeks with soft motions and gentle hands. In the face of such tenderness and care there’s only one thing to be said—“I love you.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no cockiness behind the words, only confidence in what the two of you share. “And I love you too.”

“That’s good to hear, especially after what I just did to your shirt.”

“What? You mean the scratching? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a hell of a grip babe, but it’s not nearly enough to do any real damage.”

“No, not that—but also sorry for that.”

“No harm, no foul, doll. Hey, that rhymed! Aww, come on now! Don’t roll your eyes baby—respect my flow.”

“Whatever,” you say around a laugh as you push away from him. “Go get some real bars and change your shirt.”

“Pssh. Please woman, my bars and my shirt are both tight as hell.” He pulls at the compression material then and releases it; how he manages to avoid pinching himself in the process is a mystery, but the audible pop of it snapping back in place leaves you with the impression that the action has the potential to be just as painful.

“Tight or not, I’m pretty sure that the Absorbent Tip TM was pressing into your back for a while there sooo... yeah. You might want to take care of that.”

It takes a second for him to realize what that means, but once he does…The look of mild disgust that flashes across his face leaves you snickering even as you apologize.

“You could at least pretend to feel bad about this, you know,” he says with a shake of his head. “But hell babe, if you wanted me to lose the shirt all you had to do was ask.”

The laughter dies on your lips as he reaches behind himself to grab a handful of the black tee; a tug and what has to be an unnecessary amount of flexing sees the clingy scrap of material removed and tossed away. Your eyes narrow as you take in your stupid, sexy, smirking, cocky cock of a boyfriend, but there’s no denying the wicked gleam in his gaze or the way it affects you.

You might not be ready to make a baby right at this very moment, but there’s nothing wrong with a little practice…

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

Your home smells amazing right now.

The warm, hardy scent of fresh baked bread is cut through by the tang of herbs simmering in a tomato-based sauce. The meatballs—recipe compliments of Alfred—adds a richness to it all, while the lemon rinds that’re left over from the vinaigrette you’d whipped up earlier adds a nice, citrus-y note that, while not readily identifiable, does help to lighten the dense canopy of the more cloying aromas.

Though it smells divine, the spread is far from elaborate. Spaghetti and meatballs, breadsticks, and salad—hardly the meal one would expect the wife of the heir to the Wayne Enterprises throne to prepare for dinner, but then again one would hardly expect you to cook for yourself at all.

Driven by paranoia and practicality in mostly equal measure, both you and Tim decided against hiring someone to help around the house. Paranoia because, even if the dangers of his night job could be ignored, there's still a certain amount of caution to be exercised just from bearing the family name; practicality because, despite the square footage, your high rise apartment's easily maintained by the two of you. Keeping yourselves fed is a bit trickier given your schedules, but between Alfred occasionally dropping off pre-made meals (with heating instructions simple enough that even your husband in his base, half-sleep state can follow) and honing the magical skill that is meal prepping (this too is a gift imparted by the aging man, bless him) you have a solid, home-cooked meal at least four days out of the week.

Your phone chirps an alarm that tells you it’s time to pull the pasta from the heat; after a quick drain it’s tossed with the red sauce and meatballs before being transferred to a serving dish. The whole of the meal is then moved to the dining table and then you’re hurrying off to the other end of the flat to change (because while eau de marinara might work for spaghetti it does very little for you).

As with the meal, there’s nothing fancy to be found in your chosen attire. The sweater you slip on was actually Tim’s once upon a time—though after finding you puttering around his kitchen in nothing but the over-sized garment he had decided that it looked much better on you…

“Keep it.”

You’d grown used to his ability to move about in virtual silence, but knowing what Tim was capable of didn’t leave you any better equipped to deal with it. Breathing in sharply, you whipped your head towards the man hard and fast enough that whiplash was a legitimate concern. You had fully intended to threaten him with a bell collar yet again, but the smile he gave you was so dopey, so damn lovesick that all the fight bled right out of you. Suddenly shy in the face his unabashed adoration, you quickly turned your attention back to the omelet you’d been assembling. A few seconds passed before you remembered the words that had startled you in the first place.

“Keep what?”

“The sweater,” he said, voice sounding from far nearer as he made his way towards you. A few long strides saw strong arms wrapping around your middle and lips at your ear. “Looks good on you.” The sentence was little more than a whisper, a breath of a thing that would’ve went unheard had he not been so close. His nose followed the curve of your ear upwards until he was able to press a lingering kiss to your temple.

Your breath caught and the rose dust that stained you cheeks deepened. The sweater. You’d honestly forgotten that you were wearing it.

You hadn’t felt like wresting yourself back into the restricting clothing you’d worn the night before, but walking around completely naked wasn’t an option you were willing to entertain either. Silly, given that he’d already seen you in naught but your skin, but still—‘leave something to the imagination’ and all that jazz. The thing was big and warm, almost too warm in the heated apartment, and still smelled like him. The V of the neckline and the sleeves both hung down far lower than what was necessary for your purposes; there was nothing to be done about the former, but the latter was quickly remedied with several cuffing rolls. Over the course of you washing, chopping, and whisking the various ingredients those cuffs had slowly loosened—more so on your dominate arm; annoying but expected—and the collar had drifted off to the left leaving the shoulder there on display. Having to constantly shrug the thing back into some semblance of order was annoying, but when a pair of warm lips pressed against the once again exposed skin.

Well.

Tim might’ve thought the sweater looked better on you, but you both agreed that it was at its best left in a careless heap on the floor.

The memory is an old one, but it’s just as warm and vivid now as it was when you made it. It was the first time you had spent the night at his place, and though neither of you actively acknowledged it then, that was the day that you both knew you’d found the ever elusive one. Moments like that could never fall prey to the dulling touch of time.

The sleeves, so used to being cuffed after years of the action, roll into place effortlessly. Joggers are exchanged for a pair of jeans and then you’re swapping out your fuzzy socks for ones not covered in rogue marinara drips. You don’t bother with makeup though you do spare a few minutes to sort out your hair from the messy style you’d thrown it into before cooking. Satisfied with your appearance, you go to your purse and pull out the paper that confirmed what you already knew.

An absentee period combined with the three EPTs you’d taken yesterday was enough to convince you that your body did indeed have a new tenant, but much like your husband you liked redundancy so off to the clinic you went. Two samples later and Doctor Thomas was sending you on your way with a promise to put a rush on the blood analysis, and she’d kept her word. An hour after Tim had left this morning you were getting a fax full of medical jargon about hormone levels and percentages.

You still can’t make heads or tails of most of it, but the gist is clear—you’re going to be a mother. And Tim—your sweet, precious, adoring husband—is going to be a father.

Any trepidation you may have felt over the matter is instantly quelled by just the thought of him alone. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne is the most loving, caring, reliable man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and cliché though it might be, you know that there’s nothing that you can’t face so long as you’re together.

You fold the paper over and tuck it into your back pocket, all the while smiling so hard that your cheeks actually begin to ache. A mom. I’m going to be a mom. The thought leaves you full of a joy that can’t be contained. It manifests itself in the bounce of your walk and the childlike swing of your arms as you head back to the dining room to ready the plates.

You want Tim as relaxed as possible when you give him the big news, not out of fear, but rather so he’ll have the mental clarity to properly process it. Though he does his best to shake it off during his commute, work has a tendency to follow him home; sometimes in the form of actual tasks that still need to be seen to, while others its complaints about the Board and their “–total lack of insight as to how the world actually works.” You have no problem with letting him blow off some steam, welcome it even, as it’s better than him falling back on his old habit of bottling everything up. You’re his sounding board, his anchor, a tether that will always pull him back to calmer waters. To this end you have many methods at your disposal, and at least several of them involve food.

Feeling kind of fancy, you decide to try to plate the pasta using that neat little trick that Alfred had showed you with the tongs and the spoon; it takes a few tries, but eventually you end up with two perfect mounds of spaghetti. Unfortunately this leaves no place for the meatballs except for around said mounds. You place them as artistically as you can, but it still ends up looking like something that could potentially summon the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Eh well, I married a nerd; if anyone can appreciate it, it’d be him. The musing pulls a giggle from already smiling lips.

The salad takes a lot less effort, though you do make a mental note to thank Jay again for linking you to those vinaigrette recipes. Habit has you reaching for wine glasses and a nice vintage, but then you remember the little bean growing inside of you and stop. You’ve heard it said that one glass of wine a day is actually acceptable, but you’re not so sure.

Better safe than sorry, you reason as you fill them with water instead. Though it is something to look up. A fair bit of research is definitely in your future—well, Tim’s more so than yours. The man never braves any new territory without first arming himself to the teeth with every scrap of intel available to him, and you know that your pregnancy will be no different.

With the table now fully set there’s nothing left to do but wait, and so you grab your phone and slump down in your seat. A quick time check tells you that Tim should be home any minute, but you’re too restless to sit idle. Needing something, anything, to save you from yourself you pull up a game on your phone and start swiping. The first few levels you tackle are defeated easily enough thanks to the power-ups you’ve been hording like some techno-centric millennial dragon, but once you run out you essentially hit a wall. A courtesy hour of unlimited lives means you get lost to the menial task, so much so that you don’t even realize Tim’s home until he shuffles into the room.

“Hey sweets,” he says as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “I’m late, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Ten minutes is hardly ‘late’, love.”

“Yeah, but still…”

The exchange is as familiar as anything else in your relationship. Early on in your platonic days you had learned that Tim offering up his time to you was among the most significant displays of affection in his arsenal. Hardly surprising given that between the day job that is his necessity and the night gig that is his passion, there’s not much of it to be had that isn’t already accounted for. Free time was more often than not a concept for the man, not a reality, but he had made it more than clear that what little he had was yours if you’d have it.

The moment his forehead leans heavy against yours you know you’re going to have to abandon your initial plan; he’s clearly world-weary and in need of some good news ASAP. Besides, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you allow a setup as prime as the one he just handed you to pass by. When you retell this story to your future child years from now—hell when you tell it to your family and friends over the next few days—this one-liner will be a distinct a point of quipping pride.

Really, you owe it to you all.

Your lips curl upwards in anticipation of the sentence that will leave people both within and without the Wayne clan face-palming for years to come—

“It’s okay, babe—I’m late too.”

For his part Tim just blinks a few times in confusion, clearly ignorant of the excellence he’d just bore witness to. With his brows draw inwards and a slight pout on his lips he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a puppy; the curiosity that tints the sapphires that search your face for clarity does nothing to dissuade the image. The wide smile you give him is returned in kind, though the arching of a brow is a silent call for an explanation; when all the reply he gets is the folded sheet the second rises to join the first. He gives you an expectant look then, but you just grin and a nod towards the paper in his hand. His gaze is probing as he pulls the thing back to size without breaking eye contact, but there’s nothing of substance to be found in the mirth that dances in your eyes.

“Okay then,” he says on a laughter laced sigh. “I guess I’ll actually have to read this—wait. What is all this? Lab workups… Results…” His mumbles become near silent as he works his way down the page. “Human chorionic gonadotropin levels—hCG, hCG… That’s the pregnancy hormone. And at 7,480 units per milliliter…”

He looks up at you, eyes suddenly glassy as he breathes out your name. “Baby, sweetheart—are you– I mean you have to be… Right?”

You nod hard, not trusting your voice not to crack under the weight of your emotions. Faster than you can process the motion you’re being gathered up and squeezed tight. A flurry of Oh my god’s and declarations of love pour out of him as readily as his tears and your replies ring out in kind. You stay wrapped around each other for several long minutes before Tim finally pulls away enough to look at you. That same dopey, lovesick smile that had brought you to this place in your lives is back as he leans his forehead against yours again.

“We’re going to be parents.” His voice is awestruck in that way that says he can’t believe he’s managed to land on the right side of luck yet again.

“Correction: we’re going awesome parents. Way better than all those scrubs that let their kids run around terrorizing the general populace.”

He laughs even as he shudders. “That’s for damn sure. God, there’s so much to do. How many weeks along are you? For that matter how long have you known? Are you feeling okay? I’m pretty sure you haven’t been experiencing morning sickness, unless you’ve been hiding it from me—you haven’t right? We’re in this together, sweetheart, so–”

You pull him in for a proper kiss then, knowing it’s the only way to stop the deluge of worries and words. He’s resistant at first, still trying to speak even with your lips smushed together, but kneading fingers at his nape sees that nonsense meeting a quick end. It takes a few long moments, but under your expert touch the tension has no choice but to drain away.

“We got this babe. Yeah?” It comes out as a question, but your expression says that you won’t accept any answer other than a solid yes.

“Yeah. We do,” he agrees, nod resolute and voice steady. “So Missus Wayne, what now?”

“Now, we eat, Mister Wayne. Spaghetti Monster summoning charms wait for no man, or expecting mother for that matter.”

