#fic: long way home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ncssian · 2 months ago

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Take the Long Way Home

One: Comeback

Nessian Modern AU

Summary: Cassian returns from an out-of-state business project to find that Nesta Archeron, his best friend's sister and social pariah, has returned to Velaris after years of no contact with her family. With no explanation for where she's been all this time and a frightening tension between her and Rhysand, it's clear that she's hiding secrets from their Inner Circle. Eager to find out why the woman he used to have feelings for disappeared and returned a shell of her former self, Cassian won't stop until he uncovers the truth.

tl;dr: manipulative adulterous rhysta, acosf but if nesta and rhys made way worse decisions, acosf if cassian was a real man, unconditional love nessian, kind cassian and healing romance, nesta goes through a lot but she will be loved

word count: 6576

Read on AO3

A/N: this fic is gonna be a fairly short one! probably 5-10 chapters. if you like mess with a side of redemption i hope you like this one.

***

Cassian wasn’t sure what the commotion was about when the taxi from the airport dropped him off at Rhys and Feyre’s river manor.

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed back home with champagne and a festival or anything, but he’d hoped the mood would be livelier than the thick air that suffocated him as soon as he stepped foot into the foyer.

From where he stood, he could see everyone gathered in the formal living room, spines tense as they muttered together about something serious. Dropping his bags with a loud thud, he watched as Feyre was the first one to catch sight of him.

“Oh!” She jumped up from her seat in Rhysand’s lap. “Cass, you’re back already.”

“What, no ‘good to see you’?” he joked, but his voice faded away as he stepped further into the living room and finally took notice of the extra person among their group.

Standing up and turning around to face him, Nesta Archeron met eyes with Cassian for the first time in sixteen months.

He stared at her for a long silent moment, wondering whether his dreams had finally bled out into reality. Because for Cassian, Nesta Archeron was a fictional character, an experience he’d made up in his head a long time ago.

Mor was the one to break the silence. “Welcome home, Cassian,” she said, trying to inject false cheer into her tone, right before Amren stated, “We have a guest.”

He could see that.

“You’re back?” His words, his gaze, all his attention was directed at Nesta and only Nesta.

“I’m back.” Her perfect features stayed frozen in the same expression as she said the words, but it was her voice that shook him most of all. Quiet, almost weak, like she hadn’t spoken aloud for a long time.

He tore his gaze away to look at Feyre, Elain, anybody who would have an explanation. Of course, it was Rhysand who spoke up next. “Nesta has decided that she’s bored of living away from her family. She wants to get to know Nyx— and move back in for good.” To an outsider, Rhys would have sounded calm, if not almost bored, but Cassian had known his brother for long enough to hear the twinge of fury in his words.

“Only until I find a place to stay,” Nesta corrected, which seemed to enrage Rhys even further.

But Cassian couldn’t have given less of a damn about the obvious tension in the room. He was grinning wide. “I see you’re still the sexiest Archeron sister,” he said before stepping around her chair so he could wrap her into a hug.

A few laughs broke throughout the room, and Feyre seemed relieved for Cassian’s lightness. Nesta, however, was stiff in his arms. She pulled away from him with a small smile and a whispered “Thank you” but offered nothing else.

“Feyre.” Nesta turned to her sister like she was the only safety net in the room. Cassian noticed that Elain had been studiously ignoring Nesta the entire time, sitting right next to Azriel but refusing to look at her or say a word. “Can you show me to my room?”

“Of course,” Feyre said hurriedly, coming over to take Nesta by the elbow and lead her out of the overcrowded room. Amren sank deeper into her favorite armchair, a nasty smirk plastered on her face, while everyone else carried varying degrees of bitterness and discomfort in their expressions. Even Azriel, who once had been Nesta’s closest friend, looked like he had no idea what to say about this situation.

Cassian knew Nesta was a prickly topic within their group— she had been since the moment they’d met her. But he couldn’t pretend to be as upset about this unexpected comeback as everyone else was, so he went over to Azriel and kicked him in the shin. “We’re still throwing a welcome home party for me, right?”

“Who else would it be for?” Mor snorted, pushing herself out of her seat. “Let’s just see if Feyre’s mood isn’t ruined by all this.”

They all began to disperse, with Rhysand heading straight for his study and Elain and Azriel disappearing into the back gardens. Cassian found himself back in the foyer, where he finally spied an old blue suitcase that he’d strolled by earlier in his excitement to be back home. A baggage tag hung from the handle, and he went over to it and lifted it up with a single finger.

LAX TO VEL

ARCHERON, NESTA

Los Angeles. His heart picked up a beat at this realization. Had Nesta been a mere few states away for all these years?

There had been no hints that night she’d disappeared, or any of the nights since. Just a numb Feyre relaying to everybody that Nesta had moved away and would be going no-contact with her family, and for them to not search for her.

It’d only been a few weeks that the lack of Nesta— or rather, the lack of explanation about her leaving— felt like a gaping hole in their group. But as the months passed and it became more and more clear that she wouldn’t be calling or coming back, she ended up being smoothly erased from the narrative altogether. They didn’t talk of her, think of her, bring up old photos of her. In the end, it had begun to feel like Nesta was a figment of Cassian’s imagination, like he was the only person on earth left to remember her.

There was an unbearable curiosity within him to find out everything: where Nesta had been, why she had left, why she had returned. He wanted to go to someone and demand answers, but he hardly knew who to ask without getting a knowing look in return. It was a look that implied that Cassian was too interested in Nesta for his own good, as if he was a traitor for not disliking her the way everyone else did.

Cassian made himself let go of the baggage tag. No. He couldn’t toe the line this time, not at the risk of creating a rift in their group. Feyre and Rhys had a kid now, and Nyx needed a happy family to grow up in.

What had happened to Nesta was none of his business.

***

The welcome-back party ended up being not much of a party at all, but an intimate family dinner at an upscale restaurant called The Marchesa. To Cassian’s disappointment, Nesta hadn’t come along.

“She said she didn’t want to intrude and would rather get some rest,” Feyre explained as she wrestled Nyx into a high chair.

Amren snorted. “That’s why you dragged Nyx here instead of letting her babysit him?”

Feyre’s mouth drew into a tight line, and Rhys had an expression to match. Glancing between the two of them, Cassian realized they didn’t trust Nesta with Nyx, despite her bringing toy gifts for the boy earlier and sitting in the game room to watch him play with them.

“It’ll be some time before Nesta is mature enough to watch after a baby herself, I think,” Rhys muttered.

Elain gave a sardonic huff into her wine glass. “If she’s mature enough to survive on her own for years, surely she can handle an infant.”

Already Cassian was forgetting the promise he’d made mere hours ago to not ask any questions. “What was she doing while she was gone? Does anyone know...?”

Mor shook her head, blonde curls flying everywhere. “She won’t tell anybody. That’s what we were interrogating her about before you arrived at the manor.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” Feyre said defensively.

“She was a stripper,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the conversation. All chatter came to a quiet.

“Are you for real?” Mor said.

“How do you know that?” Elain demanded.

Az shrugged as he cut into his filet mignon with precision. “Feyre and Rhys told me not to look for her when she ran away, so I didn’t. It only took a few hours of research after she came back to find out what she’s been up to, though.”

“What else did you find out?” Rhys cut in.

Azriel shrugged. “That’s all there was. Clean record, renting a cheap apartment in the shadiest part of LA.”

“Goddamn.” Mor let out a low whistle.

Feyre looked stunned and upset. “I had no idea… I mean, she still won’t say a single word to me about it.” Her voice weakened on the last word.

Rhys covered her hand with his larger one. “Don’t cry for her, darling,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand. “Not when we’re here celebrating. She’s made her own decisions.”

***

It was a Sunday afternoon with only Cassian frequenting the river manor, cautiously watching baby Nyx as he gnawed on the railings of the second floor landing, when Rhys stormed through the foyer below and into the dining room.

“Look what I found in Nesta’s room.” The muffled words floated up to Cassian in Rhysand’s angry low tone, and Cassian instantly moved closer to the railing.

An exclamation of surprise came from Feyre, but her voice was much softer and the words harder to make out. Cassian strained his ears to hear.

He’d hardly seen anything of Nesta since she’d returned home a week ago, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he was babysitting Nyx at the manor so often only for the little boy’s sake. Since hearing that Nesta had been hiding away as a dancer in LA for the past year and a half, his curiosity had only burned hotter, now impossible to put out. He wanted—needed— to know more about her.

Only whatever heated conversation that Feyre and Rhysand were having about Nesta right now was too muted for Cassian to have a chance at overhearing, and, taking a risk, he swept Nyx into his arms and stood up. Before the baby could start yowling at being taken away from the banister rails, Cassian handed him the bright glowing screen of his phone. Nyx shut up in exchange for inspecting the device in his chubby hands with a focused look of curiosity.

As they crawled down the stairs and down the hallway leading to the dining room, Feyre and Rhysand’s voices grew louder—not because of proximity but because Feyre was getting more distressed about something.

“You shouldn’t have looked through her things, Rhys. We promised we would give her a chance—”

“And look what she’s done with her chance, darling. Look at it. Tell me this is what you want to have in our home, around our baby.”

Cassian stopped several feet beyond the doorway of the dining room, his breath caught in his chest. What could they possibly have been talking about?

“I—She told me she’s never been involved with drugs,” Feyre said, sounding helpless. “How can you be sure…?”

“Adderall, oxy, xanax. You tell me what she’s doing with all these pills, Feyre. You fucking tell me.”

A long silence, eventually broken by quiet weeping.

In his arms, Nyx had grown bored of Cassian’s phone and threw it to the ground with a shriek. Cassian froze in place for a moment before admitting defeat and stepping into the dining room.

Neither Rhys nor Feyre would look at him as he approached, but he handed Nyx over to his father anyway. On the dining table, he finally spied what the two of them were so upset about.

Everything that Rhys had listed and more, a variety of colorful pills neatly sorted into small plastic baggies like a cop had planted them. Had she taken all of that through the airport with her or acquired it here?

Despite the severity of the situation, a disbelieving laugh was bubbling low in his chest. Once again he was reminded that he didn’t know a single thing about this woman— not her values, her life, nor her character— and for the first time he asked himself why he even cared so much. What did it matter to him if Nesta Archeron was popping or snorting or injecting every drug under the sun? Why did he feel such a strange grief right now?

Staring down at the table, he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “They could be prescription.”

An exasperated sob broke from Feyre.

“Get out, Cassian,” Rhys snarled.

