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theherocomplex · 5 years ago

Text

Unsent, Unsung, Unknown

Summary: Five letters Julian never sent, and one he did.

Rating: Teen.

Word Count: 6700.

Notes: Hey @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel! I was your gifter for the @fieldsofvesuvia exchange, and definitely possibly went overboard with your fic! I hope you enjoy it, and all the weird and subtle ways I worked in your flower choices (or at least their themes!).

I’ve always wanted to write a 5+1 fic, and this gave me the chance! It was a lot of fun to experiment, and to write a fic that was very much about Julian, without him ever actually being the POV character.

A slippery boy, through and through.

Content warnings for blood and injury mention, as well as medical treatments and references to off-screen violence.

Read on Ao3!

**********

Letter I: Pasha

(A crumpled bit of parchment found stuck to the Nevivon signpost after a heavy rain; the writing upon it is a messy, exuberant scrawl.)

My dearest, littlest sister,

Well, by now you know I’m gone, and are probably furious with me for leaving without saying goodbye. But — I left so early, and had so far to go, and besides, last night was so much fun I’d rather leave that as our goodbye. The way you kicked Bert’s ass in the footrace — I haven’t laughed that hard in years. He’ll be pouting for ages.

And before anyone makes you feel bad about winning — don’t. He deserved it, especially after the way he broke your sling last year. Little shit, that’s what he is, and don’t you forget it.

Now — I don’t know when I’ll be back, Pasha, but it might be a long time. I’m going to be a doctor, and they have to train for years and years just to pass the apprenticeships — and I’m going all the way to Prakra, because that’s where the best doctors train, and that’s what I’m going to be. The best. I want to help people who are hurt, and broken, and I want to make them laugh while I’m helping them, the way we always made each other laugh.

I’m sorry, Pasha. I left early because I knew you’d want to come with me, and — and you can’t. Not this time. It’s not going to be safe and I can’t let anything happen to you. And I knew I couldn’t say no if you asked me, and then Grandma Lilinka would have my head and then what kind of doctor would I be?

I’m sorry. You can hate me, I’ll understand. But I’ll be back, once I’m a doctor, and by then you’ll probably have taken over as Mazelinka’s first mate. I’ll be your ship’s doctor, and we’ll never stop sailing. No storms can stop us this time.

Keep Nevivon safe for me while I’m gone, all right? If you can’t reach their eyes, aim for the knees.

All my love,

Your big brother,

Ilya

***

Pasha didn’t cry, not when she tripped going down to the baths and knocked out her front four baby teeth in one whack. She didn’t cry when Bert and Abbott stole the glass beads Mazelinka gave her for a birthday present, and she didn’t cry when she woke up from nightmares about the ship going down underneath her, and losing her grip on Ilya’s hand.

So she wasn’t going to cry over her stupid big brother leaving, especially not when he didn’t even leave a note for her to tear up and stomp on when he was gone.

“He always does this,” she said to her porridge bowl, while Grandma Lilinka pottered away at the oven. “He always leaves me behind and tells me he wants to keep me safe, but really he just doesn’t —”

She bit her lip. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Maybe that was a good thing, because the end of the sentence was really he just doesn’t want me around — and if that was true, then it would mean all the good times they’d had, all the mud fights and playing pirate and building forts, was just Ilya faking it till he could get away from her. It would mean she really didn’t have anybody.

Grandma Lilinka turned away from shaping the day’s bread, and clucked soothingly. “There, Pasha, sweeting, come here and help knead the dough.”

“No.” Pasha shoved her bowl away. “I don’t want to make stupid bread, and I don’t want to do stupid chores, and I don’t want — I didn’t want to go with him, either.”

Oh, no. She was going to cry, like a big baby, and she’d get all red and huffy and then everyone in town would know she was crying because stupid Ilya left without saying goodbye.

Pasha ground her fists into her eyes to press the tears back in, but they snuck out, scalding hot, and all she could hear was Ilya laughing — laughing because he’d finally left his baby sister behind, and could do whatever he wanted.

Warm, yeast-scented arms wrapped around her. “There, sweeting.” Grandma Lilinka kissed the top of her head, and finally Pasha gave in and sobbed into her soft shoulder, clutching at the straps of her apron. “I know. I know it hurts. I — I miss him too.”

A soft shudder of breath, and then Grandma Lilinka made a funny noise, almost like she was crying, too. “That damn slippery boy,” she muttered.

Pasha gasped, leaning back. “That’s a bad word,” she said, stunned out of her tears for a moment. “Grandma!”

“Oh, that’s hardly a bad word, Pasha,” said Mazelinka, appearing at the open window. “I could teach you a few much worse, and far more appropriate for —”

“Maze.” Grandma Lilinka wagged a finger while she wiped her eyes. “Don’t you dare.” Then she made a quick gesture with both hands Pasha couldn’t quite follow, and Mazelinka shook her head once.

Always talking like I’m not here, Pasha thought to herself, while tears burned in her eyes again. Just like Ilya, even if they didn’t leave. Everyone thought she was just a baby.

Well, she wouldn’t be a baby forever. Someday she’d be all grown-up, even older than Ilya was now, and she’d go find him. And then she’d twist his ears, and tell him off for leaving behind his sister for her own good. She’d have her own adventures along the way, just as amazing as his, or even better, and she could brag about them when she saw him again. It’d serve him right, not to be the center of attention for once.

Someday, Ilya, she thought, while Grandma Lilinka opened the door for Mazelinka. I’ll catch up to you, and you won’t get to leave me behind again.

**********

Letter II: Nazali

(Expensive stationary, made from linen instead of paper; the ink upon it is a bright, confident crimson. The writing is precise, as if it were practiced many times. The letter was found at the bottom of an otherwise empty satchel, thrown from a bandit wagon and abandoned on the road outside the city.)

Doctor Satrinava,

Greeting and salutations! I hope this letter finds you well!

Allow me to introduce myself: I am Ilya Devorak, an aspiring student in the field of medicine, and after hearing your name mentioned as one of the leading healers in all the world, I knew I had to write to you and ask for — no, beg — for a position as your apprentice.

I have traveled the world for some time now, and have gathered no little experience in herbs, poultices, wound care, and the preparation of corpses. In Nevivon, the humble town where I was raised (known for its salt and its formidable grandmothers), I was famous for my neat stitches, and for my treatment of the common cold.

No doubt it is not common practice to apply for an apprenticeship without copious references, but I fear my earthly wanderings have left me without much recourse in that field. I therefore ask you, with all due respect, and with great hope, to take me on as your apprentice, and impart your wealth of knowledge unto me.

As I am lately arrived in Prakra, I humbly ask that you send your reply to the Dingy Dove Inn, where I currently reside.

May your scalpels be swift, your gauze ever-pristine, and your hands forever steady!

Yours most cordially,

Ilya Devorak

***

“It’s hot as blazes in here, princess,” said Clesotis. “Want me to bring up more ice?”

“Yes, fast as you can — and it’s doctor, not princess, while I’m in this tent.” Or anywhere, Nazali thought, though they said nothing else while Clesotis hurried away. The patient on the table before them groaned and tried to sit up; they pushed the woman gently back down with a hand against her chest.