#Jason Todd x Reader #Jason ToddxReader #Jason Todd Imagine #Tim Drake x Reader #Tim DrakexReader #Tim Drake Imagine #Batboys Imagine #A little angst #A lot of fluff #It's all good #Nobody asked for this but idc #aspiratinganxiety #((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#This post has been edited for quality assurance.

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 7 years ago

Text

Love For You Ch. 2: Beautiful Birds Will Fall For You

Click Here for the Playlist

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489951/chapters/36154386

Chapter One

Click the OP if the Read More link doesn’t show.

It took everything not to slam the door. Violet crawled into her bed and put a pillow over her head before screaming into it in frustration.

She missed space. She missed the Castle of Lions. She missed Noriu and her nino and Aunt ‘Lura. She missed being somewhere where people didn’t look at her like she was a freak the way they did here. She missed seeing her parents smiling and cuddling instead of yelling and scowling at each other.

And she hated school. She loved learning; she loved math and science. She was smart, and her teachers liked her even if they looked at her with a funny look in their eyes when they smiled. But the kids… they were older, they were mean, and Violet wasn’t even allowed a beanie to cover her ears.

It wouldn’t make a difference anyway. They always yanked her hair to see them. They knew the ears were there and still put their hands on the sides of their heads in imitation, running around calling her names.

She had long since stopped coming home with complaints. The school didn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t. They tried to get the kids in trouble when they were caught, but it only went worse for Violet. And it wasn’t like a teacher could follow her everywhere to be sure every kid said only nice things.

She had tried to fix her ears once.

She covered them in Tia Vero’s make up, but it only made the fur sticky and oily. She tried cutting the fur, but they were still purple, and the fur grew back even more unruly.

One day, she’d gotten really angry. Because the teasing never stopped. Because even her teachers didn’t know how to make her feel better about them. Because the choir teacher didn’t let her try out for the solo because she didn’t want parents getting distracted from the music. Because Dad and Papá had been fighting again about something stupid and she could hear them in their room.

So she’d grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the point of her ear away, figuring if she cut that part, it would heal rounded and wouldn’t grow fur back. She couldn’t even close the scissors all the way before she dropped them and fell to the floor, holding her ear and crying into a towel.

The small cut still managed to bleed a lot, and she cleaned it up with the towel. It stung to wash out her fur, and her entire ear felt sensitive and slow. The other flicked and the one she’d cut just twitched.

Her fathers didn’t know. They hadn’t noticed. She kept her ear under her hair and she’d thrown out the towel. It healed, but now she had a ridge on her ear, not the original pointed tip or even the rounded tip she’d wanted.

It didn’t help that when her baby teeth fell out, her canines had grown back like little fangs. The kids at school ran away screaming and laughing, calling her a vampire. “Stay away, she’ll suck your blood!” Or that for some reason they thought her the Asian eyes she’d inherited from her daddy were hilarious and always pulled at the corner of their own to tease her, calling her “China Eyes.”

She hated it. She hated school, and now, she was starting to hate home.

She fell asleep and didn’t wake up until her alarm for school went off. She took the bus, so it wasn’t hard to avoid seeing her parents that morning. She just had to make it out the door before Dad left for work. She simply knocked twice on the bedroom door and then ran out of the house to the bus stop.

When Violet got to school, there was a new kid sitting next to her. A girl with bright green eyes and freckles. She was wearing a purple dress and she didn’t seem to mind the laughing around her as Violet took her seat.

“Hey, I’m new. My name is Giselle.”

Violet nodded. “Violet.”

“Do you like this class? I’m not too good at science.”

Before Violet could answer, a boy named Victor yanked her hair and said, “Don’t sit with the alien. She’s gonna probe you!”

Violet covered her ears with her hands and looked at the new girl who looked surprised, but not disgusted. Giselle looked at Victor and scowled. “Leave her alone. That’s not how you tell a girl you like her.”

“What? I don’t like her!” he shouted.

“Then why are you blushing?”

Victor stared at her in horror and quickly went back to take his seat, not even sparing a glance in Violet’s direction. “Is that true?” she whispered. Giselle raised an eyebrow. “Well, people mess with me a lot, but you said he liked me.”

“Oh. No. If you like someone you should never be mean to them. But I knew if I made it look like he did he’d leave you alone.” Violet frowned, thinking of her parents for some reason. “Those are cool by the way. Why do your ears look like that?”

“One of my dads is part Galra. It’s an alien race.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled like Violet had told a joke. “I’m for real,” she insisted.

“Okay, I believe you. Cool eyes too. Lots of purple. That’s my favorite color.” She gestured to her new purple backpack, notebook, and pencil case. “Do you probe people?”

“No!”

Giselle shrugged. “Okay. Can I sit with you at lunch?”

“People are gonna make fun of you if you do.”

She shrugged. “So? Wait, do you have fangs?”

“I’m not a vampire!” she said, a little loudly. A few of the other kids laughed, but Giselle nodded very seriously. “I didn’t have them when they were baby teeth.”

“Cool,” she said. “So you got two dads and two moms?”

“Two dads.”

“Your mom died?”

“I don’t have a mom.”

“Everyone has a mom.”

“Not me. My dad is part alien so he had me and I got my Papá. They’re married.” Giselle stared at Violet in confusion. “It’s weird, but it’s true. It happens a lot in space.”

“Space?”

“Yeah, I was born there. I lived on a Lion Castle ship until I was eight and we came here.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying to me,” Giselle admitted. “You’re good at acting if you are.” Violet scowled and crossed her arms, ignoring Giselle. “Don’t get mad, I’ll still be your friend.”

“I don’t wanna be friends with someone who thinks I’m a liar.” And just like that, Violet lost her first and only Earth-friend.

When Violet got home that day once the after school art club was done, she opened the door and didn’t see lunch on the table or either of her fathers. Her dad was usually home by now, and Papi always had a sandwich or warmed up leftovers from lunch ready for her so she could eat something before they started dinner.

She went to her brothers’ room and saw them both fast asleep. As she went down the hall to tell Dad and Papa she was home, she heard the muffled shouting. She heard something clatter and more yelling.

It made her stomach twist to hear them. She could hear the curse words and the frustrated Spanish Papá always slipped into when he got mad.

Aggravated, she went to the back yard and grabbed her staff which she’d brought from the ship. Pushing thoughts of her parents and school in the recesses of her mind, she started to jab and hit. She grabbed it like a sword and began to attack the air, standing like her parents taught her. She tried to remember the routine of training just so something could have some sort of order, some sort of sense and logic.

But she kept tripping. The staff kept fumbling from her hands. The frustration bubbled and Violet growled as it built. The staff clattered again, and Violet felt everything burst. The thoughts of her parents screaming, the thoughts of being made fun of, of being called a liar, of looking the way she did all made her let out a feral growl and she started whirling the staff, attacking the sturdy tree in the back yard with a level of ferocity she never knew she had.

It wasn’t until she felt a pair of arms around her, trying to compress her that she realized how much she was thrashing and screaming.

“Violet, Violet!” Another pair of hands grabbed her face and she saw her papi’s worried expression in front of her. “Shh,” someone hushed in her ear. It was her daddy.

“Princesita,” Lance said, getting her attention again.

And the next thing she knew, she was crying between both of them. Sobbing harder than she had in a long time. The staff was awkwardly bent and it laid beside the tree which had several nicks from the blows Violet had unleashed on it. Daddy held her together while Papá stroked her hair and rocked them both.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were home, pumpkin?” Daddy asked.

“You were f-fighting,” she cried.

They shared a look, something they always did when Violet told them the obvious. “What happened, mi niña?” Papi asked. “Did you get like this just because of us?”

She shook her head. “It’s everything! S-school, and th-there was a new g-girl, sh-she, she thought I w-was a liar, a-and Victor ran away-y from me when she said h-he liked me and then you w-were fighting, I’m s-scared, I’m t-tired,” she sobbed, shaking violently.

“No, no, no, my sweet, sweet girl,” Daddy murmured, kissing her forehead. “Breathe, pumpkin, breathe. Catch your breath. Shh.”

“Wanna go home,” she breathed.

“Home?”

“The castle,” she said.

Papa sighed and enveloped them in a hug. “Come on, let’s get inside. Tell us what happened at school.”

Daddy picked her up and carried her in while Papá made her a sandwich. She wasn’t hungry, though. She was tired and she wanted to sleep until the day was over. It was quiet for a long time. Violet partially hoped one of her brothers would wake up just so she wouldn’t feel their eyes on her, worried and nervous.

Honestly, it made her kind of angry. That they put those faces on and want her to talk when they couldn’t even have a full conversation without it turning into a screaming match. She wasn’t going to talk, even if the redness of her eyes and the gasping, stuttered breaths she took gave her away.

“Violet, what happened at school?” Papá asked.

Violet clenched her jaw. It was quiet again.

“Are you gonna eat your sandwich?” Dad asked. She narrowed her eyes. Quiet. “Violet, if you’re upset with us for arguing, I want you to know that everything is fine. You shouldn’t have to worry about the things we talk about, so don’t let that bother you. We’re your parents, and we’re here for you in anything. You don’t have to get involved in our grown-up conver-”

“How am I not supposed to?” she shouted, banging her hands on the table. “I come home and you’re fighting! I try to eat dinner and you start fighting! I go to bed and I can hear you fighting! And you don’t even try to keep it secret! You fight in front of me, in front of Ollie and Charlie!” She shoved her sandwich aside, fighting a wince as the plastic plate clattered to the floor, standing her ground when Papá stood up from his chair looking angry. “Don’t try to make me feel better with a stupid sandwich! Everything is bad at school, and it’s the same here!” She scampered away and slammed the door to her room, locking it, partially in fear that they’d come to yell at her for yelling, but mostly because she wanted to be able to break without feeling weak for it.

Her parents weren’t bad. They weren’t bad to her. They didn’t hit her or say mean things to her. She wasn’t afraid of them. She was just afraid of all the changes that had started since they got to Earth. She hated seeing them angry with each other when she was used to seeing them so full of happiness.

When she didn’t hear footsteps or anyone at her door, she opened the door slowly, peeking out from between a crack.

She could hear hushed whispers, quick words. She strained her ears, and her good one twitched to find a decent position to listen.

“-what we wanted for her.”

“I know, love, we’re just at a rough patch, but it’ll be okay. We just have to….”

“Have to what?”

“I don’t know. We’ll give her time to calm down. Then we’ll go talk to her.”

She looked out down the hall and found them in each other’s arms, foreheads pressed together. If not for the tears on Papá’s face, she might’ve believed they’d been plucked out of the past. Slowly, she shut the door again and crawled into her bed.

Violet hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her awake. She groaned and opened her eyes to find her dad sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at her. It was dark now, so she must have been asleep for a while.

“Hi, pumpkin,” he whispered. “Dinner’s ready. You hungry?”

Violet shrugged then nodded. He pushed her hair back and gently encouraged her out of the bed. He walked with her to the table where Charlie and Oliver were already sitting, each with macaroni smeared all over their faces.

“Vi-et!” Ollie shrieked. Charlie tried to call for her too, but he started coughing which resulted in what sounded like choking, and Papá quickly gave him a sippy cup of water and snapped his fingers above his head.

She smiled and pressed a kiss on both their cheeks, making them laugh. Then she took her seat and kept her eyes on her plate which had been served for her. A porkchop, some broccoli, and cheesy macaroni. It was one of her favorite dinners on Earth. She just found it hard to eat at the moment.

“You want something to drink, tesoro?” Violet shook her head and started eating if only to keep her mouth full and not have to answer questions. “Amor, pass me the napkins.” Violet kept eating and when she was done, Papá said, “Go take a shower, Vi. We’ll be there to tuck you in when you’re dressed.”

She nodded and turned away. Before she went into the shower, she looked back and saw her parents holding hands over the table.

Sure enough, as she struggled with brushing her hair, dressed in her PJ’s, her fathers and brothers came into her room. Ollie and Charlie waddled around and started playing with her dolls which most of Papá’s family had given her for her last birthday.

Dad and Papá sat on her bed. Papá waved her over and took the brush from her, taking over with gentle strokes. “We wanted to apologize to you, princesa,” he said softly.

Daddy took her hand. “You’re right; we shouldn’t be arguing in front of you. And we’re sorry the arguing has been happening so much. There’s just a lot going on right now.”

Papi started braiding her hair down her back. “And we’re gonna work on that. For you and your brothers. But your dad and I love each other, okay? So don’t you worry about anything. Adults argue.”

“You didn’t do it so much on the Castle,” she whispered.

Daddy hummed and squeezed her hand. “Why don’t you tell us what happened at school?”

As she recounted the day, she started crying again. Her fathers each held one of her hands and hugged her tightly, listening. At one point, Charlie ran over to her and placed a wadded up tissue on her face. “Vi-et no cry,” he said with wide worried eyes. She laughed slightly and hefted Charlie onto her lap as Papi tousled his hair.