Meeting his brother’s eyes, Cassian turned somber. “I won’t tell anybody,” he promised.

Rhys looked at him for a long moment before nodding once, then turned to comfort Feyre. It was a clear dismissal.

With a sad sort of resignation, Cassian knew any mistakes made by Nesta wouldn’t be taken as kindly as they had in the past. Rhys was on an arrow-straight path to governor, and he wouldn’t let even a negative news article get in his way, much less a full-blown scandal. These days he demanded perfection from everybody in his life, and that would include Nesta.

Back in the foyer, Cassian stared up the grand staircase toward where he knew Nesta was, unaware of everything taking place in the dining room below her.

He frowned to himself. Her room was upstairs, yet Rhys had come from his study downstairs. Cassian wondered how long his brother had been sitting on this knowledge and contemplating what to do with it.

***

Life went on as normal and Cassian didn’t hear a peep about Nesta or her drugs for the rest of the week. He stayed true to his promise not to say anything about what he’d seen, and instead fell back into his routine of working through the day and going out with his friends at night. The way everyone else was so eager to ignore Nesta’s existence, it became easy for him to forget she was living at the manor at all.

Until Friday evening came around, and Rhysand called Cassian into his study while the Inner Circle gathered in the sitting room to share drinks and chat by the fire.

Rhys had been absent from their weekly family dinner that night with an apology about having urgent work to get done, so Cassian was wary about another business-related discussion as he followed Rhys into the study.

The heavy door snicked shut after them and Rhys went to pour each of them a finger of whiskey at his desk. He handed Cassian his tumbler and gestured for him to take a seat in the leather armchair across from him.

“Don’t tell me you’re sending me away again,” Cassian groaned as he sat. “It’s too close to the holidays.”

Rhysand was silent for a long moment, staring down into his whiskey with a deep furrow in his brow. He twisted the crystal tumbler in his hand and watched the liquid slosh around until he finally said, “Nesta is going to go away for a while.”

At the mention of her name, Cassian felt as if he’d been tossed into a lake of chilled water. “What do you mean?”

“Feyre and I want to keep it as quiet as possible. We’ll send her off without anyone noticing, just for the next year.”

“What do you mean?” Cassian repeated again, because he had less answers now than a few seconds ago.

“What do you think I mean, Cassian?” his brother snapped, growing irritated. “She’s been spending every day under our roof high as a kite. I’m shocked she hasn’t tranq’d herself to death yet. She can’t keep living with us like this, and she certainly can’t be trusted around Nyx. She needs to go away until she’s gotten better. That’s where you come in.”

“So—so you’ve already confronted her about it? Staged an intervention and everything?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and ran two fingers across his upper lip. “Something like that,” he gritted out. “She’s agreed to take up residence in one of my properties up in the mountains for the next twelve months. Then we can reevaluate her role in the family.”

Cassian shook his head hard, still confused. “If she’s abusing drugs, she needs professional help,” he insisted. “She needs to consider a rehab—”

Rhysand’s scowl was so dangerous it cut Cassian off mid-sentence. “And risk the news getting out that Feyre’s sister is a pill-popper? Over my dead body,” he growled.

He threw back a gulp of his whiskey and glanced away. “Besides,” he muttered, “she isn’t an addict.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Then what the hell is she?”

“A fucking flight risk that needs to lay low during this election season.” Rhysand’s eyes burned with a hatred Cassian had never seen before. “I will not have her fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard for right at the start of my campaign. This is my career and my family at stake, Cassian. You know better than anyone how important good PR is.”

Cassian went cold as if all the alcohol had been drained out of his veins. He swallowed without looking at Rhysand. “I do.”

“Nesta knows she fucked up. She’s consented to our plan for her, so you don’t need to get your bleeding heart twisted in knots over this. All you need to do is drive her up there and make sure she’s settled in.”

But no matter how Rhys put it, it seemed far too harsh a punishment for a woman who was clearly ill. Nesta had felt off from the very day she’d returned. After he’d seen the pills they’d found and meticulously researched the purposes and side effects of each one, the thought of leaving Nesta somewhere alone without any help made his stomach turn.

Rhys seemed to be able to read all of this on his face, because his own features softened as he said, “Cassian.”

“What.”

“You’re right that she needs help. This is the help. The plan is in my interests, yes, but it’s in hers more than anything else. The isolation won’t be a punishment. It’ll be her chance to heal.”

When Cassian didn’t say anything, Rhys went on, “My family practically owns the entire mountaintop the house is located on. She’ll be safe from any prying eyes and also will be too far from people to get her hands on any substances. All you need to do is transport her there tomorrow morning and visit twice a month to check in and do a supply restock. I’ve already cleared out your schedule.”

Rhys had clearly had this plan in place for a good while and was only now choosing to let Cassian know about it. Cassian had to clench his glass to hide the trembling of his hands. “What if she hates it up there?” he whispered. “What if she hurts herself?”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t have complete trust that she’ll be fine. This isn’t her first episode.”

He met Rhys’s gaze at that. “It isn’t?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and shook his head, the movement tight. “When she ran away two years ago… Trust me, this is nothing in comparison.”

Like he was sinking into a deep sleep, Cassian found himself nodding along to Rhysand’s words. She’s a big girl, a Rhys-sounding voice whispered in his head. She’ll thrive up in the mountains. She’ll get better and come back to you.

Feyre and Elain wouldn’t agree to this unless it was what’s best for her.

Feeling exhausted and weighed down by the endless arguments raging in his head, Cassian finally gave in and said, “You can count on me. I’ll do it.”

As if he had a choice in it.

***

Despite the aching hangover he woke up with the next morning, Cassian obediently got up before the sun had breached the horizon and packed a small bag. He was dressed and ready outside of the river manor by seven in the morning, two steaming cups of coffee waiting in the heated truck behind him.

His foot tapped a restless beat into the ground as he waited for her. Nesta didn’t always make him this anxious, but whenever she got herself into trouble with his family, there was no other way to feel.

He couldn’t look forward to any of it the way he wanted to: the scenic drive ahead of them, being alone with her, the possibility for conversation. Because he’d been assigned to the role of security guard instead of friend, and she was a prisoner instead of a willing participant.

Not a prisoner, he chastised himself. A patient at best.

A flight risk at worst, as Rhysand had said.

His breath halted in his chest when the front doors opened and she finally stepped out.

It was his first time seeing her since the day she returned—not for lack of trying on his part— and she looked… different.

Her face was caked with thick makeup and heavy eyeshadow, the type of face you’d see paired with a skimpy dress against the backdrop of a pricey club. In any other context, the look would have been glamorous, but under the gloomy sky with her unwashed hair and plain jeans, it was almost comical.

Cassian didn’t feel like laughing.

His swallow was tight as he watched her come down the stairs and cross the front lawn. How quickly his joy at her return had turned into regret. The woman in front of him didn’t look like the Nesta he knew at all, and it made him wonder if his friends had been right to be wary of her.

“Where’s your luggage?” was the first thing he asked her.

Idiot. Not even a good morning?

If Nesta noticed, she didn’t care. “Feyre is bringing it.”

Her voice was the same as before: quiet and hollow. She was looking at him without quite seeing him, as if her eyes were here but her mind was somewhere else.

Cassian wondered if the pills had done that or if this was just who Nesta was after a year and a half away. Before she’d disappeared, when she’d been drinking and fucking through every bar in the city, there was still anger in her. The depression was obvious, yes, but it hadn’t stolen her indignation or her fire.

This Nesta made him feel like he was handling a ghost. And as one would with the dead, he moved very carefully. Pulled the car door open and gestured for her to get inside. Told her the coffee in the cupholder nearest to her seat was hers. Glanced to make sure the seat warmer was on before shutting the door.

It only occurred to him when Feyre came out a minute later lugging Nesta’s bags that Nesta should have stayed outside to say goodbye to her sister. Although seeing as how she didn’t move or even look in Feyre’s direction from inside the truck, maybe it didn’t matter either way.

Feyre seemed to read the thoughts on his face as he gathered Nesta’s stuff from her. “She isn’t speaking to me,” Feyre said tersely, lips pursed in that way they did when she was trying to hide her disappointment. “I’ve already said what I have to say.”

Although they hadn’t talked about it, he was certain that Feyre was furious at how everything was playing out. Her sister had abandoned her family just as Feyre had gotten pregnant after years of trying, putting a damper on what should’ve been the happiest time of Feyre’s life, and had returned out of the blue just to get herself sent away again. Because she was abusing drugs apparently. Because she was unfit to be around her baby nephew, because she was deeply unwell and it would risk everything Rhysand had worked so hard to build for them.

Yes, Cassian could see why Feyre was pissed.

He leaned in and gave his friend the biggest hug he could manage. “Everything’s gonna get better, Feyre. You just need to be patient.”

“I’ve waited years already,” she whined into the thick material of his jacket.

He imagined the wait had been even harder for Nesta. He really hoped this plan worked, for Nesta’s sake more than Feyre’s or anyone else’s.

Releasing Feyre, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, ruffled her hair, and promised to be back by evening.

She didn’t stay to watch them drive off, instead turning and walking safely back into the warmth of the manor.

Inside the truck, not even the low buzz of the radio and blast of the heaters could drown out the awkwardness in the air. Not that Nesta likely felt it, or if she did she didn’t care.

He pondered for a long time on how to break the silence as he pulled out of the manor driveway and onto the road. “You don’t want your coffee?” he finally said.

He’d made it just the way she liked it, but she hadn’t touched her thermos at all.

“I’m going to sleep,” Nesta announced, then pulled out a pair of headphones and slid them over her ears.

Cassian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I brought a pillow and blanket; it’s in the backseat if you want to grab them.”

“I’m fine.” And then she turned her head away and closed her eyes, or at least did the best she could with her bulky headphones on.

He settled in for the six hour drive ahead of him.

Nesta slowly woke up as the sun climbed higher in the sky, dozing in and out of sleep until she finally came to full awareness around eleven.

“You’re up,” Cassian greeted. “In the mood for an early lunch?”

He watched from the corner of his eye as she touched her ears, still red and irritated from pressing against the headphones that had clattered to the ground a while back.

Stifling a yawn, she stretched her arms out and nodded. Cassian swallowed tightly and refocused on the road, not wanting to look at her while she looked so soft and flushed.

Before her father had died, there had been— a hint of something. A mutual attraction that he might’ve been delusional enough to hope would actually lead somewhere. Until she’d crushed that delusion on that Christmas night two years ago; until her drinking had gotten worse; until she’d retreated from everyone in the Inner Circle so completely that it was as if that something had never existed at all.