“Not so fast, my friend.” Nazali reached to their left, and felt Misha press a threaded silver needle into their hand. “You sit up again, and I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

The woman made a choking noise Nazali assumed was a pain-muddied laugh. “Oh?” She licked dry, chapped lips. “And what would come next?”

“Your internal organs very quickly become external, and you would very quickly become dead.”

Another awful rattling sound. Nazali began to sew, hardly feeling it when Misha wiped their forehead clean of sweat. “I may be dead regardless, doctor,” said the woman. “That scimitar — damn me for not seeing it coming, I almost deserve this —”

“No one deserves this,” said Nazali, absently. The wound was a vicious curve from hip to rib; even if the patient lived, she’d never fight again. What wouldn’t I give for a mage-healer right about now, they thought, as the thread ran out. “Just lie still. Halfway done, you’re doing marvelously.”

A commotion broke out behind them, toward the front of the tent. Nazali heard Clesotis’ voice raised in a yell, and someone unfamiliar yelped and began to apologize.

“A new crisis?” said Misha. “Should I —”

“Stay right there, and hand me the bowl of — no, the one with the blue gauze that smells of mint. There, yes.” Nazali squeezed out the gauze pad and gently, gently cleaned the neatly-stitched wound before winding dry, tooth-white gauze around the patient’s belly. The woman shuddered, eyes rolling back in her head, and with a quiet sigh, passed out.

“Well, that’s for the best.” Nazali straightened up, blowing sweat-damp clumps of hair out of their face, and grimaced at the blood drying, heavy and sticky, on their fingers. “Get the porters, Misha — she can be moved, but I’ll want to check on that dressing in an hour or so. No drinking for now, but she can have ice chips and —”

They never got to finish the rest of their instructions; the curtain hanging in the doorway of the operating room flapped open and what seemed like several miles of arms and legs entered. Nazali thought of a spider, and then of a lobster, as a massive amount of red hair followed all the limbs.

Huffing and grumbling, Clesotis appeared behind the new arrival, clearly furious. “Sorry, prin — doctor, but I told him you were busy, and he insisted, said you’d got a letter from him about an apprenticeship?”

“Well, ah, I may have exaggerated a bit, actually, as it turns out.” A young man formed from all the hair and limbs, sunburned and twitchy and too tall to be believed. “I mean, I certainly wrote a letter, and very truly meant to send it, but then all my belongings were stolen at the Dove, along with my letter, and now —”

“You stayed at the Dove? You’re lucky you weren’t carved open in your sleep.” The young man blanched at Nazali’s words, but stood straight under their assessing stare. They wiped their hands on a clean towel, and raised an eyebrow. “So. Who are you, and why are you invading my medical tent?”

He drew himself up — even taller — and opened his mouth, but a scream blasted apart the relative quiet and three porters ran in, carrying a blood-spattered soldier with his arm in tatters.

Nazali took a last look at the man — no, the boy, really; he’d gone pale as milk at the sight of all the blood, but he wasn’t throwing up his lunch, and his hands were steady.

“We’ll do instructions later,” they said, while Misha ran to fetch the saws and fresh-boiled water. “Your job is to hold this poor soul down while we take care of his arm.”

**********

Letter III: Mazelinka and Lilinka

(Cheap paper, cheaper ink. Discovered stuffed under a mattress in the royal jail, and burned as kindling when the rainy season set in.)

Mazelinka! Lilinka!

It’s been too long, hasn’t it, my dears? About time I set pen to paper and got you caught up on all my doings, both above-board, and…not. But never fear, no matter how interesting things have gotten, I’ve still come out alive and kicking.

First thing first: an apology. I won’t be able to make it home this year, it turns out. I’m so sorry, please know I tried, but — things have happened, and a spot of bad luck had me missing the last boat back.

Before I start a true Ilya ramble and run out of room (can you believe they charge by the page for parchment here? Unbelievable! It’s enough to make a doctor want to turn pirate!), let me ask how you are. Have the tourists come streaming in to cart off our salts by the half-ton? I know how much you both hate that time of year. Cheeky bastards, all of them – but I doubt you’ve slowed down with the rolling pin, or the spoon. They won’t know what hit them, and then they will, and then they’ll be humiliated, and hopefully learn their lesson about trying to steal the salts on your watch.

Mazelinka, have you finally taken Pasha out for more than a trip around the harbor? I keep thinking about her getting tangled in the rigging like she did my last summer in town, but that was six years ago now, and she’s probably just as tall as me, and climbing the main mast alone.

Six years. I can’t believe it’s been so long. I keep meaning to come home, but — well, the life of an adventurer is all about improvising, and going wherever the wind blows me, and sadly the wind hasn’t seemed to blow me home yet. I miss you all, don’t you dare think otherwise for a moment. I’m just collecting more stories for when I do come home, think of it that way!

As for me, I just finished the most fascinating apprenticeship with Doctor Nazali Satrinava themself. Hold your applause! You remember the monograph I showed you, about wound care and — you know what? I’ll just assume you remember, and will spare you reliving the details. They’re just as impressive in person — no, more so! They only need two saw-strokes to take off a man’s leg, and they do it in a way that makes it simplicity itself to attach a prosthetic. Sheer artistry.

I’ve learned so much these past few years — mostly battlefield medicine, which is rather heavy on the screaming and infections, but you do learn to make decisions very quickly, and to work well under pressure. It’s been months since my hands shook, and Doctor Satrinava says my stitches are just as good as theirs.

They also said it was time for me to go home, before I set off on the next apprenticeship, and really, I did try — there’s no one I want to see more than you two, and Pasha —but —

Oh, hell. There’s no way around it. I’ve been arrested. I’m in jail, and they’re not going to let me out for a while, it seems.

Stupid of me, really, to listen to that old fool in the bar. You always told us, easy jobs for a lot of coin are a scam, at best, and look at that: right as rain. But it sounded like such a sure thing, just moving heirloom beehives from one estate to another — just a prank, really, and where’s the harm in a prank? — but the bees belonged to one of the city magravaines, and he’s awfully particular about them, and one of the hives swarmed away, and along came the guards, and…

…and so I’m here, writing to you in the dark. I suppose I deserve it. The bees’ honey can be distilled into a syrup with some rather impressive properties, like driving back infection in battlefield wounds. I fed that syrup to a few hundred soldiers in my time with Doctor Satrinava, and now — now look at me, all because it sounded fun.

They said I’ll have served my time when the rainy season starts. And then I’ll come home, right away, no stops for adventures or jobs, easy or otherwise, along the way. I’ve learned my lesson — no more trouble, or at least only good trouble from now on.

Give Pasha my love.

May you find clear skies, and soft winds.

Love,

Ilya

***

“So no word from him, then,” Lilinka said at last. “That damn slippery boy.”

Mazelinka handed her a fresh cup of tea. Pasha’s voice, sweet and slightly off-key, meandered out of the kitchen and into the front room. Lilinka sniffed at the tea, then held out the cup with a raised eyebrow. With a sigh of her own, Mazelinka dropped two sugarcubes into the cup, and then two more when Lilinka’s mouth thinned.

“No word,” she said, once Lilinka was satisfied with her cup. “But that’s no surprise. Ilya was never one for letter-writing.”

“Oh, he wrote them, he’d just get distracted by some new terrible idea and go chase it down — and the letter would blow away to gods knew where, and that would be that.” Lilinka sipped her tea and leaned back in her chair. “I can feel you staring at me, Maze. Stop it.”