Then Ollie tugged at the covers to pull himself up on the bed. Daddy helped him up and Ollie crawled around them to hold himself up behind Violet and hug her. “Vi-et cry, Papa.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered holding Ollie’s chubby little hand in hers.

“Give Violet kisses, boys,” Lance encouraged. Charlie and Oliver each leaned over to press a slobbery kiss to her cheek before they all laughed in delight. Tiny arms wrapped tighter around her and she wondered if maybe things would be okay after all.

The next day at school, Giselle sat next to her again. Violet decided to ignore her. Then she felt something touching her arm. She glanced down and saw a piece of paper with her name on it. Giselle wasn’t looking at her, and just pulled her hand back when she saw that Violet had acknowledged the paper.

Curiosity won over, and Violet grabbed the paper and unfolded it.

Dear Violet with the violet eyes,

I’m sorry I didn’t believe you and called you a liar. I didn’t mean to say that. I hope you forgive me because you’re pretty cool. I’ve always liked aliens so it’d be cool for my first friend here to be part alien.

Sinserely,

Giselle Emilia Clarke

P.S- I think your ears and fangs are super awesome. And I promise to never call you a liar again.

Violet folded it back up and tucked it into her binder, not looking at Giselle. Then she said, “You spelled ‘sincerely’ wrong.” She looked over and saw Giselle smiling widely at her.

“I knew that would make you talk to me again.” Violet rolled her eyes and shrugged. “So are we friends?”

Violet looked over at her and all the purple that surrounded her in her school supplies. Today she had a big, sparkly, purple bow in her hair. She looked like she meant it. Giselle didn’t look at her like the other kids did. The others looked at her with mean smiles and grossed out looks. Giselle wasn’t even looking at her ears.

“Yeah. Friends.” Giselle beamed and nodded, turning forward in her chair. “Sincerely is with a C, by the way.”

“I know,” Giselle said.

That day at lunch, Giselle stayed with Violet and sat with her in the tables outside in a courtyard. She’d started asking about her family, and Violet wondered if it was because she hadn’t believed her at first. She told her about her Papa, Daddy, Charlie, and Ollie. She told Giselle about all of her aunts and uncles from the castle ship, and she told her about Noriu and the space mall.

After a while, Violet got tired of talking. So she decided to start asking her own questions. “You said you liked aliens. Since when?”

“Since I was little,” Giselle answered. “I used to watch alien movies with my dad. I loved Lilo & Stitch. And I loved Home. Those are cartoons though. I really liked the real life alien movies. When I was little, I wanted to be an astronaut so I could meet an alien.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think an alien would come to see me.” Violet smiled and started laughing. “I guess the kids here make fun of you a lot, huh?” Violet nodded. Maybe Giselle noticed she didn’t want to talk about it though, because she didn’t ask more about it. “Do you think I could meet your family one day? They sound super cool.”

“Y-yeah. I can ask my dads to let you come over.”

“Awesome,” Giselle said. “My dad said I could start having sleepovers when I’m eleven, and I turned eleven last month.” Then she frowned. “But this weekend is Mom’s weekend, so I’ll have to ask her.”

Violet frowned. “What do you mean it’s Mom’s weekend?”

“Oh, my mom and dad are divorced.” Violet furrowed her eyebrows. “Like, not together anymore. So I go with my mom on weekends and I go with my dad all the other times. I used to have to go see Mom every weekend, but when she got her new boyfriend last year, she said I could choose what weekends. I know she doesn’t like if I miss a lot of weekends though, so I promised I’d go this time.”

Violet looked at her sadly and then stared at her food. “Oh. Why’d they break up?”

Giselle shrugged. “Dad says Mom did some bad stuff, and then he got a new girlfriend when he was with my mom. They used to fight a lot and I remember a lot of bad stuff from them hitting each other. Then one day, my dad was taking me away and it was a while before I saw my mom again. I didn’t mind though. My mom used to scare me a lot.”

Violet felt something twist in her stomach and she gulped back the panic rising in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay! If I can’t sleep over this weekend, I’ll ask for next weekend!”

***

Spending all day with the twins was fun. They mostly sat to watch cartoons or waddled around the living room, playing with toys. It was painful to see Charlie sick enough to where he didn’t like playing too much, and he mostly spent his time curled up on Lance’s chest.

Ollie kept poking at him, trying to get him away from Lance and back to playing, so Lance intervened and set them both beside him as he flipped through a photo album.

Oliver kept trying to flip to the back, and when they recognized someone, Charlie lifted his head and Oliver called out in excitement.

“Papa! Dada!” he said as Lance looked at a picture from back on the Castle. He and Keith had just started dating, and Keith was covering his face with their intertwined hands while Lance laughed.

He flipped the page and saw more pictures of Hunk and Pidge and Allura and Shiro. Coran had a whole two pages to himself because he’d taken a million selfies trying to figure out how a camera worked.

Then there were the pictures of Violet’s sonograms. Then the picture of Lance holding onto Keith who held a newborn Violet.

Lance remembered the pregnancies with such clarity. The devotion. The protective nature with which he fought as soon as he’d found out they’d be having a baby. The joy of feeling them kick, of holding them in his arms when they were born.

It was so easy then, being with Keith. They’d argued, yeah, about the babies, about the effects of the pregnancies, of how stressed they could get being parents. But it had never been as bad as it was now.

Having Violet yell at them through tears had been a wake-up call. The last thing Lance ever wanted was to have Violet grow up with any sort of negativity. He and Keith had problems, but those issues could be saved for when they were alone or calmer…. Not for a space in which their daughter could hear. He didn’t want Charlie and Oliver growing up with the idea that arguing was a normal thing to have.

Maybe they just needed a break from their lives. A day to be those kids in the pictures again.

As he flipped the page, the door opened and Violet came in. “Well hello, tesorito,” he greeted her. “You look like you’re in a good mood. How was school?”

Violet plopped beside them and smiled widely. “I made a friend. Her name’s Giselle. She thinks it’s cool I’m part alien, and she wants to sleep over. But she has to ask her dad.”

“A new friend?” Lance asked, perking up. As far as he knew, this was her first friend. “Wait, I thought Giselle was the name of the girl you told us about yesterday.”

Violet nodded and dug into her backpack. “Yeah, but she gave me this today.” She handed him a wrinkled paper and he opened it, reading over the adorable apology. “So we became friends.”

“That’s wonderful, Vi!”

She smiled and took the note back. She looked over at the photo album in his lap which Oliver had started flipping through haphazardly. Then she frowned and asked, “Papa, how do people get divorced?”

The question made a dead weight settle in his stomach. Lance frowned and tilted her head over to him. “Why do you ask, pumpkin?”

She shrugged. “Giselle’s parents are divorced. So she takes turns staying at their houses sometimes.”

Lance sighed and nodded. “That’s a long process that has a lot of paperwork. But don’t worry about that stuff.” Violet nodded and stared at the pictures. “You have any homework, princesa?”

“Yeah, I’ll start it in a bit. Daddy worked today?” Lance nodded. “What’s for lunch? I’m hungry.”

“Well, I thought we could go out and get something to eat. What are you in the mood for? Chick-fil-a? Jack in the Box?”

Violet frowned and shrugged. “Won’t Daddy get mad if we spend money on fast food?”

The question rubbed Lance the wrong way for a number of reasons. He didn’t like that Violet was worrying herself about that, he didn’t like that Keith’s stinginess with money made her nervous to eat out, and he didn’t like the fact that Violet might have had a point. Knowing Keith, and especially if he had a long day at work, he’d get angry about spending when he found out.

Still, it was just one day, and besides, Violet had made a friend! It was a cause to celebrate! Keith’s attitude would pass eventually, and they wouldn’t suffer because they spent twenty bucks.

“He’ll be fine, princesa, don’t worry. Tell me where you want to go eat.”

She bit her lip and thought it over. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

“McDonald’s it is,” he answered with a smile. “Y mis prinicpes? Quieren papas?”

“Yah! Papas!” Ollie answered. Charlie nodded, figuring that whatever Ollie wanted was good.

Lance shut the phot album and put it on the lamp table before scooping the boys up and ushering Violet out to the car. He strapped them in and they went to McDonald’s, where Violet got herself a one dollar spicy burger, and the boys shared a Happy Meal.

“Vi, you can play in the jungle gym if you want,” he said, noticing how she glance over. “You want your beanie?” She nodded and Lance dug into he bag of diapers and bottles he had for the boys to pull out her beanie. It had been a gift from Pidge after she found out about Violet getting bullied. They had special pockets to cling to her ears and cover them while the fabric allowed air to pass through so even if it was a hot day, she could still wear it without overheating.

She bounded off to play and Lance watched her from where he sat. Ollie was making a mess out of the fries and Charlie was laying in Lance’s arms, looking like he was half asleep. It hurt to see him like that because Charlie was usually very playful with Ollie when they were home, but ever since he’d gotten sick, he didn’t want to do anything.

“Alright, bubs, time for your medicine,” Lance said, pulling Charlie into a sitting position. “It’s expensive according to Daddy, so we’d better take it.”

Right after Lance had put away the medicine, his phone rang. He pulled it out and answered when he saw that it was Keith.

“Hey, amor. Out for lunch already?”

“Yeah. Did Violet get home already?” Lance hummed in affirmation. “How was her day today? Any more bullies?”

Lance chuckled. “Actually, she made a friend. The girl from yesterday wrote her an apology letter, and Violet said they became friends and hung out all day. They even ate together.”

“Really? Oh my God, really?”

Lance laughed, his heart elating at the sound of joy in Keith’s voice. “Yeah. She came home happy today. And… well, I brought her to get McDonald’s. You know, to celebrate.”

“Oh, Lance,” Keith sighed in exasperation. “Fast food again?”

“It’s a special occasion!”

“Right,” he muttered. “Well, how’s Charlie feeling?”

“He’s fine. I just gave him his medicine, he doesn’t have to take it again until bedtime. He hasn’t thrown up today, and his cough is a lot better. Ollie won’t leave his side.”

“Okay, that’s good. Alright, I’ll call you when I’m off work, babe.”

“Bye, I love you.”

“Love you too.” Keith hung up and Lance put the phone away. “Ollie, go get Violet. Tell her we gotta go bye-bye.” Oliver nodded and trotted off to the jungle gym.

“Vi-et! Vi-et!”

“What?” she called back.

“Go bye-bye!” Violet slid down a slide and Oliver made a waving gesture to tell her they were leaving. “Vi-et!”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “You’re so cute.” She leaned down and pulled him up into her arms as she walked back over to Lance.

“Ready to go?” he asked her. She nodded.

They made their way back to the house and Violet got started on her homework at the dining table. Charlie was put to bed and Oliver stayed on the couch with a bottle watching a cartoon.

Lance kept looking through the photo album, comparing the life they had on the space ship to the one they had now. How was it possible that simply by having bills to pay and family members to deal with, their relationship was straining? He hated how often they argued. He hated how easy it was for him to lose his temper now.

He wanted to go back to how they were on the castle. Happy, relaxed- as relaxed as they could be when they knew they could get called out to a battle at least. They were just… better together. Maybe they just needed a day to themselves.

On the castle, the kids would go with one of the other paladins or Coran, and Keith and Lance managed to catch a break for a while. Maybe they just needed that again. A moment to themselves. To push away thoughts of bills and crying babies and just… be the 28-year-olds they were for a bit.

He didn’t want to ask his parents to watch them because he didn’t want them to know about the arguing. And he didn’t want to ask his sister because she was stressed with the final touches for her wedding.

Hunk and Pidge lived about an hour away. And the kids knew them, missed them because they only really saw them on holidays and long weekends. Hunk knew about the struggles Lance and Keith had at home, and maybe he and Pidge wouldn’t mind watching the kids for a night.

He messaged Hunk, asking if he was free the next day, which was Friday.

Not really, Pidge wanted to stay in. Why what’s up?

I was wondering if you could watch the kiddos so I could have a date night with Keith? Trying to soothe the rough patch….

Yeah, of course man. What time are you dropping them off?

After Violet gets off of school if that’s cool.

Lance sighed in relief and hoped this would help them. They loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They just needed to really be together again. A romantic night and a moment to relax together.

“Hey princess, how do you feel about going to stay with Aunt Pidge and Uncle Hunk tomorrow night?” Violet looked up from her homework in confusion. “I wanna surprise Daddy with a date, but you have to keep it a secret, okay?”

“Oh! Okay!” she said, with a wide smile. “Yeah, I like sleepovers with Aunt Pidge. I wanna tell her about Giselle.” Lance smiled and tousled her hair.

Later that night when Keith got home, he seemed to be especially tired. After greeting Violet and the twins, and giving Lance a greeting kiss, he plopped on the couch and let Oliver and Charlie sit on him.

Lance walked over and sat on the floor, brushing away the hair in Keith’s face. “Rough day?” Keith nodded. “I’m sorry, baby.” He leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he heard Keith sigh contentedly.