It would be beyond inappropriate to remember that something now. So he kept his eyes on the road and asked where she wanted to eat.

She said she didn’t care.

He didn’t know if the untouchable Nesta Archeron even ate at fast food places, much less had a favorite place to go to, so he pulled into the first burger joint he saw on the road. Ordered through the drive-thru and ate in the parking lot, warm and cozy in the truck while the world outside them froze.

When Nesta wrapped up her half-eaten burger and fries and began to put them away, Cassian stopped her with a look. “You have to eat, Nesta,” he said gently. “I know you didn’t have breakfast.” He couldn’t exactly envision her making herself toast and cereal at the crack of dawn right before she got kicked out of the manor.

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to him with a glare. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are starving.” He almost reached out to poke one of the many bones jutting through her thin sweater. She’d looked healthier than he’d ever seen her on the day of her return, although that hadn’t been saying much. Now it was evident that the past few days had been hard on her, almost stripping her entirely of whatever progress she’d made while she was in California.

Nesta threw the rest of her food back into the bag with unnecessary force. “I’ll eat it later.”

Cassian had to bite his tongue from quipping that it would be cold by then, deciding to let it go. Besides, it was the most emotion she’d shown all day, which was a win in his book.

He took this victory back onto the road with him; as he drove he carefully contemplated what he wanted to say to her next.

“Rhys told me you agreed to all of this.” The words took their time to hang in the air before he said, “Why?”

For a minute, he was certain Nesta wasn’t going to answer.

“What choice did I have?” she finally spoke.

Cassian worked his jaw, seriously considering her question. “You could go back to LA,” he tried.

She was looking down at her hands when she said, “No I can’t.”

“Stripper money isn’t paying the rent anymore?” He instantly regretted the words, his mouth trying to pick a fight before his brain could stop him. He clearly thought having an angry Nesta in his truck was better than having a numb one, but that was no excuse. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

Only Nesta wasn’t angry or defensive or any of the things that she should have been— she just remained silent, continuing to contemplate her hands.

His stomach dropped and guilt ratcheted into his throat, wishing he’d just left her alone.

So his hands jerked on the steering wheel a little when he heard her whisper, “I agreed for Feyre.”

He looked over at her. She was picking the skin on her palms—did she have calluses?— looking completely disinterested despite the gravity of her statement.

“Why?” he had to ask. From previous experience, Nesta didn’t tend to be concerned about how her actions affected her sisters, especially not Feyre.

“Because she deserves it.” Nesta’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “She deserves the beautiful house and beautiful family and a future as First Lady of the United States or whatever. I didn’t want to get in the way of that anymore.”

Cassian was at a loss for words. He never would have thought Nesta cared like that.

“You aren’t in the way,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “Feyre loves you and would rather you be home with her than anything else. It’s just…”

“Election season, right?” she muttered wryly. His stupid heart stuttered at her bitter smile even as he realized with despondency that she didn’t believe his words at all.

“It’s a complicated situation right now,” he tried to explain. “This is the solution that works best for everyone involved.”

Well, everyone except for Cassian, who would have to make this hellish drive at least twice a month to make sure Nesta didn’t go stir-crazy a la The Shining.

The question was sudden, as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said at all: “Would you believe me if I told you they were prescription pills?”

He gave her a look that was a cross between pitying and disbelieving. “In plastic baggies?”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, her eyes deadening once again. “That’s a no, then.”

Cassian hated that look in her eyes, like nothing and no one mattered to her. He almost backtracked and told her he believed her just to get that look to vanish.

But that would be lying, and it wouldn’t solve the root of Nesta’s problem. Not at all.

Taking in a short breath, Cassian refocused on the road. “I don’t care what you do with that stuff, Nesta. It’s Nyx that you need to think about. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for—”

“Please,” Nesta cut him off, and it was more of a choked noise than a word. Cassian blinked in surprise at the unexpected emotion, looking between Nesta and the road.

“Stop talking,” she continued, her voice strung out and strained. “Stop talking about everything.”

The order was so raw that it wasn’t really a choice for Cassian to not follow it. “Okay,” he stuttered out, then moved to turn the radio up, just enough to drown out the tension in the truck.

They were in the final stretch of the journey now. After a while longer Cassian could see the mountain that would be Nesta’s new home, snow and ice crusting the majority of it this late into the year. The drive to the top looked far longer than he thought it’d be, and he had a hard time imagining Nesta staying all the way up there by herself.

A rest stop came into view as they arrived at the base of the mountain. Rhysand hadn’t been lying when he said that Nesta would be far away from any people; the nearest town was maybe thirty minutes away from this isolated gas station, and it wouldn’t be a fun distance to cover on the uneven roads.

Rhysand had also assured Cassian that he’d already sent someone ahead a week ago— a week ago— to stock the mountain lodge with food and supplies, but knowing Rhys, Cassian doubted that there’d be a sizable snack collection up there.

“Alright, break time.” Cassian turned into the small parking lot. “Use the bathroom if you have to and buy whatever you want for the next week.” That’d be the next time Cassian would drive back here to check in on her, making sure she wasn’t trying to hurt herself in her solitude.

Nesta didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and shove out of the truck. He jogged after her, about to hold the gas station door open for her when his eyes landed on her bare neck.

His blood ran cold.

“Who did that to you?”

Nesta’s brow furrowed slightly at his growled question. She followed his gaze downward, to where her scarf had unraveled from her throat somewhere along the drive. Her features went stiff and she moved to rewrap the scarf, only for her wrists to be pushed back by Cassian.

“I mean it. What the fuck happened to you?” he restated fiercely.

The clear shape of a handprint bruised her throat in splotchy red and purple. It looked fresh. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, so ugly and wrong against the rest of her fair skin.

Nesta’s mouth curved into a sneer when he wouldn’t let go of her. “Where do you think it’s from, idiot? Sex. Ever heard of it?” She jerked away from him and flung her scarf back in place to hide her throat.

Cassian felt numb, cold and confused all over. The handprint was startlingly recent and violently dark. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of Nesta going out and having rough, animalistic sex while her family fell apart deciding how to help her. While Feyre sobbed herself to sleep over losing her oldest sister for the second time in a row.

Nesta’s flustered anger smoothed into a cruel smirk when Cassian didn’t say anything. “Don’t tell me you still have a virgin complex about me. Does it hurt to find out I like it hard and rough?”

Cassian blinked once, twice, then shook his head slowly. “No, Nesta,” he said. “It hurts to find out that you aren’t taking this seriously at all.”

“And what is this?” She suddenly stepped into his chest, so close he could smell the faded perfume that clung to her sweater. “Say the word for what it is, Cassian. How would you describe what you’re doing to me right now? Exile? Imprisonment?”

“A sabbatical.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and the startling sound almost distracted him from again catching the purple bruise peeking out from her scarf.

“I’m serious.” He had to be serious, because the alternative was that Rhysand and Feyre didn’t care for Nesta’s wellbeing at all, and he refused to believe that. For all the issues they had had with her, he refused to believe that.

Her laugh cut off sharply and her face went suddenly blank. “You’re blind.” She looked like she wanted to add something else, but kept her mouth shut and moved past him, entering the gas station alone.

Cassian was left standing outside in the freezing cold, wondering who the hell Nesta Archeron really was and what she was doing here.

After using the bathroom and paying for Nesta’s things (she’d left a pile of snacks and puzzle workbooks at the register for him to check out), he exited the gas station to find her leaning against the hood of his truck with her fast food leftovers.

She munched on cold fries while staring off into the distance, not even glancing Cassian’s way as he approached her. “The sun sets a lot quicker these days,” he told her, although there’d been no sun in the sky at all today. “Let’s get moving so we can get you settled in before it’s fully dark.” And so he could get home before it was too late.

His phone chose just that moment to ring. Shuffling the bags of Nesta’s snacks around so he could dig into his pocket, he pulled out his cell and glanced at the screen. It was Azriel.

He picked up. “What’s up?”

“You need to come home. Now.” His brother’s voice was dark over the line.

Cassian’s hackles raised. “What happened? Why?”

“I can’t say over the phone. It’s not good. Is Nesta settled at the lodge yet?”

“We aren’t even there yet,” Cassian replied. “We took a break so we’re behind on schedule.”

Azriel cursed softly. “How far behind?”

“Less than an hour.”

“That’s too far. Figure out a way to get home this instant.”

“What about—”

“I don’t care, Cassian. Feyre and the family need you. Get home now.” The shadowed threat in his tone lingered long after he hung up.

Cassian put the phone down and looked toward Nesta, who was still picking absently at her fries. “I’m so sorry,” were his first words to her.

She looked up at that. “What is it?”

“I— I have to go now. There’s been an emergency and Az isn’t telling me what it is.”

“Is it about Feyre?”

She was too damn perceptive. But he couldn’t let her worry, if that was something she was even planning on doing. “I don’t know anything yet,” he said honestly. “But I need to speed home now.” His brain scrambled for a way to get Nesta to the lodge and himself back to Velaris at the same time. Nesta was clearly thinking the same thing.

“I’ll call you a ride,” he decided. “Someone in the nearest town should be available to drive you up there.”

“You’re going to make me get in some random person’s car?” She didn’t sound angry or worried—just blunt— but the question pushed all the wrong buttons anyway.

“Considering all the other ways you’re willing to endanger your life, this shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he retorted with a raised brow. “Come on, get your bags while I find somebody. Please.”

He was abandoning her. He was abandoning her and he hated it, because Cassian never left people stranded. He wouldn’t even leave a one-night stand without making her breakfast first.

But family came first, and if Azriel had refused to speak of whatever the emergency was over the phone, that meant it was too important to risk prying ears.

In the end, he had to watch Nesta’s figure turn smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror as he drove off.

She was standing outside the gas station with her belongings and waiting for her rideshare to arrive.

***

A/N: im sorry i have no concept of distance or time in this fic so if something looks wack you'll just have to pretend it isn't. up next is nesta pov and a glimpse of rhysta! also, cassian will eventually stop being an asshole lol

#ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #rhysta #nessian fic #cassian #take the long way home

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waterfallofspace · 3 months ago

Text

All That Remains

So! I wrote a 'snzfic' that is like... 80-90% angst and whump. Though, there is snz in here, but uh... yeah I won't lie and sell this as a 'snzfic', think of it much more as an angst/whump fic that has snz featured too~

basically i had too many feelings about t/im s/toker and this is what happened

[CW: Swearing, Spoilers for M/agnus A/rchives, talk of heavy fevers and bad coughs, and a lot of emotional angst/anger]

Word Count: 7.3k Characters: Tim, Jon, Martin, mentions of others ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Go home, Tim.”