“What? I’m not allowed to look at you now?”

“Oh, you sweet thing, you very much are, but not like that.” Lilinka covered Mazelinka’s hand with her own. It was ice-cold, the skin dry as parchment. “Hand me the cream, would you? These leaves don’t make a half-decent brew on their own.”

“Your fault for buying the cheapest leaves at the market.” Mazelinka held the tiny jug of cream just out of Lilinka’s reach, grinning as her love pouted, then ducked in for a quick kiss before handing it over. “And now poor Pasha doesn’t know any better, since you ruined her palate years ago.”

Lilinka sighed again — the disapproving sort, not the one full of longing and sadness — and chased Mazelinka for another kiss. “Like you should talk. Look at those spices you keep bringing along. The children are convinced a dish isn’t complete without two fistfuls of black pepper.”

Mazelinka took a prim sip of her awful tea. “I see that as a mark of good taste.”

“You would.”

They sipped in silence, while Pasha went singing out into the garden, squeaking on the high notes. Birdsong filtered in through the open windows, along with a rain-scented breeze and the ever-present smell of salt. Mazelinka watched Lilinka’s hands shake as she maneuvered her cup back to the saucer, and bit down hard on a heavy wave of loss.

She’s not gone yet. There are years left. Years and years.

“You know,” said Lilinka, with a sly note in her voice that made Mazelinka’s stony old heart pick up its paces. “We never made it official, you and I. Why is that?”

“Because I took one look at you, Lili, and knew I’d never make an honest woman out of you. You were destined to be a wild rose, not a tame peony.”

Lilinka snickered. “Oh, is that your version of poetry? Now I know where Ilya got his talents.”

“Oh, hush, you. That was a compliment.” And it was, it was; Lilinka had been all dark hair and pink cheeks, the year Mazelinka sighted her from the deck of her ship. A basket of salt balanced on each shoulder, laughing on her way to market. It had been decided so quickly, between one breath and the next — Mazelinka knew she’d love her, till the oceans dried up and the rain never came again.

“You still haven’t answered my question, sweetheart.”

Mazelinka squeezed into Lilinka’s chair, hip to hip, and scooped Lilinka’s hand up in hers. So damn cold, but she had heat to spare. Always had. “It never seemed necessary,” she said, as she traced the lines in Lilinka’s palm with her finger. “We never wanted anyone else, did we?”

Lilinka smiled, dark eyes gleaming. “Not once. Not since you stepped off your ship and asked me if I wanted to see your hold.”

They laughed together, bright as sun upon the sea.

“And then those two hellions came along,” Mazelinka added, “and we had ourselves a family. So why get the priests involved, when we already had it all?”

“Well, that’s an excellent argument for the women we were,” said Lilinka. “But I think I’ve settled down enough for you to make an honest woman of me now. Let’s have ourselves a wedding, sweetheart, once the tourists are gone, and maybe our slippery boy will have made his way home by then.”

“He’d better, just so he and Pasha can fight over who gets to take who down the aisle.”

“Hmph.” Lilinka sighed, and rested her head upon Mazelinka’s shoulder. “Always have to be the center of attention, don’t they? Children.”

“Children,” Mazelinka agreed.

**********

Letter IV: Lucio

(A blurred note on the back of an old prescription; the writing was made with a pencil, and has smeared to near-illegibility. Someone wrote a formula for some kind of medicine over the letter, before crumpling it and throwing it into the street.)

To His Excellency, Count Lucio of Vesuvia,

Allow me to begin by expressing my deepest amazement at your generous offer of employment — I am almost beyond words, as I consider the opportunity you have offered me. Truly, I could not have been more surprised when your letter arrived.

An offer such as this is not to be discarded lightly, and it is with no small regret I must refuse. My clinic requires nearly all of my attention, and —

Oh, the hell with this.

***

Lucio stuck his head out the carriage window. “Can’t this thing go any faster?” he bellowed at the driver, who hunched up as soon as the first word was out of Lucio’s mouth. “I have things to do, people to see, and all of them are more important than you are, so…”

“Of course, Count Lucio!” called the driver. “Right away!”

“Good man.” He settled back against his seat, and grinned when Valerius put a glass of wine in his hand. “Ah, that’s what I like about you, Val. Always thinking of me.”

Valerius rolled his eyes and went back to fiddling with the end of his braid. He really shouldn’t pout so much; Lucio considered trying to tease out a smile, but he had to get his business face on. Jules was always a tough nut to crack.

“Oh, but those always have the sweetest meat,” he murmured to his wine. Valerius looked up, then away when Lucio waggled his brows at him.

***

Lucio,

I’ve tried to write this politely a hundred times, and now I have enough crumpled-up parchment to keep my fire going all winter. So now I’ll tell you the truth, like I should have the first time. I didn’t think I’d need to remind you about how well the last time we spoke went, but since you seem to be experiencing a loss of what little sense your gods granted you, I suppose I must.

You told me, in no uncertain terms, if you ever saw me again, you’d cut off both my arms, as payment for the one I “stole” from you. Now, a thief I have been, of far more interesting things than your arm, but even an idiot wouldn’t call an amputation theft. But you’ve always been one to deny the truth, so long as it suited your purposes, haven’t you?

So take your offer, and shove it up your ass. There’s not enough money in the world for me to work for you again, especially not when I’m actually helping people here at the clinic. It’s something you should try. Who knows? You might have a hidden talent for it.

Dr. Julian Devorak

***

Really, Jules had let the place go. Lucio remembered when this clinic had been the cutest little hat and shoe shop, and now it was just a place for soppy sick people to go and cry about how much their boils hurt. At least the shop kept business flowing, and coin coming in — all good things for Vesuvia.

Well, whenever this plague thing ran its course, trade would flow again, and this could go back to being a hat and shoe shop. For that to happen, Lucio just had to convince Jules to move uptown for a bit.

Someone – a tall someone, in full plague doctor regalia – stopped dead in his path, head tilted in his direction. Lucio smiled, and tilted his head right back.

“May I help you?” they asked, politely enough. At least Jules was hiring good people.

Lucio swept his cape over his shoulder. “You may point me toward Jules,” he said, graciously. “The sooner the better,” he added, when they kept staring at him.

The doctor started to reply, just in time for Jules himself to appear around a corner.

“Is someone here? I heard a carriage pull up, and —”

Amazing, how Jules went from zero to righteous fury in no time at all. He’d have been a force to reckon with on the battlefield, even if he looked like a praying mantis most of the time.

“Count Lucio,” he said, all tight and angry. “To what do I owe the…honor?”

Lucio chose to ignore that nasty little pause — why start out the negotiations on bad footing? — and swept past the other doctor, with a wink for their trouble. “I got all sad when you never replied to my letters, Jules, and I missed you, so…” He shrugged and waved his hands at the shabby little clinic all around them. The other doctor slipped away into the dark, ruby eyes huge and focused on Julian until they disappeared down the hall. “Here I am! How are you?”

“I’ve been better,” said Jules, still tight, still angry. “Lucio, what do you want?”

“Oh, I bet you’ve been better. Been a rough year on all of us. Right, Valerius?” He didn’t glance over his shoulder to see if Valerius was nodding, but he was sure he was. “But I’ve got a way to make it easier. Give any thought to my offer?”