Then the twins followed suit and pressed sloppy kisses to Keith’s face, making him laugh until the twins were giggling and squirming around on his chest. “Oh, you boys are getting heavy,” Keith groaned. “Charlie looks better.”

“Yeah. He took a nap and then he’s been running around with Oliver since,” Lance said. “You working tomorrow?”

“Yeah. But I get off earlier. Has Violet said what she wants for her birthday?” Lance shook his head. “How’s your day been, love? These kids didn’t drive you nuts?”

Lance laughed and shook his head. “Oliver was a little fussy this morning, but he’s been calm since Charlie wasn’t feeling well. And Violet came home really happy because of her friend.” Keith smiled and nodded. “Go take a shower. I’ll make dinner.”

“Okay. Violet finished her homework?”

Lance sighed and pulled the twins off of Keith before helping him up. “Violet did her homework, took a shower, and she’s been watching TV. She’s okay. Don’t stress so much.” He pressed another kiss to Keith’s lips and smiled at him. “I love you.”

Keith smiled back and kissed him softly before going to shower.

That night, there were no arguments at dinner. There was no scowl or frustrated sigh at the mention of McDonald’s. Violet seemed content, and Charlie seemed to feel better. The twins easily fell asleep, and once Violet helped clear the table, she went to bed too.

When Lance got to their room, Keith was already in bed. Lance sat down on his side of the bed and stared at their dresser. There were a few things missing, mostly knickknacks they’d gotten from their trip that summer. All because Lance had lost his temper the day before mid-argument. An argument about finances and maturity had ironically led to him throwing his wallet at Keith, screaming about control, but when Keith had ducked, it just made the little souvenirs clatter to the floor and break.

And still, they hadn’t stopped screaming. Not until they heard the screaming of a little girl.

“Hey,” he heard. He turned and saw Keith sitting up. “What are you thinking?”

“That it was stupid to throw my wallet at you yesterday,” he whispered.

Keith sighed and wrapped his arms around him. “Our whole argument was stupid,” he muttered. “But it’s in the past. We can’t change it. We just have to… be sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“We’ve said that before, Keith.” He didn’t answer. Lance looked over at him and pushed his hair back. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered. He shifted and tilted Lance’s face back to him. “Hey. I know… I know it seems like all I do is pick fights about money. But I promise, I’m… I’m trying my best to make you happy. You know that right?” Lance stared at him and tried to find solace in the words. But one night of not fighting didn’t erase the last several months of harsh arguments and ruthless words. “We’re gonna be fine. Because I love you. And you love me, right?”

Lance nodded and kissed him. “More than you could ever begin to imagine,” he murmured. So much that Lance was more than willing to forgive and forget the screaming matches that had taken over their lives to start over, to make things better for his kids and for his husband.

He pulled Keith onto him, loving the feeling of Keith’s weight on him. Loving the feeling of the hands that knew him in every possible way. Hands that could make him come undone so easily. Hands that were strong, and steady when Lance felt he couldn’t be. When Lance’s insecurities caught up and those hands held him together better than anyone else could.

The next day, before Violet was supposed to get home, there was a knock at the door. Lance answered and was surprised to find Hunk and Pidge on his doorstep.

“Guys! What are you doing here, I thought I was dropping the kids off for you?”

“We figured it’s easier for you to just come get them ourselves,” Pidge said. “Where’s our hugs?” Lance laughed and invited them in, hugging them each tightly. “So, how’s being a stay-at-home dad?”

“It’s fun. I like having time to play with them outside and being here when Violet gets home. How have you guys been?”

“Same old, same old,” Hunk said. “Teaching at the Garrison is taxing. I’m not sure if we were that frustrating when we were there.” Pidge snorted and looked at Lance pointedly. “Where are the boys?”

“Oh, over here. Charlie, Oliver, look who it is!” They came rushing to see and Pidge crooned as she bent down to hug them.

“Oh my God, they’re so big! You boys just keep growing and growing!”

Hunk took Oliver and lifted him into the air, making him laugh hysterically. “Aw, man, you gotta visit us more often. Hey, buddy!” Pidge and Hunk made themselves comfortable on the couch, each with one of the twins in their arms. “What time does Violet come home?”

“She should be here in about half an hour,” Lance said, looking at the clock. “She’s excited to spend the night with you guys.”

“And how’s Keith?” Pidge asked, her voice a little more solemn.

“He’s good. Tired from work, usually. That’s why I’m hoping that tonight will help. Take a break, and stuff.”

Pidge nodded. Hunk bit his lip and then asked, “You guys doing okay? You said you were going through a rough patch.”

“Yeah…. We’ve just been arguing a lot lately over everything. Violet’s caught on and it’s taking a toll on her too.” Lance grimaced as he thought of the way they’d found Violet breaking down in the backyard. And of all the other times she’d pointed out their fighting. “That’s why I’m so worried. Neither of us want this for her.”

“It’s that bad?” Pidge asked. “But… I mean… you guys have always picked fights since forever. What… what’s making it so bad now?”

“Yeah, but… before we picked fights over dumb stuff like the word quiznak, or who was a better pilot. When we dated it was about… whether we’d sleep in my room or his. It was always small stuff, or playful. I mean, we didn’t argue yesterday. It was okay yesterday, but it was the first night we haven’t argued in a while…. I just… I don’t know.”

“I’m sure things will get better,” Hunk assured. “It’s still hard getting used to Earth again after all this time, and you guys have kids to worry about too.”

“Yeah,” Pidge nodded. “You guys always get through things,” she said.

Lance smiled gratefully at them and nodded, feeling comfort in the reassurances and hopes.

***

When Keith had gotten off work that day, he had a pounding headache. He hated dealing with the people he dealt with, and he wondered why he bothered with the job instead of just getting a job at the Garrison if he wanted extra money.

Of course, it wasn’t that easy. The Garrison had troubling memories with it. So much of Keith’s life had revolved around the Garrison, and he was free now. He didn’t want to go back. Not if he didn’t have to. Although, he was dealing with ridiculously stupid customers over the phone at the expense of it.

The good thing about his job was that he could take a day off during the week and he was allowed to leave early on Fridays. It at least provided the recovery he needed to be good at his job.

When he got home, he was a little confused at the lack of screaming children and the lack of hugs. Then he was confused at the sight of candles on the table and the food that had been set out with a glass of wine. They didn’t really drink wine. Or use candles.

Then he saw Lance in the kitchen, finishing up serving the other plate, wearing one of his nice shirts.

“Lance?”

Lance looked up and smiled, setting the plate down to go greet him. “Welcome home, mi amor,” he whispered.

“What’s this for? Where are the kids?”

Lance sighed and ushered Keith to the couch. He knelt in front of him and held his hands. “The kids are with Pidge and Hunk for the night. After all the stuff we’ve been dealing with lately, I… I thought it could help if we had a night to ourselves. A date night. So we could just relax and be together and not have to worry about everything that makes us argue.”

“Oh. Oh, Lance,” Keith murmured, pressing his forehead against Lance’s.

Lance sighed again and put his hands on either side of Keith’s face. He looked tired. He looked afraid. “I feel like we’re losing each other. And maybe we’re overwhelmed with the kids and the bills and the family. But I have to know we’re going to make it. We are, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Keith said vigorously. “Of course we are.” Keith kissed him gently. “We have everything we could ever want.” They smiled at each other and Keith felt his affection for Lance swell up in his chest. “What’s for dinner?”

Lance smiled excitedly and stood up, taking Keith’s hand to lead him over to the table. “I made pasta with lemon herb chicken and steamed vegetables. And a chocolate cake for dessert.” Keith smiled and chuckled softly. “What?”

“I just… I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have gotten to marry you twice.”

Lance laughed at that and kissed him again. Then he pulled the chair out for him and proceeded to sit across from him.

Part of Keith was wondering how much Lance had spent on the wine and the flowers, but then he remembered the whole point of the date was to stop worrying. Besides, a little struggle wasn’t going to leave them without food to eat. Maybe just one or two movies they wouldn’t be able to see in theaters.

“How was work?” Lance asked.

Keith wrinkled his nose. “Stressful. But I can handle it. How was your day? When did the kids go with Hunk and Pidge?”

“They left when Violet got out of school. It was a good day. A little lonely without the kids around for a while, but it gave me time to do this!”

Keith smiled and began eating almost ravenously. The food was so good. They didn’t talk much as they ate. It didn’t feel like they needed to. While the silence was unusual, it was also relieving. Lately, their only silences had been when the twins were asleep post-argument. It was nice to have a silence without tension, without simmering anger.

When they were done, they took their wine and sat on the couch, facing each other and laughing nervously like it was a first date. It had been so long since Keith had been alone with Lance and it truly felt like the years were melting away, taking them back to those first few months of dating. Where everything was clumsy and funny and nerve-wracking and exciting. Every touch was new and intense.

Lance’s fingers traced his collarbone and Keith hummed softly at the touch. It was incredible to think that they’d been like this every day at one point. That there had in fact been a time in their lives where nothing called for a fight. And Keith wanted it to last forever.

“I love you,” Lance whispered. “So much, Keith.”

Keith leaned forward and brushed his wine-stained lips against Lance’s. “I love you too.” He ran his hand through Lance’s hair and smiled sadly. “I want to be better for you. Better at handling the parenting, the working, and loving you too.”

Lance sighed and pressed into the hand resting on his cheek. “Oh, Keith. You’re already good at it. You’re the best thing I could ask for. I… I need to pitch in too. I know I’m not the best at managing expenses, and I know that makes us struggle usually.”

Keith shook his head. “I want you to be happy. And I want the kids to be happy. We can find ways to meet in the middle, spend without coming up short on the mortgage. But, that doesn’t matter right now. Right now… we’re not dealing with those things. We’re just with each other, right?”

Lance smiled and nodded, kissing him again softly. “Yeah. Exactly.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“There’s no music,” Keith said with a laugh as he slid his hand into Lance’s.

Lance pulled him up and brought him in close. “Sure there is. Listen.” Keith indulged him and listened, a smile playing on his lips. Lance started humming a song so softly, it was only audible because of the utter silence in the house. “Can you hear it?” Lance whispered. Keith nodded his head, looking into Lance’s eyes.

They were older now, but Lance’s eyes never failed to make him lose his breath. To make him lost and completely hypnotize him with the serenity in them, the absolutely inimitable blue that they were.

It felt beautiful. The dancing was slow, maybe not even really considered dancing. It was just a slight sway to each side with tiny steps to turn in a circle in the middle of the living room. Both just trying not to bump into the coffee table. Both completely enraptured by the hope that came from the peace they felt at that moment with each other. With Lance’s soft voice consuming him, his eyes unraveling him, his hands holding him securely. And receiving that smile that never seemed to age, with that deep dimple, and that slight scrunch of his nose. Keith couldn’t believe it was a smile meant for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d received that same smile.

But that didn’t matter because he was receiving that smile now and that was enough. It was enough to hold on to, to ease his worries and assure him that he and Lance had so many more years of sweet songs and clumsy slow dances and gentle kisses to come. That a few arguments weren’t going to take that from them.

There, in the middle of his living room, in the silence and the stillness that befell them, Keith could feel his entire body and soul falling in love with Lance all over again.

It wasn’t that he’d ever stopped. It was more like a reminder. Like he was falling even more in love. But it felt so fresh and wonderful.

Before Keith knew it, they were in their bedroom, fumbling with clothes until their bodies were lined up and pressed close together. Nothing but the taste of each other in their mouths.

Reassurances of love and renewed promises were mingled with desperate gasps and heated moans. The sound of the headboard against the wall, their own sounds and reactions, the creaking of the springs in the bed didn’t matter because there was no risk of being heard by their children. For the first time in a long time, they were unrestrained and completely feral with need for each other.

Until they laid side by side, panting to catch their breaths. Tired, sleepy, and so, so in love.

It was the most peaceful night Keith had experienced since they returned to Earth.

When he woke up that morning, it was later than usual. There was no babbling from a toddler on the baby monitor, no one waking them up with the sounds of cartoons on the TV. And while Keith missed it, he had to admit he loved how it felt to wake up so late and wrapped around his husband.

He kissed the back of Lance’s neck and sighed deeply as he nestled into him. Lance squirmed in his sleep and turned around, throwing an arm over Keith’s torso. Keith chuckled to himself and kissed his forehead before letting himself drift back to sleep.

When they both managed to wake up and get out of bed, it was only to get something to eat and curl up on the couch together and watch TV.

The whole day, the spent it lounging about, laughing at stupid jokes and attacking each other with kisses and tickles. Finally, by the end of the day, they were supposed to pick the kids up from Hunk and Pidge’s house.

Before leaving though, Keith pulled Lance aside and held his hands tightly. “We’re going to do better,” he promised. “I’m going to do better. And we won’t argue over the same things we always did before. It’s not important. Not when we have what we have.”

Lance smiled and nodded. “We’re gonna be okay.” Keith smiled and kissed him one more time before they got into Lance’s car.