Tim merely rolls his eyes, giving a pointed look to Martin over Jon’s shoulder. He does not meet Jon’s eye. Martin, for his part, looks petrified. Tim’s half convinced if it was up to him, they’d all be sitting around drinking tea. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.

“I’m not asking anymore,” Jon continues, voice firm in a way that sets Tim’s teeth on edge. “You’re quite clearly not well.”

“None of us are ‘quite well’ lately, now are we,” Tim snaps back, a chill settling in his tone. “No ‘well’ person would be here. In this place.”

Jon pauses, face tightening. It’s not what he meant and they both know it. They both also know that Tim’s not wrong. It’s a stalemate, one that’s been going on for the full three days Tim had been coming to work with this bloody cold that’s begun to nestle in his chest. No doubt one Jon passed on to him, lord knows that man comes into work sick more times than healthy.

Fine, that might be a tad of exaggeration, but not all that much. Any time a cold, flu, hell- any time anything at all is going around the office? Jon will catch it. If something’s going around outside the office, Jon will catch that too, and bring it into the office. There was a time Elias himself had to step in and ban Jon from the office because he kept catching the same cold he’d just gotten over. Is that even possible? Who knows. In this line of work, ‘possible’ becomes a term applied loosely.

“Tim?”

The voice snaps him from his thoughts, Tim silently cursing the fever beginning to settle in his bones. Alright, maybe this is more than just a cold. Still, he’s not going- wait. Out loud.

“I’m not going home,” Tim manages, this time avoiding Martin’s dripping with concern gaze. Those puppydog eyes lost their charm as the world began to turn on its head. For what it’s worth, before all this, he would’ve been living for the attention. But now? Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach, every nerve in his body on edge.

“I told you,” Jon continues, mouth still pulled tight. “I’m not asking anymore.”

“Oh, so what, you’re ordering me?” Tim retorts, rising to his full height. He doesn’t miss the slight step backwards Jon takes, and fights the urge to feel pleasure at eliciting that response.

Jon stammers a little before speaking, but clears his throat roughly and calms his tone, “If that’s what you’d like to call it, then yes.”

“And what would you call it then? Pity? Care? Where was this… this care when I lost Sasha? Where was this pity when I was almost eaten by fucking worms for you?! I don’t need it now, and I won’t have it. Fuck your pity, and especially fuck your version of ‘care’.”

There’s a pause, and Tim could almost swear he sees… sadness in Jon’s eyes. It brings a new bout of rage rushing through his veins, blood beginning to boil.

It’s Martin that speaks first, barely audible above the pounding in Tim’s chest.

“When we lost Sasha.”

Tim sincerely considers telling him to fuck off. Maybe even throwing a chair at him.

We. When we lost her. Martin barely knew her, and Jon… No. No ‘they’ didn’t lose Sasha, he did. He lost her, it was him that knew her the best, it was him that talked to her every day, it was him that truly saw her, and it was him that should have seen that-

But did he? Did he even truly see her? Can he say that he did? All of his memories, they aren’t of Sasha, they’re of…

“Did any of us truly lose her?”

It’s barely a whisper, and Tim jolts a little as he realizes the sound came from him. Jon doesn’t seem to have noticed, and if it wasn’t for everything that’s gone to hell, Tim might thank some form of god for that. Martin wears an expression that says he did, but his lips tighten. He won’t answer it. Even if he wanted to, what could he say? That… thing, it took everything they had of her. None of them can recall, none of them can remember her, can mourn her, can miss her. Can miss her. The real her. Whoever that may have been.

This round of thoughts is interrupted by a deep cough, one Tim aims into his sweater. He pulls away as much as he can from the group, tucking into himself as he leans against the wall for support.

Martin makes a move to step forward, but pauses as Tim casts him a dark glance. A very firm, and almost cruel, message to back off. The coughing finally subsides enough for Tim to get a real breath in, and he takes a moment to steady himself before maneuvering himself back to his chair.

“You need to go home, Tim.”

Tim casts Jon the same dark look, clearing his throat before attempting to retort. The clearing turns into another, and then a third, and then devolves into another round of throat scraping coughs. Tim braces himself with an arm over his chest, wincing as the coughing leaves his lungs and ribs aching. Each new breath leaves them screaming in harmony, and if it wasn’t for the fact that dying right here and now would prove Jon right, Tim might damn well consider stopping.

“J-Jon’s right, Tim,” Martin stutters, pulling himself to his feet and beginning to busy himself with the kettle as he keeps talking. He’s muttering something or other about sickness, and wearing yourself to the bone. He’s gotten better about the rambling since… but it’s still Martin. Tim isn’t quite sure if he finds that comforting, or infuriating.

It’s not until he feels the warmth of a mug set next to him that Tim realizes he’s practically laying on his desk. His arms are curled beneath him, supporting his head, and… for the life of him he cannot remember moving. He looks up, and notices Jon’s left the room. So it’s been more than just the few seconds it’s felt like. Delightful.

A hand presses to his forehead, and Tim has to bite his own cheek to keep from crying out. He practically leaps backwards, or, as close as he can get with his body in such a state of exhaustion. All he really succeeds at doing is falling backwards out of his chair, eyes wide with panic.

Martin stares at him, hand still outstretched, looking deeply apologetic.

“Don’t do that again,” Tim snaps, quick to respond before Martin can get a word out. Masking his terror with anger, something he’s found comes pretty naturally to him these days. “I don’t need your fucking pity, or your fucking help.”

He hopes Martin doesn’t notice the way his hands are trembling. Or that despite how harsh the words were, his voice cracked through them, dangerously close to tears.

Every scar on his body throbs, and Tim can’t tell if it’s from the fever or the panic. Suddenly he feels the urge to scratch. To claw and tear and rip each one open, make sure there’s nothing crawling around inside him. He can still feel them, each wound… where they dug in… how they felt, crawling in and out of his aching flesh–

And just as quickly as it began, it passes. He’d blame it on the fever, but this has been happening since the attack. In the beginning it was constant, and he found it hard to focus on anything but the scars. Over time it had faded, slowly but surely, until it was hardly noticeable. Then… Sasha. And it was back all over again.

“Tim?”

The voice is soft. Timid. Martin.

Tim manages to open his eyes, though they feel heavier than they should. He tries to take stock of his surroundings, but the room begins to spin.

“Yeah?” Is all he can manage, before his eyes crash shut again. He doesn’t remember closing them in the first place.

“You need help walking, you can’t do it on your own, but I don’t uh… I d-don’t wanna…” it stammers a bit more, before Tim hears a deep breath, and the voice starts again. “You need help, I’m just gonna touch your arm, okay? And you grab onto me if you can, I’ll support your weight, you just lean on me.”

Sure enough he feels a grip on his arm, but true to his word, Martin doesn’t do anything further. Tim can’t bring himself to feel anything. Surely he should be grateful that Martin’s being so considerate. Or maybe angry that he’s being treated like he’s fragile.

Instead, he just stands. It’s slow, unsteady, and despite himself he leans into Martin’s grasp. Martin for his part is saying something, his voice low and steady. It’s probably meant to be comforting, but Tim just tunes it out.

“Storage room,” He mutters, refusing to meet Martin’s eyes.

“N-no, we need to get you home, you’re in no state-” Martin begins, but Tim cuts him off, pulling away with a move that almost sends him to the floor again.

He manages to find his balance, glaring up at Martin with what even he knows is misplaced anger. “No. I am not going home. I am going to lay down on the couch in the storage room until this…”

Martin doesn’t speak, clearly waiting for the end of the sentence. Tim wants to say… something. Anything. But he can’t seem to find words that fit. Till this sickness passes? Till this feeling goes away? Till he can stand to look at this office and not feel all the grief and anger and misery that this place seems to leak from every wall?

“I’m just gonna go lay down,” Tim finally finishes. An unsatisfying end. Par for the course around here.

There’s no argument, and despite Martin offering his arm again, Tim pushes past him and stumbles his way into the room alone. Collapsing onto the couch, he pulls his jacket tight around his shoulders. There’s some form of blanket around here somewhere, but he’s too warm anyway. Despite the fact he can’t stop shivering. Fucking fever.

~~~~~

Even before Tim opens his eyes he can feel the heaviness spread over him. It’s gotta be more than just his coat and… for a minute he considers ripping the blankets off. He didn’t ask for their pity, he didn’t ask for their help, but…

His eyes only open for a second before fluttering shut again. It’s more comfortable than he’d like to admit, and he soon finds himself drifting back off into another fitful sleep. This time instead of the things crawling in and out of him, his unconscious is greeted by eyes. Too many eyes. His body lays still, but his mind races. They all watch him. He can’t find it in himself to do anything but let them.

~~~~~

This time Tim manages to keep his eyes open long enough to take stock of his surroundings. There’s a couple more blankets folded neatly on the end of the couch, and- yeah. He was right, someone had draped a few extra over him as he’d slept. There was also a pile of… what’s gotta be a scraped together ‘cold and flu kit’. A couple tissue boxes, a handful of pill packages, some- chapstick? Tim does find himself damn near chuckling at that one. No sound comes out, but it’s still the closest thing to real laughter he’s had in awhile.

It’s sweet. The pile, the offerings, it’s kind of them, but Tim feels that pit in his stomach begin to deepen. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix anything. And he didn’t ask for their help. Their pity. He’s not some… some broken thing for them to take apart and put back together.

But he knows that’s not the real reason. That lump in his aching throat reminds him every time he swallows. Almost as if he can hear it in each heartbeat. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha. It should be Sasha.

Still, despite it all, Tim can’t deny he needs some of the shit they’ve left him. This is made clear as the itch he’d been fighting for days rears its head, sending chills down his spine. He barely manages to grab a handful of tissues before the first sneeze breaks through, stifled painfully into near silence, followed by another double he manages to stifle silently too.

Another thing he learned from her. Unless he didn’t. Who fucking knows anymore.

Tim doesn’t have long to linger on the thoughts before the next sneeze breaks through his control, roughly stifled again. It leaves his ears ringing, his sinuses throbbing, and his head pounding, but… it’s better than being heard. And you know what? Maybe he wants to have a little control over a situation that’s almost entirely out of his control. Sue him.

“huh’kNXgt– dNGT’iuh-! Fuck.”