Jules sucked in a deep breath. “Lucio, I —”

“You’re about to say no, I can tell.” Lucio poked Jules in the chest and clicked his tongue. “I’ll tell you now, I don’t like it when people play hard to get. That’s boring, and my courtiers tell me we’ve got a real situation on our hands.”

“You do,” spat Jules. “This isn’t a joke, Lucio. People are dying.”

“And you’re a doctor! I thought you’d want to help with that!” Lucio leaned in close, rocking up on the balls of his feet to stare Jules in the face. “I’m ready to sweeten the pot.”

Jules opened his mouth — probably to say no — so Lucio pressed one gold finger to his mouth. “Hear me out,” he said. “Your clinic. A little down at the heels, isn’t it?”

“We’re doing the best we can,” Jules said against his finger — but he was wavering. Always so smart, Jules. He knew exactly where Lucio was going with this.

Good. That made things easier.

“Oh, I can see that. But how much better would your best be, if you had a little more capital to work with?” He grinned as the anger in Jules’ eyes went out. “You come work for me, and I’ll make sure your clinic stays open. Fully funded. That way it’s not like you’re abandoning it. You’re actually doing it a favor. Think of it that way.”

He settled back on his heels and waited. Wouldn’t be long now; Jules could never resist the chance to do good. And Lucio was doing good, too — look at him, letting bygones be bygones, and not even mentioning the whole arm thing. Just two grown-ups, having a grown-up discussion.

“I can’t leave my apprentice,” Jules said, but by then his shoulders had slumped, and Lucio knew he’d won.

“They seem capable enough.” Lucio slapped him on the back, then hugged him, nice and tight. “Jules, you won’t regret it. We’ll kick this plague thing, and you’ll come right back here, the neighborhood savior. So get packed! There’s lots to do.”

Jules’ eyes flicked down the hall, toward where his apprentice had disappeared. His mouth twisted, and finally he nodded.

“Full funding,” he said.

Lucio smiled, all his teeth on display. “Full funding.”

**********

Letter V: Asra

(A torn half-sheet of paper, ripped from the back of a medical text. The writing is uneven, as if written by a shaking hand.)

Asra,

You’d laugh, if you could see me trying to write this letter. ‘Trying’ being the operative word, because I’ve been staring so long at this blank page my candle is melted down to the very stub. No one else has ever left me speechless the way you have — a dubious honor you never asked for, and no doubt don’t want.

Bear with me a little longer, please. After all, it’s the last time I’m going to bother you. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone — permanently, if this fever and delightful delirium are anything to go by — and since I’m using my last few moments of clarity to apologize, I hope you’ll actually open this letter when it arrives.

Shocked yet? Me, the demanding, dramatic doctor, is writing to you to apologize. Something I should have done a long time ago, come to think of it, but I was too selfish to realize it. I’m sorry for that, as I am for so many things. I’m sorry for asking for what you weren’t ready to give, and for not being happy with the compromise you offered me. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you as a friend — the friend you tried to be, and the friend I needed.

And —

(Here the ink spatters, and stains the page. Some words are visible beneath the ink, but they are smeared by what look like teardrops.)

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for them. I could make my excuses — god knows I’ve tried, to you, to myself, and to anyone who will listen — but I failed them, completely, utterly, and all in the name of a disease I couldn’t cure.

I know now how much they meant to you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or even hope for that. I deserve everything you think of me.

If I had it to do all over again —

I can feel you rolling your eyes already. I’d probably just make the same mistakes again — but I like to think I could do better, given the chance. There’s a good man inside me, somewhere, even if he’s hidden beneath a miserable wretch. And if there was a way for me to fix this, any of it, I would. If I had the chance, and the time. I swear it.

I wish you well, Asra. Whatever else you think of me, believe that. May you survive this plague and this city, and may you find happiness somewhere better.

I’m sorry. For everything. I will be sorry for —

(The letter is unfinished. A single jagged ink line spreads from the last word; the writer was startled in the course of its writing. Perhaps by a knock at the door, or an unexpected visitor.)

***

Pomegranate juice for blood; who would have thought it could be so easy? If he didn’t have a million other things to do, Asra would have laughed his fool head off.

As long as Valerius doesn’t notice someone messed with the drinks, the whole ritual’s off. He ran through the halls of the palace, laughing anyways, breathless and windblown and riding the edge of a manic high he knew could shatter, any moment, into weeping.

No one paid him any attention. Why should they, when the tiny sandwich room and the fire dancers and the rainbow room were so much more interesting? He was just one more masked guest, hurrying to find his pleasure.

The best sort of disguise: the kind no one suspected was a disguise at all.

Asra sped around a corner and nearly lost his footing. He managed to keep his balance, but collided with a tall, red-haired man, his face hidden by a beetle-shaped mask.

“Whoa there!” boomed the man, helping Asra up and dusting off his shoulders. “You all right — okay then, where’s the fire?”

Asra yelped laughter over his shoulder and kept running. It wasn’t Ilya, couldn’t be Ilya — by now, Ilya was free of the dungeon, playing his part in the little drama Lucio had set out for them all, whatever that might be.

There was a part for Asra in that production — that much Lucio had implied, again and again, all winks and grins and insinuations — but he wouldn’t be attending. No, he had his own two-person show to star in, so he hoped Lucio had an understudy.

Listen to me, I’ve been hanging around Ilya too long. Beating metaphors like the proverbial dead horse.

He slipped from the veranda to the gardens, into the dark, humid air that rustled with a hundred unseen wings. Someone laughed nearby, a guttural ha, ha, ha, but no one came in sight. Aside from the laughter, and the wings, Asra could have been alone in the garden.

Not alone. Not for long. Trees whipped at his face and hair and clothes, but he never slowed. He had to reach the fountain by midnight; the Magician had been quite clear about that much. They couldn’t wake alone.

Silver mist had already started to coalesce when he reached the still copse. Willow trees dragged their branches through the clear water, stirring faint ripples with each breeze — but the silver mist ignored trees and wind, and slowly formed the shape of a body.

“Please,” Asra whispered. He pressed a hand to his chest, the brand already burning there. “Please — let it — let it work.”

The Magician had been clear about this, too: the ritual might not work. It all came down to chance.

“Please,” he whispered again. The sounds of the Masquerade had vanished, and he was alone. Briefly, he wished for Ilya — if nothing else, he would have had a story to pass the time — but then the mist formed an arm, and a hand, and Asra staggered forward to clutch it, his heart kicking hard enough to break his ribs.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.”

**********

Letter VI: You

Even Vesuvia falls prey to grey dawns, on occasion. When you push the shutters of the shop windows open, a gentle fog tries to roll in, as quiet and sure-footed as a cat. Your familiar makes a sleepy noise from his spot at the curve of your shoulder, then buries themself under your shirt.

“Good morning to you too,” you whisper, brushing a knuckle over their head. “Sorry that some of us have to get up and work for a living.”

They don’t make a sound, not even when a cool breeze scatters the fog and raises a quick wave of gooseflesh up your bare arms, but a warm glow shrouds your mind. Good sleep, seems to be the gist of it.

“Sleep is good, but so are customers, and staying busy.” You take one last look down the street before stepping back inside the shop, and click your fingers to light the lantern above the door.