They drove over to Hunk and Pidge’s and by the time they got there, and Hunk opened the door, the kids were asleep in front of the TV where a Disney movie was playing.

“Hey guys!” Hunk greeted, hugging them both tightly. “How was date night?”

“Very needed and very romantic,” Keith said with a smile. Hunk smiled at that and invited them in to sit at the dinner table. “How were the kids?”

“They were good. The twins got mad at each other for a few minutes, but then they were fine.” Hunk shrugged and looked over at the sleeping forms. Then he looked back at Keith and Lance a little more seriously. “Uh, I think I should mention that… Violet was asking about divorces and custody sharing earlier.”

“What?” Keith asked, feeling something uncomfortable roll in his stomach.

“Why would she… why would she ask about that? She already asked me about it-”

“What?” Keith asked, cutting Lance off.

Lance shrugged. “It was about her new friend. She has divorced parents, and Violet was trying to understand it.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” Hunk said. “But she stayed quiet for a while and asked what caused the divorces.” He hesitated and looked at both of them. “Look, I have no idea what’s up at your home. But you’re both very important to me, and now I’m a little worried.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Keith said sharply. “Just a few arguments that got out of hand, but we talked about it.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to do that anymore. We just needed a small break to catch up with each other,” Lance said, taking Keith’s hand. “We’ll talk to her.”

“Okay. I just thought I should tell you. And you guys can always count on us to help out, okay?” Hunk said.

Keith nodded, gritting his teeth. The whole situation was upsetting him. Hunk knowing, trying to help or intervene. Violet having asked Lance about this before, and Lance not telling him. He didn’t want his relationship out for everyone to dissect and criticize, even a close friend like Hunk. And he didn’t want Lance keeping things like this from him.

He didn’t want Violet worrying or thinking about divorces and custody.

“Where’s Pidge?” Lance asked, obviously trying to ease the tension. Keith could feel his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand.

“In the shower. She should be out soon.”

“I’m gonna get the car seats to settle the twins in. I’ll carry Violet,” Keith said.

“Okay, I’ll carry the twins back.” Lance handed over the keys and Keith left.

When he came back and managed to secure the twins without waking them, Pidge came out to greet them with her hair in a towel and an unused toothbrush in hand. “Hey guys! Did you enjoy the kid-free time?”

“We’re not bad parents if we say yes, right?” Lance said jokingly.

Pidge laughed. “Nah, I think that just makes you human. I don’t think you two have a had a night without any of the kids there since we got to Earth, huh?” Keith shook his head. “Well, Violet like the chance to hang out with a girl. We did our nails and everything.”

Lance laughed and nodded. “Yeah, she loves her aunt Pidge. She misses Allura too, but it’s so hard to get Shiro to coordinate a visit. But hey, we’re gonna get out of your hair and get going home before it gets too late.”

Lance picked up one car seat in each hand and Keith went to pick Violet up from the couch. She seemed so much bigger, and it made Keith’s heart clench to think that his little girl was growing up so much. All he could think was that he wouldn’t be able to carry her one day. It only made him hold on tighter. She grumbled and wrapped her arms around him loosely, snoring softly in his ear.

Keith managed to get her into the car and leaned her against Charlie’s car seat before shutting the door softly. He and Lance said goodbye to their friends and thanked them again for watching the kids. Then they were driving back home.

Lance took Keith’s hand and sighed. “Are you mad at me for not telling you about Violet? Asking about divorces?”

Keith glanced over at Lance and bit his lip. “No,” he decided. “I mean, I wish you’d told me, but… I’m upset that she’s even thinking about it. We need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, of course. Besides, she only asked because Giselle mentioned it. You know how much Violet likes to learn about new stuff.”

Keith hummed. “Yeah, but she shouldn’t about this.” Lance didn’t answer. He just kissed Keith’s hand.

When they got home, Lance took the twins in and Keith started to take Violet, but she stirred and opened her eyes.

“Hi, Daddy,” she greeted. “What time’s it?”

“Almost eleven, lovebug. Come on, let’s get into the house.” She nodded and shuffled out, taking his hand as he led her inside. “Need help getting ready for bed?”

She shook her head. “I got it, Daddy.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead as she padded off to her room. Lance came out of the twins rooms a few seconds after and shut the door softly. “Vi’s awake,” Keith said.

“Do you want to talk to her now?” Keith hesitated and shook his head. “We can talk to her in the morning. She’s tired anyway.”

Keith nodded and Lance held his hand out. He took it and smiled as Lance pulled him into a kiss. With Lance’s arm around his shoulders, they went to Violet’s room and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called out through a yawn. “Everything okay?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows when they walked in.

“Yeah, princesa, everything’s good. What, are you too old for us to tuck you in?” Violet rolled her eyes and giggled.

“No, Papa,” she said.

They each went on either side of her and kissed her forehead, wishing her sweet dreams. Keith reminded her that they loved her, and smiled as her eyes fluttered shut again. It was funny how quickly time could pass. How one day he was holding her for the first time, putting her to sleep, and now she was so big and he couldn’t even dream of fitting her in his arms.

Lance tugged on his arm and they left her room to retire to their own. Keith fell asleep quickly once Lance wrapped his arms around him.

The next morning, Keith woke up to the smell of bacon. He went to the kitchen and found Lance and Violet flipping pancakes and the twins in their high chairs eating half of a banana each.

“Good morning,” he greeted, looking fondly at the sight of his husband and his daughter trying to keep pancakes from burning. Lance greeted him with a kiss on the lips and Violet hugged him tightly. Keith went to sit with the twins, chuckling as they each made a mess of themselves with the banana.

As they ate breakfast, Violet told them about how much fun she had at Uncle Hunk’s and Aunt Pidge’s. She told them about funny things the twins did, and about an old movie Hunk had shown her. Keith and Lance listened raptly. Keith couldn’t help but feel his heart swell at the sight of his daughter looking so genuinely happy. He loved when she went into these rambles, similar to Lance in nature. He loved seeing how excited she got when they asked her questions and she got to ramble more.

Finally, once they’d finished breakfast, Keith looked at Lance and then at Violet. “Pumpkin…. Uncle Hunk mentioned that you were asking about divorces.” She looked at them both and then looked at the table, shrugging. “Your papa says it’s because your new friend has divorced parents.” Violet nodded, looking at Keith. He hesitated and smiled encouragingly. “So it’s not at all because you think… we’re going to get one?”

Violet stared at him silently then very briefly at Lance before her eyes settled on her empty plate. Her eyebrows furrowed, but that was all.

Lance gently tilted her head up. Her eyes were starting to fill with tears. “Hey now, por que lloras? We’re not mad at you, mi niña.” She furrowed her eyebrows further and Keith noticed her ears flattening against her head. “We just want to know what you’re thinking. And we want you to know that’s not going to happen. Your dad and I love each other. We’re gonna do better for you and your brothers.”

“And even if we argue, it doesn’t mean we’re going to get divorced, love,” Keith added softly. “But we promise we’re going to try not to argue so much anymore.” Violet nodded and rubbed at her eyes. “We’re not mad, Vi.”

Violet nodded again and sniffed. “I was just scared because Giselle said her parents fought a lot, but they hit each other, and I didn’t know parents could leave each other, so I was confused and scared.”

“Vi-et! Vi-et!” The three of them looked over at Charlie who was struggling to try and unbuckle himself from his chair. “Vi-et no cry. No, no, no, Vi-et.” Keith smiled and unstrapped him, letting him down. Charlie immediately went to Violet and wrapped his arms around her legs, settling his head against her knee.

“Ari, Vi-et, off, off,” Oliver shouted from his own chair. He was kicking and squirming. “Ari! Ari!”

“Is… is he trying to say Charlie?” Lance asked as he unstrapped him. Ollie waddled over and did the same as Charlie, but he wrapped one arm around his brother too. Lance smiled and tucked Violet’s hair behind her ear. “Your brothers love you very much, preciosa.”

Keith gulped past the knot in his throat and took Violet’s hand over the table. “And so do we, my sweet little girl. Don’t be scared, okay? We’re a family. And everything’s going to be okay.”

“Enough heavy topics,” Lance said, discreetly wiping his eyes. “Why don’t we go to the park today? We can get ice pops from the Bon-Ice guy.”

Violet perked up and nodded, getting off the chair and taking her brothers to find their shoes.

A half hour later, they were at the playground and Keith watched the twins leading Lance to the playground, pointing insistently at the monkey bars until Lance figured out that he was expected to help them both on monkey bars… at the same time. Violet was playing with a faux steering wheel, shouting commands like she was piloting a lion.

Then suddenly all three of them were fighting against Lance, toppling him to the mulch on the playground. Charlie was tugging on his hair and laughing. Oliver hit him with tiny fists that Lance pretended hurt, but that only made Oliver laugh and call for Keith with shouts of, “Da-ee, ‘ook! Da-ee!” so he could watch how silly Papi was. Violet meanwhile was shouting in victory, her hair an unruly mess, long since frizzing out from her braid as she tackled Lance down over and over to unleash the twins on him.

“Please, mercy, mercy!” Lance wailed dramatically.

His salvation came when the kids heard the bell of the Bon-Ice guy that sold ice pops. Keith went to buy them some and came back to Lance settling the kids at a picnic table before distributing the snack. Lance and Violet were arguing about who won their little battle, and the twins simply babbled to feel included, adding to the argument with gibberish.

Keith laughed as he looked at his kids and leaned against Lance. He wondered how he got so fucking lucky. He never wanted to let this go.

#klance #beloved #au #vld #post-canonverse #family #povs #violet #lance #keith #space children

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kaoruyogi · 8 years ago

Text

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 3)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content! (Eventually)

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 3: The Whole Fucking Time

Belle was nervous. Not pee-your-pants nervous, but twist-your-gut, nauseous nervous. If the Inquisitor didn’t believe her, or if he didn’t like her from what she’d heard, she’d be tossed out of Skyhold on her ear. A stranger in a strange land. Worse, really. A stranger in a strange dimension. She would be left to fend for herself in a world she’d only had five days about which to educate herself.

She stood still anyway, waiting on a landing on the stairs in front of the main hall. Josephine stood beside her. The Antivan woman’s presence was galvanizing, in a way. She’d been sweet and welcoming from the start, never doubting the veracity of Belle’s story. At least, not outwardly.

Not like Cullen. That man was as outward as they came. Belle wondered if he’d ever in his life had a secret emotion, or if he had ever smiled, for that matter. He was so dour, even after startling her half to death in the kitchen two nights before. He still frowned and glowered and scowled at her as they waited for the Inquisitor’s arrival through Skyhold’s gates.

Cullen was detoxing. She could tell the moment she got close to him that night. He had a heavy sheen of sweat over him that made his face glisten and dampened his tunic. He was up in the dead center of the night while both moons—this place had two fucking moons—were high in the sky. His breathing alternated from deep to shallow in irregular increments, and his eyes held a kind of thick wateriness that shined over pupils that refused to stay one size, but were too large. He stared at her too intensely to be having a migraine and stood too straight to be suffering from the flu. So she settled on withdrawal.

Belle had seen it enough. People who were brought into the station jail for DUI or possession with intent to sell or burglary sweated and panted and woke screaming. Their pupils would be all manner of fucked up while they waited in the lobby for their property, calling her on the counter phone enough times to make her go out to tell them to sit down before they got arrested a second time. Most of them were squirrellier than Cullen, though. His stillness was rather remarkable, if she was honest.

A cheer rolled up from the small crowd gathered by the massive gate, and Belle’s gut rolled up in answer. Why had thinking about Cullen distracted her so? She barely had time to see the Inquisitor ride into Skyhold, waving and smiling to his adoring welcoming committee while the staff strapped to his back swayed to the beat of his horse’s footfalls.

He was a handsome man in the way her brother was a handsome man. He reminded her a lot of Spencer, really. They had the same tawny skin, similar builds, and haircuts that were so alike it was unsettling. But Spencer’s smile was either subtle or tremendous. He had no in-betweens or moderation. The Inquisitor bore a middling smile as he rode in, trained and just toothy enough to make it seem like he wasn’t as tired as he was. The sag of his eyes and the slight slump of his shoulders gave that away.

Belle’s heart ached for a moment at the loss of her brother. Even if he came back home, she would be gone. She had no idea for how long. It might have been forever. The cheery, unfiltered dwarf in the basement with the missing wall and huge waterfall had no clue either. At least she was funny.

Riding in behind the Inquisitor, Belle’s eyes catalogued a beautiful, stern-faced woman, an ethereal looking young man wearing an enormous hat, and an aloof elf with a bald head that resembled an egg. A group of soldiers marched in after them, bedraggled and proud. Their shoulders slouched only as much as their armor would allow. They walked at a steady and calculated pace they no doubt counted off in their heads from time to time. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, t—

Spencer. That tremendous grin that made people fawn over him beamed out from the ranks of those exhausted soldiers. He was tired, but bore an extra spring in his step.