He takes the pause to blow his nose, wincing as it does almost nothing but leave him even more congested. Even just the effort of that seems to sap all the energy he has. It takes all he has to toss the tissues in the general vicinity of the trash, grabbing a new handful. Knowing his nose, he’s not done.

“knNCh-uh-! eh’KNXgt-! ah’RZSHHH–oo!”

The last breaks through his control, scraping against his throat. Well isn’t that just the whole point. No control, no matter how hard he tries. He curses under his breath, spending the last of his handful of tissues to blow his nose a few more times. Thankfully that seemed to satisfy the itch enough for now. It retreats back into a softer, yet still deeply irritating, buzzing.

Tim finds his eyes closing before he can really stop them. His body collapses against the back of the couch, and his breath begins to even out into congested snores. In his last seconds of consciousness, Tim almost has the presence of mind to pull the blankets back over himself. Instead he settles for some half-assed wiggle into a more comfortable position, hands tucked beneath his chin as he falls back into the void of sleep.

The people that he doesn’t know at all begin to surround him, each of them wearing a face that he can’t help but recognize. This time he cries out. No one comes.

~~~~~

“Hey, hey, easy, don’t move too fast,” The voice says, Tim slowly peeling his eyes open. The world is blurry, the light making all the lines in the room start to swirl together. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, coughing roughly into a curled fist as the change in pressure just from sitting up leaves him breathless.

“Wow you really don’t follow instructions, do you?” The voice is playful, teasing, but softens as his spasms continue. “Easy does it, you’ve been out for awhile, I was starting to get a bit worried you’d never wake up again.”

Tim still can’t make out the figure, tears collecting in his lashes as the coughing spills out from his lungs. His whole body feels heavy, and he searches in vain for something to lean against.

The voice speaks again, soft and caring. “Just lean back, the couch is behind you, it’ll catch- yeah, there you go. Just breathe, alright? It’ll be over soon. There’s a water bottle to your left, yeah right there, drink some of that, would ya? Easy though, don’t choke on it.”

He does as he’s told, taking slow sips until the spasms ease enough for him to draw a full breath without coughing. There’s a light wheeze to his inhales, but as he continues his slow but steady breaths, it fades back into the mild congestion settling in his lungs.

“Tha-ks,” Tim says, his voice coming out crackly and congested. He considers clearing his throat, but the itch in the back of his lungs warns him against it. Guess he’ll have to settle for sounding a bit like death until his chest calms itself.

“You sound awful. What have I told you about coming into work sick?” The voice is calm, there’s no anger in it. It just sounds… playful. And… familiar in that way where Tim can’t place it. He can’t say he’s ever heard it before. But he instinctively leans into it, keeps his eyes shut as he waits for– something. He’s waiting for something, but he doesn’t know what.

A cool touch breaks him from the trance, and he lets out a near moan at the sensation. “Tim… you’re burning up.” It’s not the same voice. This one is still soft, and caring, but it doesn’t feel as– it’s just not right. He can place it though, and he opens his eyes to find Martin’s general shape kneeling in front of him. As Tim’s eyes begin to focus a bit more through the haze, he can identify the knitted brows and tight mouth; concern written clearly across Martin’s face.

He wants to tell Martin to leave him alone. He wants to ask where the other voice went. To ask who they were. To tell them to come back. He does none of this however, that damned itch deciding it’s been dormant for long enough.

Tim barely has time to pull away from Martin, raising the collar of his sweater to cover his nose and mouth as the hitching begins. He sits there for a moment, frantic “hh– hUhh–!” coming out in fragments as his whole body begins to buzz. Finally it builds to a breathy, “hh’yshhiew! h’ZShhh–uh! tzsHhh-! ah’tSHH–iew!”

They’re lighter than the others, his more natural airy sneeze, not the heady, throat scraping mess that comes after one too many stifles. Unfortunately they do still shift the congestion in his head, and he finds himself awkwardly reaching for the tissues, one hand pressed up under his nose.

Thankfully Martin takes pity on him, and pushes the box within his reach. Tim grabs a handful and blows, then again, and then a third and final time. Martin, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about the whole spectacle. He settles instead for casting Tim that same worried glance, with a hint of a sympathetic smile.

“So-rry,” Tim manages to croak out, coughing a little as the words pass through his throat. He takes a moment to drink some more of the water, relieved when it helps the next words come out audible, albeit quite congested. “That tends to happen when I wake up.”

“It’s alright,” Martin replies instantly, rising from the floor to seat himself on the couch, a respectable distance away from Tim. “You have nothing to apologize for, you’re sick, you’re allowed to have symptoms. It kinda comes with the territory!”

Martin chuckles a bit after that last part, clearly trying to lighten the mood a bit. Tim manages to give a weary smile. After all, it’s not Martin’s fault he feels like shit. And despite the anger he was aiming at him earlier… Martin’s just trying to help. He knows that. But more than that… this isn’t Martin’s fault. None of this. He’s just as caught up as Tim. Without Jon here, it’s easier to remember that.

But still… Tim has to bite down the rising anger at the memories of what Martin had said. Jon’s going through it. Jon’s taking it hard. Jon needs their support. All the comments race around his head, spinning at dizzying rates until Tim feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, you’ve gone really pale, do you need… c-can I do anything? Do you need anything?”

Tim shrugs the hand off, pulling himself as upright as he can manage with the world shifting perspective each time he blinks. “No, I’m… I’m okay.”

“Well we both know that isn’t true.”

The comment seems to catch them both equally off guard, Martin’s eyes going wide as his mouth falls slack. “I- I don’t know why I said… I’m- I’m sorry, it just kinda-”

“Hey,” Tim interrupts, putting on his best shit-eating grin. It’s halfhearted at best, but trying times and all that. “You were actually a bit of an ass for once, don’t ruin the moment with the whole apology thing.”

“R-ruin the moment of me being an ass…?”

That gets what would almost be called a genuine smile from Tim. “I prefer it to the crippling optimism and ‘let’s all be friends’ attitude.”

There’s a pause as Martin seems to take this in, considering it with an unreadable expression. Tim continues, though whether it’s for his benefit or Martins, he isn’t sure. Blame it on the fever. “I mean, it’s never gonna be the same again, is it. Not that it was all that great to begin with, but… better to be a realistic ass, then pretend it could be that way again. Making fun of Jon with Sash, talking about how it should’ve been her, joking about taking him out so she could take over… and yet still helping him out, and laughing with him on the rare moments you catch him outside of his ‘I’m The Serious Bossman Now’ attitude-”

Martin laughs a bit at this, and even through the fevered haze, Tim can see the memories flashing behind Martin’s eyes too. Though for Martin, those memories might not be quite as treasured as they are for Tim. Jon was definitely more of an ass to Martin than he truly deserved back then. Not that he’s overflowing with nice now, but… he does seem to go easier on him.

“Then again,” Tim finds himself saying, “can’t really be sure that was really her anyways, now can I. I mean, I have all these memories, these things we did, the fun we had, how she was… but all of it’s corrupted. Useless. None of it’s real, I don’t… I don’t even remember what she looked like. Or what her voice sounded like… I mean it’s so clear in my head, when I think of Sasha I remember her voice and her glasses and how she wore them kinda lopsided but- none of that was really her, was it?”

There’s no response to this, not that he was expecting one. Honestly, Tim didn’t even mean to say that much. He looks up, noticing the same tears in Martin’s eyes that he can feel starting to well up in his own. Fuck all of this, honestly. Fuck Martin crying, as if he has any right to. As if Tim himself has any right to cry for… whoever it was that he might have known. He can’t even be sure they were close, but… the hole that he can’t quite place inside himself says there’s something he’s missing that he used to have.

“Fever talking,” Tim finally utters, after a few minutes of unbearable emotionally-charged silence. “Don’t even really know what I’m saying. I’m gonna lay down again.”

Martin stands, quickly maneuvering himself out of the way so Tim can stretch out. Not that he does. In fact Tim does quite the opposite, curling himself up into as small of a position as he can get.

“You could stay, you know,” he finds himself whispering, the words coming out strangled and soft. There’s a moment of stillness as Martin pauses, one hand still on the door handle. He heard. They both know he heard. Now he has to decide if he’s gonna acknowledge that, or pretend he didn’t.

“You know,” Martin finally speaks, Tim startling a little as his eyes snap back open from where they’d almost sunk shut. “Jon’s on a bit of a tangent about doors and spiders and whatnot at the moment. I could use a little peace and quiet.”

“Well,” Tim says, the words rippling through his throat and leaving him struggling not to cough again. “Can’t really promise the quiet part.” He barely makes it to the end of the sentence before the cough breaks loose, a deep and rattling noise that leaves Martin wincing.

Tim manages to grab the water bottle from where it had sunk between the couch cushions, and takes a few sips. After a couple more minutes of this back and forth, the coughing finally subsides, leaving him fully winded.

“Case in point,” he manages to stammer out, swallowing with a grimace as the words burn against his aching throat.

Martin says nothing at first, still standing awkwardly somewhere between the hall and the room. Finally, without a word, he closes the door behind him and walks over to the couch. There’s a brief pause, and Martin looks over to Tim. As if waiting for confirmation that this is really okay. Tim gives a small nod, curling back into himself, and Martin takes his seat on the edge of the couch.

“That’s alright then,” Martin finally says, Tim not even bothering to open his eyes at the sound. “I never was a fan of quiet.”

Sleep overtakes Tim as quick as before, that darkness enveloping him as fast as turning out the lights. The fog begins to roll over him, waves crashing against his feet, ready to consume him whole and drag him to the depths of nowhere. But it doesn’t. Instead, Tim looks up and sees- no one. There’s no one there, there never was, there never will be.

Still… he can’t shake the comforting feeling that he’s not alone here. Not this time. A voice begins to hum to him. A voice he cannot possibly remember. A song he cannot possibly hear. But all the same, it soothes him into a deep and peaceful rest.

~~~~~

This time Tim awakens to the sound of shushing, and hushed tones saying words just past his reach of consciousness. As the world begins to come into focus, he notes Martin standing at the door, speaking in hurried but quiet tones to an agitated looking Jon.

Martin keeps casting glances back at Tim, and on what must be the fifth one, their eyes meet. Immediately Martin turns back to Jon, saying a few more words but this time in a much firmer tone than Tim’s used to hearing from him. Jon seems surprised as well, as he stops talking until Tim hears a faint murmur of… an apology? Followed by footsteps retreating down the hall away from the door.

Turning around, Martin closes it behind him, giving Tim a soft smile. “Morning, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You di-dn’t,” Tim lies, leaning into his shoulder to cough a bit until the rough nature of his throat dwindles enough to sound legible. “I woke up on my own.”