No one will come in for an hour or so, which gives you plenty of time to sweep and dust and lay out a few of your newest potions. Lonely work, even with your familiar sighing in their sleep, but it must be done.

Too bad my roommate thinks chores are for the weak — at least that’s what he said, in between the second and third Salty Bitters last night. You laugh to yourself, and head for the broom closet.

By the time your chores are finished, the sun has burned away the lion’s share of the fog; it’ll be a hot day, because even in winter Vesuvia knows nothing else, but the sea breeze is kind and cool as it tosses the hem of your robe. And hot days are good for business — people come in looking for glass bottles enchanted to stay cold, or fans that wave themselves. Asra’s little tricks have served you well these past few years, and they’ll serve you well for many more. Though who’s to say what was your trick to begin with, or his? Not that it matters, between friends.

A rattle at the door startles you from your thoughts. The noise isn’t a knock, more of an off-kilter tap-and-scratch, and there’s no one standing on the threshold when you open the door.

“Hello?” you call, just before having to duck as Malak bursts into the shop, hollering and looping in dizzy circles near the ceiling. “Malak! The windows are open, you silly bird, why didn’t you — oof!”

He drops something on your head. It doesn’t hurt, but you still yelp with surprise. Your familiar leaps from your shoulder to the closest bookcase, squalling sleepily in your direction. Malak, for his part, settles on an empty birdcage and starts to preen himself, ignoring both of you completely.

“All right then, let’s see what you brought me this time.” You stoop low, knees popping, and scoop up the ribbon-tied scroll lying half under a low couch. “Oh, playing mailman now?”

Malak gives you a baleful look, squalls once, and darts out the door.

“I guess I offended him.”

Loud one.

“Well, can’t argue with that, though we all have our moments…” Your voice trails off as you recognize the messy scrawl just below the ribbon, written in ink so fresh it still gleams in the light. A helpless, foolish smile warms your mouth while you pull away the ribbon, and a fresh burst of his smell — leather, harsh soap, and the sea — fills your nose. Two blossoms tumble from the last fold of the letter, a little smashed, but still fragrant and vivid. You cradle the petals, gold and magenta, in your hand, still smiling.

My darling love, reads the first line of Julian’s letter.

***

I apologize in advance for what was undoubtedly a smashing entrance on Malak’s part. Well, maybe not in advance, since he’ll have done the smashing and entering by the time you read this, but the apology is still very valid!

My duty called me away early this morning, long before the dawn, and I hope you’ll forgive me for not waking you to say goodbye before I left — you were sleeping so sweet, and your little friend had made the most adorable nest of your pillows. I couldn’t bear to disturb you. I didn’t think I could pull it off, but I managed an almost silent exit! Longing for you all the while, I might add.

It’ll be a long day of house calls before I come back to the clinic, I’m afraid. Half the city seems to have come down with the same damnable cold, which means I’ll be running from one end of Vesuvia to the other while the light lasts. On days like this, I wish I still had that blasted curse, if only to save everyone all this coughing and sneezing.

I just realized I literally gave up a cure for the common cold. In a manner of speaking, and not really, since the curse was always more of a removal than a cure — and I’m rambling away, aren’t I? What was I saying? Oh, right: I’ll be back late, my dear, and will miss you every moment I’m gone. Like a thousand arrows in my heart — that will be the pain of not having you at my side.

I can just see you laughing now.

Before I forget, and leave them in a carriage — I passed the most beautiful wild garden today, in one of the old ruins in the Flood District. It’s all coming back to life. You wouldn’t believe the colors.

I couldn’t help picking a few of the flowers for you. Beauty for beauty, as the playwrights say. Remember you made it possible for them to grow again, when you saved the city. When you saved me, mostly from myself.

I love you. When I get home tonight, let’s dance.

Your Julian

#The Arcana #The Arcana Game #The Arcana spoilers #Julian Devorak #daneel-the-sister-of-castiel #fieldsofvesuvia2k19 #beefic #long post

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fanfictionamerica · 6 years ago

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A Love That Defies (Tony Stark x GN!Reader)

Title: A Love That Defies

Author: @fanfictionamerica (writing blog of @daneel-the-sister-of-castiel )

Pairing: Tony Stark/Iron Man x Reader (Modern!Guardian Angel AU)

Warnings: Mild language and violence, mention of a panic attack, some angst

Word count: 5,434 (whoopsie, ended up being my longest fic yet)

Tagline: A Guardian Angel’s job is never easy. But when your human charge is Tony Stark and messy feelings come into the mix, the job gets...problematic.

A/N: This is for the sweet @flatbottomholland 's Marvel Writing Challenge (apologies for taking so long). My song was Never Be The Same by Camila Cabello. While this is not a songfic, the fanfic was heavily influenced by it. This fic takes place in the MCU but where angels and demons exist. It is after The Avengers but before Iron Man 3. I should also let you know that this is my first time writing a gender-neutral reader and writing a Tony Stark fanfic, so I hope I did alright! I will be adding at least one other part to this story as well, so no worries.

Tony was finally ready. He'd gotten all the ingredients and done almost all the rituals to summon as the weird, old tablet called it a "being of mighty, awesome power" with "wings of light." Bruce warned him it wouldn't go well, but Tony's curiosity needed satisfaction now. He took a deep breath in, then spoke the final words, “Oh guardian of spirits, warrior of the heavens, I call upon you to show yourself here on this earth. And please don't make me repeat those ridiculous words.” Tony knew he sounded like a complete idiot, but thankfully, no one else was in his house at present. He waited five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds. Nothing happened. Tony looked back at the inscription translated on his screen, searching for errors. All of a sudden, a resounding crash came through the ceiling to his workshop. The superhero jumped out of his skin, aiming his repulsors at whatever the hell just fell through his roof. A loud groan of pain pierced through the dust-filled room as Tony edged toward the crash site. “What in heaven's name just happened?” The dust finally cleared to reveal the source of the voice: a being Tony could only describe as... "An angel, seriously? I should've known.”

Your superiors told you choosing him as your first human was a bad idea. They said he grow up to be too dysfunctional and too egotistical for you to be of any help to him. Too broken, too imperfect. Not to mention the factor of his status as a "hero." The chief angels called you crazy. They thought something had gone wrong with you. "You’re making it harder on yourself," they said. The more flawed, the more "heroic" the human charge, the more difficult and more time-consuming a guardian angel's job became. You could care less. Everyone had flaws (including angels, despite what your superiors said), some more than others. That didn't justify not protecting them from evil or helping them in their times of need. Besides, the angels who told you such things were a bunch of stuck-up bums who couldn't see good if it hit them right in the face. That being said, you felt less than amused and more than a little pissed to find yourself sprawled out in the middle of Tony's workshop after surviving a hellish fall through Earth's atmosphere. Your body screamed in torment so your mouth could not resist letting out a guttural groan of pain. “What in heaven's name just happened?” you asked, sitting up while rubbing your aching muscles. You'd been sitting in heaven, minding your own business when you suddenly felt yourself falling through the atmosphere with no way to stop. Your powerful energy protected you from burning up as you fell, but in the process made you black out from the drain on your systems. You saw a figure inching closer to you. Your blurry vision had a hard time making them out. But as the figure drew closer, your mind went into panic mode when you recognized them as your first human, Tony freakin' Stark. He gaped at you then said in a disappointed tone, “An angel, really? I should've known.” You shot him an offended look, then snapped back, “So sorry to disappoint the great Tony Stark. I'll try harder next time I get involuntarily summoned to Earth.” And that was the start of your fascinating visit on Earth.