Belle stared at him so hard she thought her eyes might fly out of her skull to see him up close. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her body knew it was him, despite her brain’s screaming logic that no, it couldn’t be. How could he also be in Thedas? What were the odds?

Her lips formed the nickname she’d called him since they were kids. “P.”

Josephine said something about not hearing her, so she whispered it again. “P.” She couldn’t believe she was saying it. She couldn’t believe he was there. Right there. Marching along with a group of soldiers like he’d never vanished off the face of the earth.

“What?” Josephine asked.

Belle could contain herself no longer. She knew it was him. There was no mistaking her baby brother. Her blood. She called his name as much to placate the advisors as to tell him she was there. They were both there. “Spencer!”

That too-big smile dropped and her little brother’s head lifted up, his eyes flitting about, seeking the voice he knew in his bones. Belle was bright enough to stand out. She always was. Her red hair and bleach white skin glowed under the afternoon sun. She lifted her arm anyway, calling out to him a second time even louder, if that was possible.

He froze when his blue eyes landed on her. A young woman marching behind him couldn’t stop counting her steps and collided with his shoulder instead of avoiding him. He didn’t look at her, though. His eyes were locked on his sister. Disbelief adorned his features in the same way Belle imagined it must have colored hers. Spencer stepped out of the rank and file just enough for them to pass by him. He said her nickname. She couldn’t hear it, but she knew he said it. “Bete.”

Belle wasn’t sure when she’d started running down the stairs. She might not have noticed she was if she hadn’t almost nerfed it near the bottom of the steps. All she knew was that her brother was closer every time she blinked. Her eyes and nostrils burned, her throat pressed in on itself. Tears were pouring out. They must have been. There was a coolness across her cheeks she should not have felt. She failed to give even one shit.

Everything hurt when their bodies slammed together. Spencer was coated in armor from head to toe. It pinched and pressed into her fleshy bits. She still didn’t care. They squeezed each other so tight she wondered if she might dent the metal.

She knew she’d gone full ugly cry. Her lips had twisted into a grotesque grimace, her eyes were pinched mostly shut, and her nose leaked its viscous nastiness. It was the kind of cry that would ruin even the most expensive waterproof mascara. Ruin a whole face of makeup, really. Thank God she wasn’t wearing any. Noisy, compressed sobs exploded out of her chest, and they got worse when she felt Spencer’s body shuddering against her. Her shoulder was wet from his tears, as was his, she was sure.

“Oh my God, Belle, oh my God. Oh God you found me. Oh God I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too, P.” Her voice came out in a series of high pitched squeaks. “I found you. I can’t believe I found you. Don’t you ever disappear on me again. Don’t you ever.”

Spencer sniffled and let out a weak laugh against her shoulder. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

Belle pulled back just enough to look at his face. He’d been getting so much sun. His skin had soaked up a deep tan so different from when he’d been stuck on the night shift at the station house. A layer of blackish-brown dirt coated his face and settled in all the creases. His tears mapped clean trails down his cheeks through the grime. His eyes glistened like a fast moving river, clear and cool. His lips were dry and a little cracked, she could tell even when he smiled at her.

“Have you been here the whole fucking time?” Belle felt herself laugh when she said it. It was a laugh she couldn’t hold down. It bubbled out of her in a manifestation of her joy and relief, effervescent as a hot spring or a bottle of champagne. It didn’t matter that she was crying.

“Yeah.” He sort of smeared his hand through her hair to look at her. She hated it when he did that. But she was still having trouble caring. “This thing opened up in the foothills while I was running and grabbed me.”

“A rift-wormhole thing? All green and weird?”

“Yeah. You too?” Spencer asked. Belle could only nod. “Shit. I had no idea space-time anomalies like that were a thing.”

“I’m still not sure they are. Where did you come out?” She wiped her finger under her nose. So gross.

“At the Temple of Sacred Ashes a little ways down the mountains.”

“They told me that’s where I came out, too. Then what?”

“I was all fucked up and confused, and this weird demon thing cut up my chest pretty good before the Commander found me,” Spencer said. “He saved me and put me to work with a sword and shield after I got healed. Hey, did you know they have fucking magic here?”

Belle chuckled through her tears. “Yeah, I’m making friends with a couple mages here. They’re teaching me stuff about Thedosian—” she enunciated the word carefully, “—magic and politics. A lot of weird shit is going on. And I think I may have volunteered myself to be the Inquisition’s attorney.” They shared a strange look and a watery laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I got busted up when I landed, and I’ve been knocked around a little here and there. But they have these kickass healing potions and stuff here, so everything’s been alright. I’ve been looking-a-like—look-a-liking? I’ve been a look-a-like for the Inquisitor. He’s a pretty chill guy, y’know.”

“Oh, he’s fucking ‘chill,’ huh?” Belle hugged her brother close again. “He fucking better be. Otherwise we’re in big goddamn trouble.” She squeezed him tighter. “I love you. And I missed you, bruder.”

“Same here, schwester.” Silly Yiddish sibling endearments they’d picked up from their parents.

“How do you two know each other?” a woman’s deep and accented voice asked.

Belle turned just enough to see the dark-haired, stern-faced woman staring at them. Walnut eyes burned suspicion into Belle like a branding iron. The hard woman bore a deep and old scar on her cheek. The firm set of her jaw suited her somewhat angular features, and chiseled cheekbones made her dubiousness beautiful. This must have been Cassandra.

The Seeker’s stare was as analytical as it was aggressive. It was an expression Belle was becoming far too accustomed to seeing. Everyone had been looking at her like that for days. Trying to figure her out. She understood, to a point. Her unconscious body and belongings had, after all, come falling through a hole that ordinarily spewed out demons—this place also had fucking demons.

It seemed Belle had been looking back in silence for too long. Cullen stepped in behind the Seeker and barked at Spencer. “Recruit Dolan!”

To Belle’s shock, Spencer ripped himself from her arms. He stood at attention and thumped his fist on his chest in salute like a good little indoctrinated soldier. It was worrisome. “Yes, Commander?”

“You heard Seeker Cassandra’s question. How do you know this woman?” The way Cullen said “woman” made Belle want to hit him. The way he said a lot of things made Belle want to hit him.

“He’s my little brother,” she said before Spencer could answer. She sniffled and wiped away what was left of their tearful reunion with the heel of her hand.

She watched with no small amount of amusement as confusion washed over everyone in view. It always had, even back home. Looks were exchanged, and eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, seeking some form of similarity in their faces. There wasn’t any.

Another male voice piped up behind her. “This is your sister, Dolan?”

Belle looked over her shoulder without turning her body. The voice belonged to the Inquisitor. He stood with his arms folded across his robed chest. A half smile played about his lips.

“She is, Inquisitor,” said Spencer.

The young man rounded them, taking a position beside the Seeker. He was a few years older than Spencer, Belle noticed now that he was closer. Slim lines had formed on his forehead from what may have been either persistent skepticism or persistent amusement. Still, he couldn’t have been any older than her.

“You realize that’s rather hard to believe on sight, don’t you?” the Inquisitor asked.

“He looks more like his mother, and I look more like our father. His mother is also a different race than mine was,” Belle said, inserting herself again into the conversation. She should not have been left out of it in the first place.

“Was she an elf or Qunari or something?”

Belle and Spencer snorted in unison. She’d met a Qunari in the tavern, Iron Bull. He was a friend of the Inquisitor’s, and looked exactly like his namesake. He was massive and horned with one eye. He was also one of the first people to greet her with any sort of warmth. He was crass and lewd, and she loved it. He reminded her of some of the cops she used to work with. She didn’t even mind when he propositioned her. She’d been a little flattered, though she was fairly certain that his proclivities were pretty expansive. Despite her curiosity about…things, she turned him down.

It seemed ludicrous, in any case, that Spencer could have been half that. “Race doesn’t mean the same thing here as it does where we come from. Spencer’s mom came from a different part of the world, but she was still human. We’re all humans there. It’s just that my mom was from a paler place and his was from Israel. Kind of like your Rivain from what I’ve read and seen in my five days here.”

The Inquisitor hummed. “But you have the same father?”

“Mmhmm.”

He looked at them again and shrugged, the tilted grin returning to his face. “Alright then.” He reached for Belle’s hand and introduced himself. “Maxim Trevelyan. But please call me Max. And for the love of the Maker, please don’t call me Inquisitor.”

Ha. Another Max. This Max was very different from her paralegal, though. She shook his hand and smiled, grateful for the strange familiarity. “Belle Dolan. It’s lovely to meet you Max.”

“You are too trusting, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. She and Cullen must get along just swimmingly, Belle thought.

“I’m not suggesting we just bring her into the war room and put her to work without asking them both some questions. I’m just accepting that she and Spencer are siblings. Relax, Cassandra.”

The dark-haired Seeker made a disgusted noise that sounded like “ech.” Josephine and Leliana approached with soft footsteps. Josephine laid a delicate hand on Max’s forearm, and Belle could see something between them in the way he looked back at her.

“Perhaps we might begin asking those questions now, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, “if you are feeling up to it.” The sweetness in her tone made Belle want to reach out and hug her.

Max’s half smile turned into a whole one as he looked at his ambassador. “An excellent idea, Josephine.”

The lot of them—Max, Spencer, Belle, Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen—started up the stairs into the main hall. Max beckoned to the bald elf to follow along. Solas, Belle heard him called around Skyhold. He nodded and joined in behind them. They passed through several doors before reaching a midsized room with two windows, a long table, and chairs. It reminded Belle of a conference room. If Belle and Spencer made it through this, she would have to remember where this room was. It was perfect for negotiations. It was sparse, and could remain so for a potentially hostile party. She could also set it up to be more inviting for a friendly negotiation. She chided herself for slipping back into lawyer mode while her actual life was on the line.

Everyone took their seats around the table, with Belle making certain to sit next to her brother. She had not slipped across dimensions to find him only to be parted by something as silly as a conference table. He nudged her with his still-armored shoulder and smiled. She realized she’d had a severe expression on her face and tried to relax her mouth. She wondered if Spencer understood their state of peril. He was smart, but he was still young. He may have been a first responder, but the severity of a situation could often escape his attention. He didn’t have the life experience to fear for his own life like she feared for it.

Questions came in waves from everyone at the table. Belle and Spencer told those present about their lives before being pulled into Thedas. They talked about her mother’s death in a car crash when she was on the way to pick Belle up from kindergarten. They talked about their only semi-religious father’s journey to a temple bereavement group where he met Spencer’s mother, who was mourning the loss of a friend. They talked about Belle “choosing” a different baby brother when her uncle held her up to the window in the neonatal unit. They talked about broken bones and sports and college and career choices. They talked about themselves until the sun set on Skyhold.

Then the questions about Thedas began. “What are your opinions on the Circle of Magi?” Max asked.

Spencer answered first. “Honestly, I haven’t been around that stuff for long enough to have formulated an opinion.” A diplomatic answer, if a bit flippant in his choice of words.

Max looked at Belle, an expert in the diplomatic answer. “Well, from what I understand of the Circle, it seems like a massive human rights violation.” This was not a diplomatic answer. There was a diplomatic answer to the question, but it would have been a lie. Lies would not save her or her brother.

“What do you mean by that?” Cullen asked, his fur having been ruffled by Belle’s response. His fist clenched tight in his leather glove.

“I mean,” she said, glaring at him, “that indefinite imprisonment without a trial, alone, is a violation of a person’s rights. That’s not even considering mass summary execution and lobotomization. That an entire culture of people in multiple nations seemed to accept this as an unquestionable fact of life until recently is baffling to me. And, frankly, nauseating.”

That leather glove creaked. That clenched fist trembled. Cullen looked like he wanted to hurl himself across the table and throttle her. Alternatively, he looked like he was trying not to vomit. “The Circle may not be a perfect solution but—”

“It’s not even a good solution, Cullen,” said Max, cutting the Commander’s statement off at the knees. It was the first time Belle had seen Max angry. “You and I have both experienced the Circle and the terrible things that happen there. You didn’t leave the Order because you felt good about what they were doing, and I didn’t free the mages because I thought we were all just fine under the Chantry’s thumb. I appreciate Belle’s candor on the matter, and happen to agree.”

Belle wished she could have enjoyed watching Cullen get shut down. But a look of profound shame drew his eyes down and away from everyone. They seemed unfocused, like he was remembering something that made him swallow hard. What Max said had touched a sensitive nerve. Perhaps it had dredged up a painful memory. Whatever it was, Cullen had been silenced, and Belle felt a pang of empathy and guilt at his sudden retreat.

The questioning continued for some time. Questions about Corypheus—the bad guy in this scenario, as far as Belle could tell—questions from Solas about what might have caused the rifts that swallowed and transported the siblings—he blustered and speculated, but he had no clue—and questions about their capabilities to be of continued use to the Inquisition. Hours passed, and Belle started to feel the immediate danger to their lives lift and fade away. She mused to herself then that this was the longest job interview she’d ever undergone. The day had long since shifted itself deep into night when everyone decided to wrap up. About fucking time.