“That’s good then,” Martin replies, giving a soft smile.

“How long was I out?” Tim asks, swallowing roughly and beginning to search for the water.

“Most of the day, it’s about mid-afternoon right now”, Martin says, turning towards a shelf, grabbing a cup and gesturing it towards Tim. “I made tea not too long ago, you want some?”

Tim gives a nod, accepting the cup Martin passes him and letting the warm liquid soothe his throat. The taste is familiar, and he gives Martin a look. “Is this honey and lemon?”

Martin blushes a little, hands fidgeting with his own mug. “W-well yeah, I figured if you did wake up th- that it might help,” he then pauses, giving Tim a once over. “How are you feeling?”

“Right as rain,” comes the immediate response, Tim flashing Martin a forced grin. “Never felt better. Locked into a contract at the job from hell, where everyone either dies, goes mental, or gets eaten by worms! What could possibly be wrong, working at a place like the Magnus Institute!”

It’s dripping with sarcasm, and that all consuming anger that Tim just can’t seem to be rid of. Not that he’s tried. Anger keeps him going. Anger gives him purpose. If it wasn’t for the anger… the depression would take over again. And he’s had damn well enough of that.

Martin doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing really to say. They both know what he meant, and they both know pressing Tim for an actual answer won’t do anything but lead to a confrontation. Tim’s sure Martin’s well sick of those by now. Seems to be the only language Jon and him still have in common, and Martin never seemed one to take part.

“hH’TSShh–iew!” The first sneeze catches him by surprise, but Tim has enough presence of mind to set down his cup and bring up his shirt to catch the next- “hihh– tsshhh-! tzSSHhhiew-! teh’ZShh’ew-! ah’tshh-! aH’TSHh–uh!” that follow.

“Bless you,” Martin offers, setting down his tea and offering the tissue box instead. Tim accepts, taking a handful and pressing them to his nose, wincing as the light touch leaves his breath catching.

“hh– hiEH!-hhh… hhhH!– hiEH’TSChhew-! aHTCHhh–oo! ah’tSChhho-! at’cHhoo-! nghh…” Tim can’t help the heady sigh that escaped at the end of that fit, the tissues all but useless now. Without a word, Martin offers the box again. Tim merely groans, taking another handful and blowing his nose a few times, until he can breathe again.

“Bless you again,” Martin says, concern evident in his tone.

“Thagks,” Comes Tim’s reply, dripping with congestion and sarcasm.

“You sound awful,” Martin says, seemingly letting it slip before really considering the wording. He starts gearing up to an apology, but Tim holds up a hand, waving it off.

“I dnow I do. Dod’t apologize, we both kdow it’s true.” With that said, Tim grabs another handful of tissues and attempts again to clear his sinuses. At least enough to make his words understandable. It seems to work, though it takes several blows to get there. “You really gotta work on that apologizing.”

Martin stammers his way through something like seven near apologies before finally settling on, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tim just nods in reply, eyes beginning to flutter shut as he raises another wad of tissues to his nose. He can feel it twitching, nostrils flaring with each rise and fall of the tickle spreading deeper and deeper.

There’s a beat of silence, Tim hitching mercilessly into the tissues as they both wait in anticipation for anything to happen.

Finally after almost a full minute of the torture, Tim lets out an itchy moan.

“Are you-” Martin starts, jumping a little when Tim whips to the side and lets out a desperately itchy sneeze.

“hH’ATSChhiew-!”

“Oh- bless you, I guess that was-” “aH’TSChhoo-! ah’TShh–oo! ATSCHh-shhoo!”

Tim catches Martin wincing out of the corner of his eye as he comes up for air, before ducking back into his pile with “hH’tIEww-!” a few more “ahh!- hng… oh, hhhh– hH’TSChh–iew!” breathy and high pitched “hh’TZSHhiew-!” sneezes.

Usually Tim would be feeling one of two things. One, enjoyment of the attention he’d get from such a desperate fit. Or two, mortified that people heard that version of his sneezing, how high pitched and dramatic it gets when his nose is really irritated. Admittedly it’s usually the first option, but amidst certain company it can be more humiliating than enjoyable to be reduced to such a display.

Today, however, he feels neither. Instead he just feels drained. Completely and utterly drained. He uses his last bits of energy to blow his nose, barely able to produce enough willpower to get anything out, and then falls back against the couch. Martin looks on in concern, reaching down to the tray of supplies Tim had– frankly forgotten was there.

“Look, I know you don’t want our… well I know you don’t want– um, I know-” Martin stammers, rustling through a few packages of pills and grabbing a few things Tim doesn’t even bother to attempt to read.

“Just spit it out, Martin,” Tim snaps. The weariness in his voice softens the sting of his tone a little, but he doesn’t miss Martin flinch. He’d feel bad, if this was any other situation. He’d feel good if it was Jon. Instead he just ends up where he’s found himself more often than not lately. He doesn’t feel anything.

“Sorry, uh… w-well,” Martin continues, and to the guy’s credit, he keeps his voice even and his tone soft. Despite the fact Tim knows he doesn’t deserve either. “I know you don’t want our help, or- or my help I suppose, as I’m the only one here right now, but uh– I really think you should take some of these meds. You just– you don’t sound well, and they could help, especially if you’re not gonna take Jon’s advice and…”

Tim feels his blood start to simmer again, despite how exhausted his whole body feels. No pick-me-up quite as good as a bit of rage to get you through the day. Martin knows he messed up. Tim can see it plain as day on his face, Martin’s words grinding to a halt and his eyes beginning to flicker back between the pills and Tim.

He wants to feel bad for the man, truly he does, and he knows all this rage isn’t fair. All Martin did was state a fact. But… Jon’s advice. Jon’s advice. If he’s not gonna listen to their ‘boss’ who’s been too busy with his mental breakdown to give a fuck about how his employees– how his friends have been doing. If he’s not gonna follow the advice of the man who didn’t check up on him once after he got eaten by fucking worms. The man who stalked him, sat outside his house, took photos of where he went and what he did, but didn’t bother to ask if he was okay.

“No, Martin,” Tim says, ice and sarcasm soaking through his words. “I am not going to follow Jon’s advice. And your contributions to the ‘Tim Can’t Take Care Of Himself’ club have been deeply appreciated, but now I think you should leave.”

“Tim, I didn’t mean-”

Tim casts Martin a dark glare, pulling himself to his feet with considerable effort. “Get out.”

Martin does as he’s told, rising to his feet and hurrying out of the room, though he does pause at the door and give Tim one last look. It’s clear what he’s saying, you aren’t alone. I can help you if you let me.

It’s a look he remembers from Sasha. She used to say all the time, “I can’t help you unless you let me, and Timothy Stoker you are stubborn as anything, but god help me I will make you let me.”

But even that is tainted. He wants to believe she really said that, he wants to believe they really had those moments, those looks, that bond, but… even if they did, the face he remembers, the look he remembers, it’s not her. It will never be her. She’s dead and he can’t even do her the small favour of remembering what she was like.

A few tears begin to run down Tim’s face, and the feeling surprises him enough to snap him out of the anger. And as the anger fades, so does the strength he’d found from it, his legs giving out beneath him. Tim hits the floor hard, feeling his knees grind against the carpet as he sinks to the ground.

Martin reacts quickly, jumping to action to help break Tim’s fall, strong arms, stronger than he’d expect from the man, gripping his shoulders and helping lean him against the wall. Martin’s speaking too, saying something Tim… just can’t make out above the crying. Why is– why is Martin crying?

It takes him longer than he’d admit to realize the crying is coming from him. Once he catches on, so do his lungs, and it’s mere seconds before the heaving sobs turn into rattling coughs. Tim gasps for air, hands white-knuckled as he grips Martin’s arm. Martin’s still talking, and through the coughs he manages to understand “sit forward” and “deep breaths”.

He does as he’s told, desperate to cling onto consciousness as everything begins fading into white. The world begins to spin, flashes of darkness and light taking turns blocking his vision. The worms are back, crawling in and out of his body, leaving his entire skin itching and burning.

Amidst the chaos, he feels a hand on his back, and a bottle being pressed into his hand. A firm voice calls out to him above all the noise, “Drink this, Tim.”

Tim manages to do so, identifying the liquid as water as he chokes it down. It’s cold too, the ice cubes giving him something to focus on besides the feeling of crawling and pain in each scar. He takes the time to chew each ice cube that makes it through the bottle, his lungs beginning to calm as his throat soothes at the cool touch.

“There you go, just like that, now take these and blow,” The voice demands, and Tim feels tissues being pressed into his free hand. The hand on his back is rubbing slow circles, and too out of it to feel any embarrassment, Tim leans forward and blows his nose into the tissues. He blows again, and again, until he can feel some of the pressure in his head start to clear, and his breathing gets a touch less laboured.

When his vision is cleared enough to look around, Tim glances up and sees Martin sitting beside him, rubbing soft circles on his back. He notes that he’s leaning against Martin’s chest, and makes the conscious choice not to move just yet. Tim then draws his eyes up further to the right to see Jon kneeling in front of him, still holding a handful of tissues.

“You brought the ice water?” Tim asks, voice coming out surprisingly clear, though quite hoarse. Jon simply nods, suddenly very busy studying the floor beneath them.

“I,” Jon starts, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing, “I thought you might need it. I could hear you from my office, you didn’t– you didn’t sound well.”

“And you just happened to have ice water and tissues sitting around casually on your desk,” Tim asks, doing his best in his foggy state to raise an eyebrow.

Jon blushes a touch at this, casting an anxious glance over to Martin, before returning his gaze to the floor and answering noticeably quieter, “I may keep a certain set of… supplies in my office, as I’m not exactly unfamiliar with– this sort of condition.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re sick more times than healthy?” Tim quips back, not unaware of the irony of their current situation.

Jon doesn’t seem unaware of it either, and for the first time in… in a long time, Tim sees a smile creep over his face. A genuine one, not that professional civility bullshit he’d been putting up as a front lately.

Jon clears his throat a little before speaking, casting Martin another embarrassed glance. “That statement is definitely not accurate, but… I do suppose you could say I’m– more susceptible than most.”

“Well it’s not like I’m immune,” Tim starts, pausing to duck into his shoulder with a rough, “ah’TZShh–oo!”

“Bless,” Jon says, Martin echoing with a blessing of his own, never pausing his slow circles on Tim’s back.

“Case in point,” Tim says, letting his eyes fall shut as he leans to the side, suddenly feeling the full weight of his fever begin to pull him back towards unconsciousness.