Two months after the summoning: “Can I see your wings again?” You glared at the persistent scientist. “No. You plucked a feather out of one the last time, and it hurt.” “Oh come on, don't be stingy. You grew it back.” He flashed a boyish smile your way, causing you to scowl even more. “If I hadn't been worried about hurting you, I would've smacked you in the head with that wing.” Tony put a hand to his heart in fake offense. “I give you food, I give you shelter, and this is the kind of treatment I get?” You sighed. “I'm grateful, but you're the reason I'm down here in the first place, Tony. Excuse me if I don't feel bad for wanting to smack you in the head just one time.” Tony furrowed his brows then walked over to you and put a hand on your head. “Do you have a fever or something? Because you're a bit grumpier than usual.” If it were any other person, you might've snapped. But you knew Tony. His words conveyed concern, despite the terrible phrasing he used. He wasn't wrong, either. You had been more on edge lately, for more reasons than one (but you wouldn't tell him that). You took a step back and turned your head away from Tony, avoiding his penetrating stare. “I am, I am running low on energy, that's all. Being away from home takes a toll on me,” you tried reassuring him, yet still not meeting his gaze. A rare moment of silence passed between you two before your charge replied, “Alright Clarence, don't get your halo in a twist. You should go get what we humans call some "food." It's SO good, and you're just not you when you're hungry.” Tony's sassy words caught you off guard, and you looked back over at him in shock. But before a retort could leave your mouth, Tony tossed a small object towards you. Your reflexes reacted in an instant and caught the object in your hand. Let's say you were less than shocked when you read the label: Snickers. “You couldn't resist, could you? You must think you're SO hilarious.” “Because I am.” The cocky billionaire's lips formed into that infamous smirk of his before he turned around and finally went back to tinkering with another suit. You breathed a sigh of relief as he did so, the built-up tension leaving your body. You see, the last few months with Tony had been eventful. You found out that he had discovered a long-lost Divine tablet, the primary purpose being to summon an "all-powerful being with wings of light." Of course, Tony with his insatiable curiosity, couldn't leave it alone and ended up summoning you, his guardian angel. You were furious. You couldn't protect your human charge like before. Following a superhero around with no invisibility would not work out for multiple reasons. You refused to talk with Tony out of anger for a few hours. Of course, that didn't last, though. He poked and prodded you for answers, and you eventually gave in, not having the will or patience to stay silent. You only told Tony what he needed, however. That you were his guardian angel and that you needed to get back to your home sooner rather than later. You didn't tell him the reason for the urgency. He didn't need to know that you ran the risk of being killed by a demon in your weakened state the longer you stayed or that you could be cast out of the heavens for associating with your charge. “I still wanna see those wings of yours again,” Tony interrupted your thoughts with the same request he had the first time around. “Tony, I already told you no,” you admonished the persistent scientist, crossing your arms in front of you. He said nothing in reply, just giving you a carefree smile as he started walking out of his workshop. A suspicious feeling crept over you at his lack of protest, so you quickly followed Tony up the stairs and into the living room. “What are you up to, Tony? You're not gonna bug me about not letting you see my wings again?” “No.” He didn't even turn around to look at you, still walking towards the back of his house. “Tony...” The mischievous genius pressed a few keys on a window, which opened it up to the porch outside. He stepped through it before showing you another less-than-innocent grin, then walked toward the edge of the porch. You followed after him, stepping out onto the porch. The moment you did so, though, Tony faced you, gave you a little wave, and took one giant step backward onto nothing but air. Your heart lurched in your throat as your legs immediately went into action, and your wings flashed into existence. You jumped off of the porch with hands reached out in front of you. The man was already on his way to crashing into the ocean below, so you brought your wings in more as you dove and increased your streamlining. Tony looked utterly relaxed as he fell, a smirk on his lips when he saw you racing after him. But his proximity to the water should've scared him. Your heart pounded in your ears as you strained your arms reaching for Tony. You mustered up one last burst of energy, snatching up one of Tony's hands in yours just before he hit the water. “What in the world were you thinking, Tony Stark? You could've gotten killed!” you shouted. “I wanted to see your wings,” he said as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides,” he continued in a confident tone, “I knew you'd catch me. You're my guardian angel after all.” For some reason, a warm feeling spread through your chest at his words. You began to feel slightly embarrassed again, so you hauled Tony up into your arms bridle style so he wouldn't notice. “Looks like you're my angel in shining armor, too.” He winked up at you. Your mouth twitched upward in spite of yourself. “I'm still angry with you, despite your attempt at charming me.” “Then the smile you had was just my imagination.” “Definitely.” With that final word, you took Tony back up to the house, that warm feeling still fluttering in your chest.

Four months after summoning: The metallic stench of blood wafted up your nose as you lay on the pavement, battered and bruised. “Pathetic angel. Did you honestly think you could defeat a demon like me in your weakened state?” The demon stood over you and stabbed his jagged blade back into your wounded shoulder. A raw scream of pain left your mouth, but you still struggled to free yourself from the demon. The evil being gave you an unimpressed, disgusted look. “You still fight, bird-human? Why?” Despite the piercing agony you felt, you still managed to croak some words at him, “Because I, agh, have something worth fighting for. Also, I really want to try some, damn it hurts, shawarma. I've heard great things about it.” The truth was, you were trying your best at keeping the demon away from Tony and the bystanders. The superhero didn't need an invisible enemy attacking him in the middle of his fight. He was battling some domestic terrorists who used alien technology to generate fear and take advantage of innocent people, so he needed all of his attention focused on them. He had also trusted you enough to let you come on the condition that you stayed away from the main battle. You were upset about that, but he hadn't ever seen you fight before. So you agreed (begrudgingly) to staying behind. Thank goodness he did, or people might've gotten hurt. The demon may have been after Tony, but they didn't care about other humans in their way. They were considered collateral damage by the devil. The demon growled. “So you're stupid as well, angel. Can't you see that humans aren't worth your life? They are insects compared to you, yet you protect them.” You gave him a bloodied, smug smile. “Mmm, I'd get bored otherwise, gargoyle.” “You won't be so witty as I kill the other humans and then your human as I make you watch.” The rusty blade was removed from your shoulder, making you bite your lip in an attempt to keep from screaming again. The demon raised his sword above his head, activating its Hellfire. Your eyes widened, and your heartbeat sped up. There was only one reason that he'd activate his power: to cut off your wings. You tried to crawl away, but he stepped on your knee, and you heard the sickening crack of bone breaking. You cried out, but you still crawled in spite of the agony perforating your body. You had to, for Tony. This time he stepped on your other knee, effectively trapping you on the rough concrete. “Prepare to-” “Do us all a favor and stop with the terrible monologue. You just don't have the voice for it.” The familiar, pleasant voice of your charge interrupted the demon. Your head snapped in the direction of the voice to find Tony standing a few feet away from you with his helmet off, his right repulsor aimed directly at the fiend's head. The demon froze in shock, dropping his weapon. The first thought that came to your mind was how in the world could he see and hear the demon? The second and more prevailing thought that came to you was Tony's safety. You managed a hoarse warning. “Tony, get away!” The hero kept his ground, actually stepping closer to the enemy. “Can't do that, Y/N. He's hurt my guardian angel.” He gave you a wink before shooting his repulsor straight at the demon's face without blinking before they could react. All that was left of his face after the blast consisted of his horns. The body promptly turned into dust, as all demons do when they die. “You're such an idiot.” You sighed, before you fell into a coughing fit, golden blood leaking from your lips. He rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance. “The idiot that just saved your life.” With that, he scooped you up in his arms, careful not to jostle your injured body. “My human in shining armor, how sweet...” you said as you drifted off from the pain, safe in the arms of your hero.