“I can’t see any reason why these two shouldn’t be allowed to stay and work for the Inquisition,” said Max. “Can any of you?”

Silent heads shook, and Cassandra said, “I have not heard any lies from either of them, and it seems their interests align with ours.” She added, “For now.”

Cullen remained still and reticent throughout the exchange, though his eyes were once more focused on Belle.

“Excellent,” Max said. His cheerful demeanor belied the exhaustion apparent in his tone. “Then I’m going to declare, or whatever it is that I’m supposed to do at times like this, that Spencer and Belle Dolan may remain with the Inquisition. Spencer will continue his duties under Cullen and in my personal guard, and Belle will begin her diplomatic work with Josephine as soon as both ladies deem it feasible.” He stood. “I further declare that I am going to bed. I will see you all in the morning. Or maybe the afternoon.”

Belle liked Max. She saw reflections of herself in him. She hoped that she would enjoy working with him for however long she was stuck in Thedas. It couldn’t be for too long, though.

Everyone began filing out of the room behind him. Belle stopped Spencer and said, in a hushed voice, “I can’t stay here for as long as they seem to think we’ll be here. We have to go home. I’m going to fucking die here.”

Spencer shook his head, a confused look on his face. “What are you talking about? The Inquisitor just said we were safe and could stay.”

“I know you’re the picture of health, P, but think for a second. I’m not a healthy person, and I have exactly thirty-three days until I run out of my GI meds. Thirty-four until my inhalers run out. And thirty-fucking-two until I run out of painkillers for the shit this place is doing to my neck, back, and migraines.”

“But no one knows how to get us home,” Spencer said. “We have to make do here until they figure it out. Maybe you should see the healers.”

“Or maybe we should push the efforts to get us home and put some pressure on people to focus on it. If herbs worked for this stuff, people wouldn’t have needed to invent powerful chemicals to help me breathe and not vomit every time I ate or rolled on my right side.” Belle was reaching. She knew she was. She was scared. She knew she shouldn’t have been putting it on her brother. It hadn’t stopped her.

He looked worried, and she felt instant remorse at having said any of it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. I’ll go see the healers soon. Are you going to stay with me tonight? I have a whole tower to myself.” She was asking more for herself than for him.

Spencer eyed her for a moment before answering. “Nah, I’m going to head back to the barracks. I don’t need anyone seeing me any differently. It’s better for the unit if we all stay together.”

“Okay, but we’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”

He nodded, and she hugged him tight. He didn’t need her hovering over him, but she wasn’t going to lose him ever again now that she’d found him. Never again. “Night, bruder,” she said into his hair.

“Night, schwester.”

Belle hung back when Spencer left. She just needed to take a few deep breaths before she walked out where anyone else could see her. It had been an emotionally taxing day, and she didn’t want to cry in front of anyone. Nor did she want to make it obvious she had been crying with her nose and eyes getting all red and raw. She stared at the candlelit wooden door, watching the vague outline of her shadow flicker over the oaky grain. She inhaled slowly, counting to four as she did. She held her breath in her lungs, counting to five. She let it out, counting to six. The jumble that was her mind eased with every second.

She was about to repeat the process when a large hand pressed on her bicep. Belle spun and gasped, and hissed out a “Shit!” when she saw who touched her. Cullen stood there with an unreadable expression on his face. She hadn’t noticed that he never followed everyone else out. Bad situational awareness on her part. He’d been silent as she’d shared murmured words with her brother. He’d waited until they were alone to approach her.

Perhaps she should have been worried about his intentions. He had, however, numerous opportunities to hurt or kill her if he wanted. Instead, she suspected he wanted to discuss what she said to him two nights before.

He was silent for several beats before he found his voice. “What did you mean when you said ‘detox’ before?” He spoke low and with a hint of uncertainty. Just a hint.

“It means detoxification. The process of chemicals or toxins leaving the body, usually alcohol or narcotics,” she said. Cullen looked a touch confused. “Withdrawal. When you stop taking something you’ve been taking for a long time.”

Recognition passed across his face, along with a flash of what might have been terror. The second vanished as quick as it came, making Belle question whether she had imagined it. He said nothing. He just stared at her. His lips parted twice, as if he was about to speak but decided against it.

“What were you taking?” asked Belle, breaking the laden silence that hung between them.

Cullen hesitated. Long seconds passed before his answer. “Lyrium,” he said, like it was a secret disgrace.

“Max said you left the Order, and a few people around here have mentioned you used to be a Templar. Did that have anything to do with this?” Belle hadn’t gotten the chance to read enough about the specifics of being a Templar, only what they did in the Circle and the reasons they opposed the mages.

“It did.”

“And I can only assume, because you waited until everyone else left, that they don’t know you’ve stopped taking this stuff.”

“Cassandra is aware. But the Inquisitor…” He hesitated again, no doubt wondering if he should have said anything at all. “I have not yet told him.”

Belle sighed through her nose. “That’s less than optimal. I have no plan to tell him, though, if that’s your concern. But you should, especially if this can negatively impact your work.”

Cullen seemed offended by an insinuation she hadn’t made. “It has yet to.” He was getting hostile with her, as he was wont to do.

She could feel her irritation boiling just below the surface. “Great. Good for you.” Maybe a little closer to the surface than she thought.

His brow furrowed. Deep lines formed there, made deeper by years of similar angry expressions. He didn’t say anything. He just scowled and stared.

“Great, well I’m going to bed. I’ve had a rather trying day. I just found out my brother, who I thought was dead, has been alive and under your impaired command for the past three months. So, pardon me while I go try to digest that information. Oh, but only once I’ve climbed that godforsaken ladder. You have a fan-fucking-tastic evening.”

Belle turned from him and pulled the door open so hard she almost wrenched her shoulder. Obstinate son of a bitch, she thought.

“Asshole,” she said.

*****

#cullen #cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x belle #belle dolan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #mgit #htwwain #modern girl in thedas #self indulgence au

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aliceslantern · 6 years ago

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Beyond this Existence, chapter 14

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

“...I’m afraid I don’t understand whatever it is you’re implying,” Ienzo said.

“The score is mine,” Demyx said. The realization cut his voice in two.

“No, it can’t be. That means that somehow you’d have to be hundreds of years old. Surely you would have recognized it before now. No. I’m sure whatever connection you feel to this musician is just that.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“I wasn’t fully human before.” The pain in his head was worsening. Demyx could barely look at the score without feeling halfway shocked. The runes seemed to shift, become blurry, and like that, become legible to him. He was hyperventilating. He’d known for a while that he was from that time; but it hadn’t felt real.

The memories poured in like a flood, sending white-hot agony through him. He clapped his hands over his ears, as though that would stop the onslaught of color and sound, the battles and enemies and friends (so many friends just lost like that) and Heartless and Darklings and Unions and Foretellers and yes music, music despite everything, music bleeding out of everything, he’d never wanted to be a Keyblade wielder but master had insisted--

He must have screamed. His throat felt hoarse. He was barely aware of Ienzo on the phone, his face drawn, hands trembling with panic. Demyx couldn’t do anything but let the memories batter him, one after another, until he was only dimly aware of the world outside. The pain of it wrung him dry.

A pinprick in his left arm, then a sleepiness. The memories didn’t stop but they came more slowly, like molasses, and the pain remained.

Through this sedated haze he thought he heard voices.

“...So it’s true then.”

“...Yes. It’s true. I’ve studied his DNA myself. You positively would not believe it, Ienzo--”

“And you didn’t think it prudent to ever mention this to me?”

“Would it have changed your mind?”

“...No.”

“Precisely. I assure you he hasn’t experienced that passage of time.”

“...He said he’d remembered something from his past. I did not think it was this . So that means he’s really a--”

“Yes. I worked so hard to make replicas who could wield Keyblades, and we had four wielders right under our noses.”

“But will he be all right?”

“Hard to say. All of those memories, some doubtless very gruesome and traumatic, his heart just healing… we must be patient.”

Demyx wondered if this was what it felt like to drown.

For a long while he felt himself being pulled every which way by memories brighter and more intense than anything he had ever experienced. Dark, chaotic, discordant melodies twined around him, threatening to tear him apart. Pain seared through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel his body. Couldn’t so much as twitch a finger or scream for help. Anything to make it stop, but the waves dragged him deeper and deeper and he couldn’t swim with the music weighing him down--

Death and destruction--hell and Heartless--people falling and falling and falling until it seemed like there were more Darklings than people. It seemed like every friend he made disappeared; vanished, killed, or straight up abandoned. He never wanted this. Never wanted the Keyblade. Didn’t believe in their cultish prophecies until they willed them into truth. They called him a coward for not embracing his heritage. Then a woman in a pink robe offered him a second chance, a chance to escape to a better world. She called him his name. They all did. Each and every time it felt like getting stabbed. These did not feel like his memories, such as they were. They were so vivid and yet so disembodied at the same time.

If he so chose, he could let go, could slip under this riptide of memory. Even was right; his heart couldn’t take all the strain. Nearly twenty years of trauma battered him, etching him like acid. On some small level he knew he should want to fight it. For this new life. For Ienzo. But how could he ever bear up against it all? He’d never been strong. He’d just been lucky. It would be easy, like going to sleep. And he was so tired.

Slender arms grabbed him in the water of memory, and heaved.

A beach. Moonlight. Coarse sand and seawater in his mouth. He coughed and spat. His skin felt raw from all the salt.

In it all, a voice that should not be there. “Are you alright?”

He looked up. Ienzo crouched next to him in the sand. He too was soaked, dripping, breathing hard. None of this should feel real, and yet it did. “Ienzo?”

He nodded. “Yes, Demyx, it’s me.”

“What are you doing here? How--” A harsh cough choked him off. Ienzo patted him on the back.

His eyes were bright and urgent. “My power brought me here.”

None of this was making sense. Zexion had power over illusions, but that didn’t mean he could actively get within memory. “Your power? I thought you didn’t have any--”

Ienzo held something out to him. A book. It was the lexicon, and yet not it at the same time; it was slimmer, a different color. “I’ve found it. My power as Zexion let me bring people into their memory. It only seems natural that as Ienzo I can bring people out of it.”

“It’s different,” Demyx said. “Still, you’re in my head--this is weird.”

“I’m sorry. I… I was trying to help.” He looked out towards the sea. “You could’ve drowned. You were drowning. I could feel your heart there, so tenuous--”

“Memory,” was all he said.

“I know who you are,” Ienzo said. “Even told me. But I saw, too.”

His breath hitched. “I tried to tell you--”

Ienzo touched his face. He felt something like a shock. Somehow or another, this was Ienzo’s very real consciousness, and this was all some kind of very weird mixture of illusion and memory. “I know. You couldn’t’ve. I’m not mad at you.”

Even though he was out of the water, he could feel the pain rising again. “So much pain they tried to hide from us,” he said brokenly. “They did a shitty job. I can see everything that happened . ”

“Xehanort?”

He swallowed thickly. “The Foretellers.” His lip twitched. Ienzo drew him into his arms and Demyx started to cry.

Ienzo jerked away like he’d been shocked.

“Ienzo? What’s--”

His nose was bleeding. He touched it with a shaking hand. A steely resolve masked the fear in his eye. “Come back with me. Quickly. We both have to wake up.”

“You’re bleeding--” What did that mean in this context? Nothing good, for sure.

“My power, it’s…” He trailed off. He grimaced, holding his head tightly.

“You’re burning out.”

“Worse. I’m…” A whimper broke through his gritted teeth. “This is power I’m not supposed to have.”

Thick anxiety pushed against the pain. “Shit, shit, shit. Okay. Um.” He pinched himself hard. “Fuck, why did I think that would work? What do you normally do?”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Demyx blinked. “This is probably really stupid but I can’t think of anything else--” He cut himself off and kissed Ienzo square on the mouth, blood and all.

And woke up.

His bedroom seemed piercingly bright, and his ears were ringing. Adrenaline made him shake. A warm, clammy hand held his, but it was limp.

Ienzo sagged towards the bed. His nose was bloody here as well; much more bloody, actually. He was breathing in a heavy, labored way and groaning a little.

Demyx sat up, dizzy and alarmed. He grasped Ienzo’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said roughly. “Hey, Ienzo.” Demyx checked his pulse. It was weak, erratic. He all but fell out of bed and lay Ienzo down. “Wake up. You have to--”

He needed help. His throat had sealed shut. He patted Ienzo’s pocket, dug out the gummiphone, dialed Even. Closer was always better. “I need help.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Even, I need--”

“Demyx?” Even was more confused than anything. “How long have you been conscious?”

“I think Ienzo’s dying and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I’m coming. Stay on the line. Put it on speakerphone, do you know how to do that?” Quick, matter-of-fact.

Demyx looked at the bright screen.