He’s snapped out of it by something cold and wet being pressed to his face, managing to pry his eyes open to be met with the sight of Jon holding a washcloth soaked in icewater to his forehead. Despite everything, this sudden touch doesn’t leave him with the same crawling sensation most do. Maybe due to the fact he’s still half leaning against Martin, or maybe because… it’s Jon. And despite everything, he’s the one person that understands…

“You really should go home, Tim,” Jon says, interrupting Tim’s thoughts as he sets down the washcloth. “I can feel the heat radiating off you from here, and while I don’t have a thermometer to check, I’m willing to bet you’re well past an acceptable fever to be working through.”

Martin chimes in with his agreement. Tim takes note of the fact he’s stopped rubbing, and instead has one hand behind Tim’s head to keep him from hitting the wall, the other against the ground to keep his balance.

“Weren’t you the one who came to work with a fever of 41° and fainted at your desk? I seem to remember Elias threatening to call an ambulance,” Tim retorts, tongue sharp as ever, even while fully leaning against Martin to keep himself upright.

“Are you saying you need me to threaten to call an ambulance to get you to go home?” Jon responds, not without wit of his own. Tim gives him a look, weighing his intentions. He knows Jon won’t get Elias. After everything… he just wouldn’t. But an ambulance..? It’s not outside the realm of possibility he calls one.

Tim mutters his response, barely audible over the sound of his own wheezing breath.

“What was that?” Martin asks gently, using his free hand to brush back a bit of Tim’s hair from where it was clinging to his sweat-soaked forehead. Tim nearly melts at the touch, another thing he’s blaming on the fever.

“I said I don’t think I can make it home like this.”

Jon pauses, taking a step back and clearly evaluating Tim’s condition. Tim gives a winning smile, one laced to its core with sarcasm. Even in this state, he’s not forgotten what Jon did. How Jon acted. He can put on the concern all he wants, hell he can actually feel it, but it’s too late. He doesn’t need it now, not… not like he needed it then.

“Fine,” Jon says, Tim nearly jumping at the sudden noise. Martin flinches too, and Tim could swear he sees a flash of guilt across Jon’s features. Still, Jon continues, voice even as ever. “You can stay here and sleep off the fever, it’s not like we’re using this room much anyways. Me and Martin will handle your caseload, between us, and with Melanie’s help, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Sounds like a plan boss, now maybe you can leave me to die in peace?” Tim quips in response, wincing a little as the room lurches violently when he rises to his feet. Martin’s still perched at the ready, clearly thinking Tim’s going to fall over again. To his credit, an entirely possible outcome.

There’s a look in Jon’s eyes that Tim pretends he didn’t see. He knows what it means, after all, Jon used to be his friend. He knows the sadness all too well, he’s felt similar kinds of it himself while Jon was losing his mind right in front of their eyes. Or when Sasha… but no. Knowing the feeling doesn’t mean he has to empathize with Jon.

Jon, for his part, just nods, gesturing for Martin to follow him as he leaves the room. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud. Tim winces as the sound echoes through his brain, pounding in time with his heartbeat. After they’ve both left, he stumbles over and turns the light off, before collapsing back onto the couch.

He’ll sleep off the fever, then go home when he can travel on his own. And fuck, maybe he’ll just never come back. Maybe he’ll go on vacation, go somewhere far away, visit Rome, or Peru, or maybe Malaysia.

Sure, maybe it was nice to have Martin stay with him but... it changes nothing. None of this changes anything. Sasha's still dead, Jon still left them all on their own, and Martin... he's still fighting for a future that's long dead. One that died with Sasha, even before any of them knew it. All that remains now is anger, lies, and whatever the fuck the Magnus Institute has in store for them.

So for now, all he can do is sleep until this fever goes away. Tim's eyes drift shut, and he falls back into the uneven sleep he’s grown so accustomed to. This time he’s back in those never-ending halls, turning corners that cannot possibly be there, walking past hundreds of lamps, paintings, photographs, and mirrors. This time, like many before, he does not scream.

He’s far too aware, there’s no one to hear him.

#waterfallwrites #please do read the CW on this before you read the story as well as my lil disclaimer~ this story is #VERY spoiler heavy and VERY angst/emotional and (kinda? if you count illness??) physical whump heavy #not my usual horn/fluff/fun snz story #it's not gonna end on a happy note <3 #but with that in mind- i hope this is enjoyable #it truly came from suCH a place in my soul to write this level of angst and whump with tim #he just. he brings it out of me. hes so tragic in a way that destroys me almost as much if not as much as jon does <3 #anyways here! is my wayYYY too long angsty thing that was born from just the lines in my head of “go HOME tim”~#snzfic #t/im s/toker #the m/agnus a/rchives #snz fic #t/ma

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analogwriting · 1 year ago

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The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter One: Poplar St

Killer x gn!reader word count: 1.6k first|next a/n: i know this is shorter pls bear w me as i get back into the swing of things trustttt the rest will be longer kinda laying the land a bit

As you pulled up to your house, loud music was playing from the closed garage; as it always did. You climbed out of your car, stretching a bit before heading inside. Once inside, you headed down the hallway to the door leading into the garage. You couldn’t open the large door as things were hanging on it and it wasn’t like there was any room to park in there anyway. It was more of a large hangout space than a place to park your vehicle. Besides, you had plenty of driveway to park in.

As you opened the door, the music grew tenfold. You didn’t mind, however. It was something you were used to at this point. Kid had done exactly what he had set his heart on all those years ago. He formed his band with your friends once everyone reached their teens. He was the vocalist, sometimes playing the guitar. Heat was the lead guitarist and backup vocals. Wire was the bassist, sometimes playing the keyboard. Killer played the drums, also helping write a lot of the lyrics and composing the music.

They also were pretty good. They traveled to nearby cities and towns, playing in all kinds of places. Maybe you were biased, but you just knew they were going to be signed any day now.

The moment the door opened, Killer looked back at you, a large smile forming on his face as he kept playing. The others hadn’t noticed you as they were facing away and too lost in playing to really notice, but Killer always could tell when you walked in. It was the deep connection the two of you shared. At least that’s what you told yourself. He was your boyfriend after all, even after all these years.

You walked over to him with a large smile, leaning down and kissing him softly. He didn’t miss a beat, still playing his drums as he kissed you. The two of you knew better than to interrupt practice, Kid had yelled at you plenty of times for it. So, Killer became very skilled at multitasking. Well, at least in the form of kissing you while he played.

You pulled away, smiling at him for a moment, him returning the smile. You kissed him one more time before letting him be. You had homework and he needed to focus. When you turned, you noticed Hop sitting on the couch, reading with a sleeping Dive slung across her lap. You snorted at the sight, settling in on the other side of the couch.

Hop looked at you, waving. You returned the wave before diving into your homework, wanting to finish it before practice ended. You couldn’t exactly talk when the music was as loud as it was.

During the duration of their practice, people came and went. Gig and Pomp stopped by, dropping off some snacks before heading off to their afternoon classes. Hip and Bubblegum popped by, sitting and chilling for a while before heading back out as well.

That’s the way your house worked nowadays. Your mother passed a couple years ago, leaving you the house and a good enough inheritance to keep you comfortable. Kid had always lived with you and your mother, so of course he was always at the house. Killer had stayed with you most of the time after your mother passed, knowing how close the two of you were. It had been rough of you. He had also been close with her, of course. He eventually just…never left. He had a spare key since your teens, so he was already a part of the household basically.

Your friend group had grown so much and with everyone having crazy schedules, it wasn’t like you could just…hang out in a big group like you used to. Sure, sometimes the stars aligned and you were able to have some kind of get together with everyone, but this more casual way was easier for everyone. People came and went, hanging out for as long as they liked or as little as they liked. The fridge and cabinets were always full of snacks and food that people brought. There were different game consoles, tv screens, the likes spread throughout all the rooms. It was just one giant hangout spot and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You left the backdoor unlocked at all times. You had a fenced in backyard, but there was always someone you trusted at the house at all times so you didn’t have to worry otherwise. Besides, you’d been in this neighborhood for so long, you knew everyone.

You suddenly felt strong arms wrap around you and lift you up. You slowly woke up, not even realizing you had fallen asleep. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Killer’s voice was low as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You yawned, shaking your head. “It’s alright. I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. How long was I out?” You snorted, looking up at him and kissing him.

“Not too long. We just finished up.”

“How was practice?” You looked over, seeing that Hop and Dive had left. It was just you and the four who were just playing.

“It went good as usual, but there’s something missing,” Kid said, drawing your attention. You immediately rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Tungsten, I’ve already told you. I’m not joining.”

Kid groaned loudly. “But why not! Your soft vocals would provide the coolest dynamic!” He flopped into the recliner across from you, slightly pouting.

“You know why.” You rolled your eyes, folding your arms. “Singing and all that in front of you guys and our friends is one thing, but it’s completely different going on stage in front of tons and tons of strangers.” You shook your head. “The pressure is too much.”

“Laaaaaame.” He huffed, cracking open a beer and drinking it.

“You guys are doing just fine without me.” You shook your head.

“We’d do better with you,” Kid was definitely pouting at this point. It was like he was still a child sometimes. Always pouting when he didn’t get his way. He decided to switch topics, talking to Wire about something or another, you stopped paying attention as you rested against your boyfriend.

“I love it when the light sits on you just right,” Killer randomly mused. You looked at him, confused by his words. He always said the most random things, but they always ended up being really sweet.

“What are you saying right now?”

He handed you his phone and you slowly took it, still unsure what he was getting at. The lockscreen woke up as you held it and it was a picture of you. He had clearly just taken in as you were wearing exactly what you did in the picture. You were also asleep. He was right - the light that came through the highset windows in the garage hit you just right, illuminating you in a way that made you look like a sleeping angel.

You immediately felt your face heat up and he spoke again, “Good picture, isn’t it?” He was right. It was a good picture. It was almost unbelievable that it was you. A lazy smile stretched across his face. “Still doesn’t compare to the real thing, though.”

“That’s it! I’m not watching this!” Kid stood up, flinging his hands in the air and heading inside. “I’m seeing if anyone happened to make some cabbage rolls.”

“I was gonna make some tonight!” you called as he left. You weren’t even sure if he heard you. You snorted, shaking your head.

“Oh, by the way. Be ready on Friday.” You looked to Killer with a confused expression once more. He was really pulling things out of thin air today. He was just hitting you left and right today. “What’s Friday?”