Six months after summoning: “You aren't gonna dance, Y/N?” You flashed Rhodey a dismissive smile. “No, I'm good. I'm a terrible dancer anyway.” The lieutenant colonel gave you a skeptical look and then said, “Or maybe it has something to do with the person you want to dance with is currently taken.” You crossed your arms and avoided Rhodey's gaze. “Has absolutely nothing to do with it, absolutely nothing.” The lieutenant colonel raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, doing a terrible job at hiding a smirk. “Whatever you say, Y/N.” He walked off to talk with some of the other guests, making you breathe a sigh of relief. You didn't need another person bringing up feelings. Lately, your mortal body would react in the most uncontrollable ways just thinking about Tony. The symptoms got worse whenever you were near him. You didn't feel like eating. You couldn't sleep even though your human body needed it. Your words would fail you, your brain becoming a jumbled mess. It felt like someone had injected you with a drug that wouldn't leave your system no matter what. Honestly, you considered not going to this charity ball because of the upheaval your body was going through. It started around the time Tony saved you from the demon. After he snooped around in angel lore, he found out that the primary duty of a guardian angel was protecting their human from demons. Researching further, the engineer figured out your weakness and decided he'd create some technology using the biological components of that feather he took from you in case you needed backup. The scientist didn't tell you in so many words, but you knew he did it because he cared about you. He visited you in the private SHIELD hospital room he'd gotten you almost every day. He'd crack jokes, update you on finding a way to get you back to heaven. It felt so nice to be cared for, especially by someone you'd spent so much time doing the same for. You got to see that beautiful heart of his firsthand, feel his hand on your shoulder, have him looking at you instead of through you. Your head denied feeling anything, but your heart screamed at you that you were and that there was nothing you could do. “Care to dance, Y/N?” a boyish, yet smooth voice interrupted your dangerous thoughts. Your heart fluttered in your chest, recognizing the voice of the very man you had just been thinking about. You slowly turned around, finding Tony holding out his hand with that famous flirtatious grin of his adorning his lips. “Of, of course.” You gave him your best smile, hoping he didn't notice your nervousness. “Good. That saves me from having to drag you onto the dance floor.” You shot a glare over at him, but the smile still on your face betrayed how you really felt. You snatched up the millionaire's hand in yours and guided him to the dance floor, praying he wouldn't notice your sweaty palms. Tony took you by the waist and drew you in closer, gently swaying you to the mellow beat of the music. However, once he pulled you closer, you felt a gush of fear and panic overcome you. These feelings, they weren't yours. They were Tony's. You gave him a look of concern, noticing his paling skin and the sweat dripping down his face. Soon you began to feel a slight tremble in his hands. You knew what was happening, and it'd be worse in front of other people. Your smile turned into a worried frown. “You're in no shape to dance, Tony Stark. I'm taking you outside.” Not giving him any time for protesting, you dragged him outside into the garden by the enormous hall. “What are you doing? Y/N, I'm fine.” Even as he said it, you felt his trembling get worse than it was before. You took a deep breath and took him in your arms, not caring how embarrassed you were at the moment. “Tony, you're not alright. But I'm here for you until you're ready to let me go. I got you, nothing can hurt you here,” you mumbled into his ear, rubbing a hand in circles on his back. A moment of silence passed before he spoke in a shaky voice, “One of the reporters started talking about the Battle of New York, asking me all sorts of questions about what happened. I felt fine until I looked down at the dark floor and I was back in that wormhole, falling to my death.” “I'm here to catch you, Tony. I won't let you die.” You held him a little tighter. “Take a deep breath in, one two three four.” You felt his chest rise in response. “Then let it out, one two three four.” His breath tickled your ear as he let it out. For ten minutes, you continued with this exercise, encouraging Tony to breathe and holding him in your embrace. Only once you felt the tension in his body release and his heart rate slow back down did you let your charge go. “Whadda ya say we ditch this party and go have some real fun? Stop playing it safe and lose control?” Tony interjected, wanting a break from all the stress of the party. Part of you wanted to tell him no, knowing those feelings brewing inside you would only grow stronger each moment you spent with the mechanic. The better part of you told you your feelings didn't matter at this moment. Tony needed a distraction to help him recover, and you'd be damned if you'd abandon him in his moment of need. You took your hand in his and simpered. “Let's go do just that. I've been itching to get out of here ever since I had someone sneeze on me...twice. I've never been more disgusted.” Tony cringed in sympathy. “Agreed. What do you say about going on a night fly together? Haven't seen those gorgeous wings in a while.” Your eyes turned downwards for a moment, slightly flustered by his offhanded compliment. Then you met his gaze again with a twinkle in your eyes. “Why not? They've been in need of some stretching.” A look of fake shock crossed the millionaire's face. “What, you don't do angel yoga?” You rolled your eyes with a smile on your lips. “Funny, very funny.” Letting your hand go, Tony took a mock bow. “Thank you.” You resisted another eye roll, taking a step away and holding out your arms, gesturing for him to climb in them. “I can fly you to your house if you want, be faster than driving.” “I don't know; you said someone sneezed on you. I don't need a cold, can't make as many suits,” the man ruminated, putting a hand to his chin in thought. An unimpressed look formed on your face. Tony knew you couldn't get sick, being an angel. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, Tony. Take it or leave it.” He slowly wrapped an arm around your neck and draped himself into your waiting arms. “You know I can't resist being in the arms of my angel in shining armor.” Instead of annoying you, the nickname brought about that familiar fuzzy feeling you'd been trying to avoid earlier. “Not that nickname again,” you half-heartedly complained, hoping he didn't notice your lack of committal. With that, you took off into the night sky and set out for Tony's house. The air might have been cold, but your heart was warm as you glided with Tony in your arms, a childlike smile that could light up the world adorning his face. For one moment, everything was right in the world.