“It’s a phone icon with sound waves.”

He pressed the button and set the phone aside.

“What happened?” Even asked. Demyx could hear items being rattled, cupboards opening and closing.

“He found me. In my memory. I don’t know how, but he--he said he wasn’t supposed to have that power.” He heard the sob in his voice more than felt it.

Even swore. “No. He isn’t. There’s a reason humans don’t control the elements willy-nilly. What are the symptoms?” He sounded slightly out of breath.

“He’s having trouble breathing. His pulse is really fucked up. His nose is bleeding and it seems like he’s in a lot of pain--” Another sob cut through Demyx. “I’m sorry, Even.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“Why is this happening?”

“Power like that comes from the will. It can only exist without the presence of a fully realized heart--otherwise, it’s too much power. Hence why Nobodies can use it as a defense mechanism. At that point, entropy starts wreaking havoc on the body. Your cells literally start to break down and melt. The will to live starts to wear down.”

“Ienzo…”

“I’ve messaged Aerith. I don’t think my skills are enough. We must keep him alive until then.”

His pulse was getting stranger and more erratic still. Weaker. The strained breaths stopped. Demyx touched Ienzo’s face. “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“Demyx?”

“He’s not breathing.”

“I need you to start doing compressions. Hard. We can fix broken ribs.”

Tears clouded his vision. The cool wetness of Ienzo’s blood made him shudder, but he did as he was told, forcing Ienzo to breathe. Forcing his heart to beat. “Why would you do this? Why didn’t you let me drown?”

Even burst through the door. His eyes were bloodshot. He took a syringe of something and jabbed Ienzo in the arm. Demyx’s arms ached, but he couldn’t stop moving. Or crying, for that matter.

Time moved weirdly. It could’ve been a half an hour or five minutes before Aerith was barrelling through the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder.

“You should go,” Even said.

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You are in far too much distress to be a comfort to him.”

“But what if he--”

Even seized his upper arm and pushed him out of the way. Aerith slid into Demyx’s place, whispering spells. He sat out in the hallway. His head and heart were pounding and he shook all over.

Demyx felt frozen in place. He couldn’t feel or think or move. The next thing he was aware of, Aeleus came by and gently heaved him up by the elbows. Demyx didn’t know how he knew. Aeleus guided him to the kitchen, sat him down, and wiped the blood off of his hands with a damp cloth. He made him tea and waited for him to drink it. Demyx couldn’t taste anything and could only feel the warmth. He was then shepherded into the sitting room, sat on the couch, and an unfamiliar wool blanket was draped over his shoulders. Aeleus sat on a chair opposite of him and began piecing together a puzzle.

Dilan ran into the room. “What on earth is going on?” he asked breathlessly. “All of a sudden that woman is barging in here like she owns the place--”

Aeleus held a finger to his lips.

Dilan looked towards Demyx. “You’re awake,” he said.

Demyx tried to curve his lips around the words, but couldn’t.

Dilan approached him slowly. “The boy is in shock. Shouldn’t we get help? Ienzo would probably know the most about such psychological--”

Aeleus fit in a piece with a soft click. He shook his head. Dilan turned very pale, then red, and then he went back down the hallway to investigate it for himself. When he came back, he said, “Demyx’s return had a price. But why? Why would he--”

Demyx’s breath, through his teeth, sounded like a hiss.

“He loves you,” Dilan said with a sigh. “Of course.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know I’m not good enough for him.”

Aeleus set the puzzle piece down. He touched Demyx’s shoulder and shook his head. “That is not true.”

Dilan seemed to be struggling. After a pronounced moment, he said, “We really don’t know one another, do we?” He sat down next to Demyx on the couch. “However were we to know about your past?”

“I didn’t know either,” Demyx mumbled. “I guess Even spilled the beans.”

“You really do have a Keyblade?” Dilan asked.

“Yeah. I do.” His voice was hollow. A snarl of memories, like a scare chord, stabbed him behind the eye.

“I can only imagine what that time was like.”

“Well, it was no fucking walk in the park, I’ll say that much.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aeleus fit in a few more pieces.

“It’s why he kept you,” Dilan said softly. “And why he wanted you back.”

Demyx nodded. “If it weren’t for the Keyblade, I would’ve been dead a long time ago. So that’s why they made me join.”

“Surely you could’ve chosen--”

“Chosen what?” Demyx cocked his head. “I was a kid, a kid who couldn’t remember shit, and then a nice man offered me a chance to understand. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to know it was all a lie?”

Dilan blinked.

“Look. I get you don’t like me, or whatever, and that’s fine. But I don’t need anyone moralizing at me anymore. I get it. I know I fucked up. Okay?”

“I never did say I was better than you,” Dilan said with a scowl. “Do you think I do not comprehend what it means to prey on the vulnerable? To be manipulated? For Xehanort, we were both. And then becoming Nobodies drew out our worst selves. Like poison. So no, I do not know who you are. Nor do you know me. Don’t you think it would be worth something, to try and fix that?”

Demyx stroked the hem of the blanket. Slowly, he nodded.

“I don’t even know your name,” Dilan said.

“I’m not going to change it,” Demyx said. “Even though I know it now. A lot of really crazy shit happened then. I’m not that person anymore. I mean. I guess I am. I am but I’m not. I literally woke up like an hour ago. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Such is the only constant of this existence,” Aeleus said softly. “There is always a struggle within. Ours just happen to be… exacerbated. Yours especially.”

“Indeed, how does one even begin to face that struggle,” Dilan said. “It is intense when one is young, but you are also pliable. The rest of us… not so much. It’s harder to learn to live at thirty-five than at twenty.”

“Do you want to be better?” Demyx asked.

Dilan hesitated. “I suppose I do.”

“You have to think about it constantly,” he said. “And then it becomes habit. At least that’s what Ienzo--” He pressed a hand over his mouth.

“How is he?” Aeleus asked.

Dilan looked away. “They would not tell me. But I--I assume if the news was truly terrible, I would have heard that much.”

Under his blanket, Demyx trembled, though it had little to do with the cold. “This is my fault,” he said. “If it wasn’t for me he’d be fine.”

“You are not at fault,” Aeleus said.

“He overextended his power for me,” Demyx reasserted. “To save me, and I--”

“Take a breath,” Aeleus said.

Demyx tried to obey. His chest was tight. He didn’t think it was possible to be so numb and yet so panicked at the same time.

“...You truly care for him?” Dilan said.

“Of course I do. More than anything.”

“In that case I owe you an apology.” He sighed. “Perhaps you and I should start over.”

Demyx nodded a little.

“Would you like to help me?” Aeleus asked. He pushed over the box of loose puzzle pieces. Demyx had just picked up one of the tiny pieces when they all heard footsteps.

Even looked frazzled, his eyes bloodshot. “He’s stable,” he said in a low voice. “Aerith is with him now.”

“What exactly happened?” Dilan asked. “Demyx said something about overextending his power.”

“As far as I can tell--and it’s still early--that’s the case.” He clutched the back of a chair, the veins visible in his hands. “We’re not meant to truly have access to our elemental power. It’s an essence of the self, a projection in the absence of a heart--weapons are another mystery. By trying to regain it, however lightly, the entropy of a Nobody’s nonexistence began to eat away at his organs. Particularly his heart.”

“...The organ?” Demyx asked numbly. “Or--”

“We’re not sure how his metaphysical heart has been affected. But I have to learn to relinquish control when something’s out of my hands… and it is. Aerith is healing the physical damage. He’s asleep right now. Ansem is with him too.” He met Demyx’s eyes. “Might I have a word with you?”

Demyx tightened the blanket around his shoulders and followed Even out of the sitting room. He was brought through a door he had only seen closed before; it was an apartment, like Ansem’s, though far smaller. It was neat as a pin, though barren of any real mementos. A spare lab coat hung on a hanger on the heavy mahogany wardrobe. A pale green chaise and pair of chairs were around an empty table.

Even gestured for him to sit. “Can I get you some tea? Something to eat?” The hospitable tone of his voice was off-putting after so much harshness, and Demyx began bracing himself.

“I’m not hungry--”

“You’re going to need your strength.” He reached into a cabinet above a hot plate and pulled out a tin of biscuits. He pushed the open tin in front of Demyx like he was trying to feed a feral cat. He stood in front of him and started to take Demyx’s vitals. “Slight fever. Blood pressure low. Eat something. It’ll help. We should probably try to get some more caffeine into your system too.”

“Did you lie to Aeleus and Dilan?” Demyx asked.

“Not technically.” Even shed his lab coat. The clothing beneath it was plain and a bit shabby, and more than that conservative. Unconsciously, Even tugged the turtleneck he wore a bit higher up on his neck. He sat across from Demyx and crossed his legs. “I need to gather more information about the situation. And considering the extreme… delicacy of the situation, I figured you’d rather have some privacy.”

Demyx shuddered a little and dropped his eyes. He looked at the sad crumbly biscuits in the box. He considered eating one just to avoid talking. “How is Ienzo really?” he asked dully.

“The picture I have is not clear.” He put a hand to his head. “As I said, use of his power wrought havoc on his internal organs. There’s a good deal of internal bleeding, as well as kidney failure. But the most concerning of these things was his heart. I’m not sure yet for how long or when, but use of his power stopped it from beating. Not… death, exactly, but a type of sleep very near it. Something impossible to maintain without intervention. So, naturally, once he tried to wake back up, he went into shock.” Even paused. “Have your eyes always been so green, or am I just getting old?”

Demyx cocked his head.

Even shook himself. “Can you tell me what you recall from earlier yesterday afternoon? Do you remember anything?”

Demyx exhaled. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said. He explained that they’d been working, that he’d realized the ancient score was his. “I just… started remembering. Everything about my life then started coming back, wave after wave after wave. There was just so much pain. I felt like I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t . And then… well I don’t know how. But he got into my head, literally, and dragged me out of the memory. And then I woke up.”

“...Fascinating,” Even mumbled. “Zexion always could use the memories of others to create illusions. But to actively be able to alter them…” He clucked his tongue. “If he’s closely bonded to you, it makes sense that he was able to do so. Naminé was only able to alter memories of those in and around Sora. His power must have functioned similarly.”

“He should have left me there,” Demyx whispered.

“I believe his friendship with Sora has given him something of a hero complex.” He uncrossed his legs. “Nonetheless, you deserve to live too. I have been too harsh with you. I always have.”

“I wasn’t exactly a good person then.”

“No worse, I’m sure, than I. The complex dynamics of the Organization involved quite a lot of groupthink. It was easy to blame you as the source of our problems. The truth is more nuanced than that.”

“The Organization was all I knew at the time.” He was feeling genuinely cold now. “I still wanted to be free. But I didn’t want it enough to make the effort of fighting worth it. So I made do.”

“As one does.”

“It’s okay.” Demyx sighed. “Dilan and I agreed to start over. Maybe you and me should do the same.”

Even nodded. “Second chances involve quite a lot of forgiveness,” he remarked. “But perhaps we all have more common ground than we think.”

He had a point. All of them had been brutalized and traumatized; Demyx and Even, specifically, were the only ones to have been made vessels twice. Demyx still didn’t remember why he’d done it, or if he’d even had a reason. The disorientation of those first few minutes (and it only had been a few minutes) as a human made everything fuzzy.

“I understand you’re still in shock, and naturally are very worried. But will you tell me about your past? I can only imagine what this must all be like for you.”

“Shock is right. I feel numb.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“I want to see him.”

“I don’t know if that is necessarily the best for either of you at the moment. Believe me. We will keep an eye on him. Sleep might help you get some clarity.”

It was odd to see Even looking at him for so long without malice. Something inside Demyx was getting ready to give way. “What I’d like to do is take a bath. I’m so cold.”

“Then by all means.”

He left. Started filling the bathtub. At least the water was hot. He meant to undress quickly, to spare himself the chill, but he accidentally caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was exactly like looking at a stranger. Everything was in the same place and was the same shape, yet the sensation of being himself-and-not was unshakeable. His eyes were more green, his hair more brown. He gathered it in handfuls. How was it that he hadn’t had a haircut the whole time he’d been human, yet all the remaining wisps of blonde were gone as though they’d been dyed?

This is me. This is my body.

It did not feel that way. His old and new memories crashed up against one another, filling him with remorse and bitterness.

He whispered the old name. A painful lump in his throat made it hurt to breathe. He slipped off the remaining clothing and submerged himself fully, the world above rendering into bluish ripples. The tension seemed to rise within him until he had no choice but to scream into the water, where the sound was mercifully muffled. Demyx came up for air.

“It’s okay,” he said to himself. “It’s okay.” Over and over again. Like a mantra. I’m going fucking crazy. No, this was just shock. Warm water ran down his face. He could not tell if it were water or tears.

He stayed in the water until it started to cool and then scrubbed himself down, as if to physically get rid of the bad memory. Demyx crawled into bed and breathed.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #mind fuck #mind horror #ptsd

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