Eight months after summoning: No. It couldn't be. You couldn't believe it. There it stood, though, the Mark of the Damned. The pain the Mark gave you served as another confirmation. You could pretend that you didn't know why it was there, but both your mind and heart knew. You had violated the most sacred rule of guardian angels, falling in love with your human charge. You thought avoiding Tony would help, but it only made it worse. You missed him terribly, and it broke your heart to see him with such a sad look in his eyes. “What is that, Y/N?” You damn near jumped off the floor in surprise, forgetting that you had left the bathroom door open. “Nothing you need to worry about, Tony,” you replied in a dismissive tone, pulling your shirt back over the Mark. You saw the man cross his arms in the mirror, very clearly not satisfied with your lackluster answer. “Deflecting is my style, not yours. A burn isn't "nothing." You're hiding something, and I wanna know what.” You sighed, pinching your nose in frustration. “Tony, knowing might make you do something stupid or dangerous. I can't tell you.” The hurt in his expression made your heart lurch. “Can't tell me or won't?” You bit your lip to keep tears from falling and tried to leave the bathroom. The emotions in the room were suffocating you. However, Tony stepped in front of you and blocked the only exit, effectively trapping you. You kept your gaze straight ahead, knowing if you met those beautiful brown eyes that you'd fall apart. “Please move, Tony. I want out,” you pleaded, desperate to get away from him again. “No, you can't keep running away from me, Y/N,” he replied tersely. “I'm not leaving till I get answers.” You crossed your arms, trying to provide yourself with a kind of comfort. “What if I told you that if I revealed why I have this Mark, you'd be in danger from my superiors? Beings who are infinitely more powerful than me?” Tony scoffed. “I've fought angry gods and homicidal aliens before. I can take on a few self-righteous halo-wearers.” You finally looked over at him, a desperate and sad look in your eyes. “No, Tony, it's not the same. They can erase your memory or cause great injury to you. Not to mention that your technology won't work on them; they're too strong.” You could tell that Tony didn't look the least bit swayed or bothered by what you just said. “Does it look like I care?” he said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Just because your job is to protect me doesn't mean you can stop me from protecting you. I wanna know who hurt you.” You broke eye contact again and looked down at the floor. Telling him would almost certainly reveal your feelings. You didn't want him to find out, but you couldn't half-ass the explanation or tell him a white lie. He wasn't stupid, and you weren't the best liar. A moment passed before you let out a shaky breath and dived right into the explanation, Tony's expectant eyes on you. “It's called the Mark of the Damned. You get it for disobeying the most binding Guardian Angel rule.” “And what is that?” His stare seemed to be boring into your soul at this point. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you managed to keep them in before you said in a small voice, “Never fall in love with a human.” You omitted the stipulation that it was falling in love with your chosen human that got you in the most trouble. You were hoping to keep Tony from finding out about your feelings for him a little longer. “…I see. Is it the mailman who dropped packages off here as an excuse to see you or the person who kept flirting with you at the charity ball?” You bit your lip again and shook your head. “No, Tony. None of them. Think closer to home.” Tony asked in a strained voice, “Is it Rhodey? Because I could see why.” “No, Tony. Not him.” You finally looked up into those warm brown eyes of his, shocked by the pain you saw hiding in them. “Who's the person who never gave up on trying to get me home? Who's the person who told me to let go of control and enjoy life? Who's the person that took care of me when I nearly died? Who's the person that risked their life for mine against an unknown enemy?” Your lips stretched into a bittersweet smile. Then those tears you'd been holding back started pouring from your eyes like rain from storm clouds. “You see, I could try to run from you, but I realize now that it's useless. Being with you has changed my life, and I'll never be the same.” Tony stood there in shock, finding himself speechless (which was rare). Your heart pounded in your ears, your body shaking. After a few seconds, you couldn't take it anymore. You ducked under one of Tony's arms and started walking in the direction of the front door. However, just as you reached out for the door handle, you felt his calloused hand grab your wrist and spin you around. Before you could shout out in surprise, your lips were covered by the touch of another pair of lips. Your eyes bugged out of your head for a moment, not believing that it was Tony kissing you. Your brain couldn't compute. The man pulled away before you got a chance to respond in kind. Then he laughed a little at the bug-eyed expression written on your face. “I thought you said no more running away, Y/N.” The shocked expression on your face melted into a joyful smile, momentarily forgetting about the danger. You replied in a tearful voice, “Yeah, I know. I'm a nervous, confused ball of energy right now, okay?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Confused? How can an "a being of mighty, awesome power with wings of light" be confused?” You let out a nervous laugh. “Being suddenly kissed by someone will do that to any being, powerful or not.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head in puzzlement. “Does it really surprise you that I would like you back?” “Yes, it really does,” you said in a resigned manner. “You've known me less than a year, Tony. You're a human; I'm an angel. I could get you hurt. Besides, part of me hoped that you didn't like me back. It would've made leaving you easier.” Tony opened his mouth to refute you, but then your last words registered. “Leaving you? What's that supposed to mean?” You backed away from Tony, walking toward the front door. “The Mark is burning, Tony. Those superiors I told you about, they're coming to take me back to the heavens. I have to stand trial for my crimes.” You attempted a happy smile, but it turned into a bitter one. “And I can't let you be near me when they do.” “What do you mean by that?” You saw Tony take a step towards you, probably planning on stopping you. However, you couldn't have him doing that. So you raised your hand and used what little power you had left to halt his progress completely. Tony made an effort to move forward but found himself unable to do so. He gave you a look of disbelief and betrayal. “This is how it is, then. You'll leave, and you won't let me protect you.” “I'm your guardian angel, after all, not the other way around.” You sent him one last smile with one final tear gleaming in your eye. Then you stepped out of the millionaire's house and flew up into the sky, not once looking back. You enjoyed the feel of the breeze through your wings, knowing it would most likely be the last time you experience it. Almost as if on cue, you felt a great power surge, and warrior angels appeared in front of you with weapons at the ready. “Do not resist, Y/N,” one of them commanded, “Or things will end-” “Badly for me. Yes, I know.” You sighed in annoyance. “I'll come willingly.” You held out your hands, waiting for the handcuffs. They gave you a skeptical look, then one of them clasped the handcuffs around your wrists in a cautious manner. They subsequently flew on either side of you, and each took a shoulder of yours in their grasp before you all flashed back to Heaven's Court of Judgement. You were standing in front of a vast assembly of angels, all with varying looks of disgust, disappointment, or sadness. The room grew silent as the honorable Judge sat down in their throne with a grave expression on their face. “Here before you stands the accused, Y/N of the lowest choir of angels. The charges against them: Letting a human summon them and defying the Guardian Angel's most sacred rule. Their possible sentence: banishment from Heaven. Y/N, do you wish to defend yourself against the charges?” “No,” you stated in a resolute tone. The Judge's frown lines deepened. “Do you realize the graveness of your situation, Y/N? If you do not offer up any explanation for your grievous transgressions, you will be found guilty and thrown from the sky, in which you have no guarantee that you'll survive the fall.” Your hands shook, but you managed looked up into the other angel's eyes with a steely gaze. “I have nothing I should be ashamed of, so I don't see the need to explain myself to you or anyone else. If that deems me guilty, then so be it. If loving another is what kills me, then I'll die gladly.” You were a bit dramatic, but you needed their focus on you. The pain you'd go through didn't matter, despite your fear of it. You'd do anything to keep them from hurting Tony. Besides, what better way to keep them distracted than by telling the truth? “So be it, Y/N of the Guardian Angels,” the Judge replied in cold, apathetic tone. “With your blatant disregard for the rules and complete lack of penance, I find you guilty of all charges. Your punishment shall be banishment from Heaven and the pain that the fall shall bring about.” No sound could be heard as the warrior angels grabbed you again and guided you over to the Banishment Gateway. You felt the icy coldness of fear creeping in your veins, but it wasn't nearly as powerful as you expected it to be. That warm feeling of love Tony gave you countered the fear's effects, made you feel safe. Even as you felt yourself being thrown from Heaven, fading out and burning as you fell through Earth's atmosphere, you knew that love was all worth it in the end.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Tony Stark or other Marvel characters and their stories. Gif belongs to the creator.

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