“We’re gonna have a date night. It’s been a couple weeks and I can’t remember the last time we went out - just us.”

He was right. Usually when you went out, someone was always tagging along. You were typically always accompanied by one or more of your friends. You didn’t hate it, but sometimes you just wanted it to be just the two of you. “I have some news to share, too.”

You immediately perked up. “What news?” You searched his face as if it were written on him somewhere.

“I’ll tell you Friday.” He shrugged, a smirk on his face and you groaned. “Killi, that’s not fair. That’s three days away! You’re killing me!” You flopped against him, folding your arms and pouting.

You might not have been much better than Kid sometimes. It seemed some things ran in the family.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I figured we could go to a movie then go to that new smoothie place you’ve been wanting to try.”

Your face brightened as you sat up, turning to face him. “Really?” A new smoothie place had opened up downtown and you’d been dying to try it. You wanted to try it with Killer because you always tried new places together, but Kid had been hounding on practice even more as of late, so you didn’t get to see Killer as much.

Killer chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, really. We can go to the movies right after you get out of class. Or we can go to the smoothie place first then go to the movies.”

“I like that plan better. A smoothie after a long week of school work sounds like a good treat.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and relaxing against him.

He grinned right back. “It’s a date then.” Then he kissed you, leaving you all sorts of excited for Friday.

first|next

#i knew that if i put the date in here it'd make things way too long #also fun fact when i was in college #my friends had a house they lived at #like four of em #and their house was like yn's house #people came and went cause it was always unlocked and there was always someone home #i had a lot of good memories in that house rip buddy #anyway #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #am fics #killer one piece #killer x reader #killer #massacre soldier killer #tosp

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theangrypomeranian · 6 months ago

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Chapter 17: Home

Summary:

“That bathroom,” he whispered. Tina nodded again, her eyes staying on his. “Yes. One second I was in our bathroom and the next–” “You were there.” His head was reeling and holy crap that hadn’t just been in his head, it was real, she’d been there and he had almost touched her. For a few moments they just sat there, staring at each other. Her hands were tight on his wrists and his thumbs brushed gently over her cheeks. “You were there,” he murmured in awe. “The whole time…whenever I needed you…” “And you were there,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes as her mouth turned up in a smile so bright he thought he might go blind. God, what an amazing last sight he’d have. “How is this even possible?” Now it was his turn to smile, his hands going to her cup her elbows and pull her closer. “Don’tchu see, baby? What we have,” his arms went around her to press her against his chest, “this shit is cosmic. We were always meant to be. The universe knew that and it made damn sure that we did, too.”

Read the rest of chapter 17 here.

#zekina #tina belcher x zeke #zeke x tina #bob belcher #zeke bob's burgers #zeke bobs burgers #bob's burgers #bobs burgers #bb fic #pom writes bb fic #zekina alaskan adventure au #long way home

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telesodalite · 4 months ago

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Been thinking about idw1's outliers lately, and how sort of wild the whole concept is from a worldbuilding standpoint, and it struck me that most confirmed outlier abilities tend to be really useful, or flashy, or powerfully dangerous, and few to none tend to be like, really boring, or totally impractical, or even entirely useless? Which, doesn't really make sense when considering the fact that outlier abilities are seemingly random.

Surely not everyone who's born an outlier gets something useful?

And I don't mean like, "good" useful, but any sort of useful, even if that means you can kill people with your voice, or give a power boost by exploding yourself, those are still "useful".

But surely there had to be some with abilities that were totally impractical, or nonbeneficial, or at the very least just insignificant or purely aesthetic and pointless?

#mods. enhancements. and artificial outlier abilities are a different thing. with plenty of room for error and drawbacks #but being born inherently an outlier by the sheer whim of. idfk. primus or the planet itself. what's the chances there???#this definitely has to have been discussed before. i'm just too lazy to dig for it rn. but yeah. its a fascinating concept either way #idw transformers #tf idw1 #mtmte #lost light #maccadam #maybe thundercracker's sonic booms count. but those have some use. also its funky. so he gets a pass i think #i had more thoughts about this earlier when i first jotted the thought down. but ive forgotten them now >:/#basically its just funny to think of like. shockwaves school and all. going around like ''what can you do?''#and you've got the group we see in the flashback. and then like. some guy whos like ''...i can change the color of energon''#or like. ''i can float! but only like... three inches off the ground''#i cant think of every example. but go down a list of useless superpowers and there ya go #omg. wait. if rewinds whole color changing deal was legitimately a outlier thing. i guess he would count #also. in a similar vein. its really funny to think of outlier abilities as like. stats and stuff? plus 1 to so and so but negative 1 to etc #so abilities had a sort of cost. this is smth ive seen here and there in fics and stuff. and its great.#but its sorta funny to think of working in the opposite way too #take misfire as an example. bcs its funny. negative boost to aiming. but positive boost to evasion #less of a chance to hit smth. but also less of a chance to be hit by smth #idk lol. sorry. ive been doing a lot of gaming lately bcs ✨️stress✨️. so ive got a lot of dumb stats rolling around in my head lmao #also its 4am. so... coherence has long gone to bed before me lol #struggling to sleep again tonight. but more so for anxiety reasons. all these federal job changes are hitting very close to home rn #it'll probably be fine tho. probably. got a lot of other personal shit to worry about anyways. like my fucking medical files being tossed?!#tricare when i get you. when i fucking grt you omg. i didnt even serve. why am i suffering omfg #sorry... thats off-topic. so its probably best i uh. put myself to bed. at 4am. so. goodnight and good morning 🥲👍#tf idw #tf worldbuilding

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sparklingchim · 1 month ago

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do you accept request? If you do, can you write something about the "men can't hold baby on their hips" trend with lwh Jungkook? I saw this trend a lot on the internet and I think it would be cute to see it on lwh Jungkook? For reference just a random video from the trend:

https://www.tiktok.com/@thesabrinatan/video/7382056896070552874

pairing: dilf!jungkook x reader

summary: you teach jungkook how to hold nabi on his hip, and he miserably fails.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“Why are you holding her like that?”

“Huh?” Jungkook utters, peering down at Nabi he’s holding to his side. “What do you mean?”

“Why is she resting on your...oblique?” You learned that word from Jungkook recently. He wouldn’t shut up about it during one of his gym rants. He was just trying to show off, you know... boys, but you actually learned something.

“She’s on my hip,” he says defensively, adjusting her slightly, which somehow makes it worse. She tilts, just a little. “This is how people hold babies.”

You giggle at the light frown tugging at his lips but still disagree. “No, it’s not. You’re supposed to anchor her. You’re just… I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Okay, show me then.”

You scoop Nabi into your arms, shifting her naturally onto your hip. One hand under, one hand free. Easy. Comfortable. She even gives a little happy noise like she’s judging him with you. Her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt, her cheek smushed against your shoulders.

Jungkook watches for a second, then immediately holds his hands out. “I got it now.”

You give Nabi over, and he tries again. This time really concentrating. He attempts to hip-hold again – elbow out, wrist awkwardly bent, Nabi sort of... perching?

“I’m nailing this.”

“No, you’re fighting for your life.”

He huffs. “Why is this so hard? I literally work out for a living.” Jungkook brushes his free hand over your side, fingers grazing the dip of your waist. “I don’t have this.”

“It’s okay that you have a different bone structure, Koo,” you say. “Nabi doesn’t even mind.” You glance down at Nabi, who’s currently playing with the string on Jungkook’s hoodie. Her big, innocent eyes look up at him like he’s her entire universe – which, to be fair, is true.

You can’t help but smile as she giggles softly, her tiny nose scrunching in amusement. Jungkook looks at her, eyes softening. “You’re the only one who gets me, huh, baby girl?”

You take a step closer, adjusting Nabi for him just slightly, nudging her back into a more natural spot, resting your hand on his to guide the hold.

“You just wanted to touch me.”

“You touched me first,” you shoot back. “You literally caressed my waist mid-complaint.”

“That was anatomy-based,” he says. “Very educational.”

“Mm-hmm.”

#darly asks #anon #fic: long way home #dilf jungkook #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff

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morganski-19 · 11 months ago

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I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 19: Nightmares

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 18

tw: minor descriptions of physical assault, PTSD panic attack, car crashes, and emetophobia (very minor description)

Present Day, June 1986

It’s been three weeks since the court ruled in Steve’s favor, and he still doesn’t quite believe it. Doesn’t believe it when his lawyer calls to tell him that the payment will be coming to him soon. Doesn’t believe it when that money gets transferred to him. When he pays his lawyer and it’s all over.

Steve doesn’t have to fight with them anymore. Have to think about them anymore. They have absolutely no power over him whatsoever.

He doesn’t know what to do with that really.

All his life, he’s been playing the part designed for him. Done what other people wanted, doing things for himself later. In secret. Now that most of it was out, the pressure gone, he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

Steve gets up to go to a job that he didn’t want in the first place. Really only got because his dad wanted him to get a part time job as punishment for not getting into college. Following Robin after the mall blew up. It was all just stops on a train that he was given the ticket to.

Now he switched trains on his own accord. Went in a different direction. One that he chose because he wanted it. Sounded like a life he wanted to live. Sounded like there were other passengers on the train that might get off at the same destination. Want to spend time with him as they traveled. Get to know him. Maybe even love him.

And that’s what happened. He still doesn’t know how, or why. What to do with it. But he’s learning to.

If anyone were to ask him what he was going to do with this life he has now, with the winnings, he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants to do tomorrow let alone in the next five years. The picture he has in his head looks the same as it is now. Happy with everyone he loves around him, looking exactly the same.

But that’s not what’s going to happen.

The kids are going to grow up, change, go off to school. Julie will too, leaving his house empty again. Robin will eventually go to a school that can give her more than a community college can. People in the town will continue to outgrow it.

While Steve continues to stay in the same spot forever. Rooted in the same place that hurt him so much. The same place that helped him grow into someone he’s actually proud of. Showed him the life he could have if he was just brave enough to go and catch it.

Now that he has it, it’s all he’s ever wanted. He’s not ready to let it go quite yet.

“Do you think you could teach me how to drive?” Julie asks Steve over dinner.

Steve freezes in shock, head shooting up to look at her. “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

He’s known her less than a year but the question still makes him feel so old. Feeling like he watched her grow up as she went through so many changes. So many emotions. Slowly formed into the person she is now right in front of him.

“Cool.” Julie says, going back to her dinner.

Steve wonders how long she’s been wanting to learn how to drive. She’s been able to for over a year now, just never got around to it. With the nature of her mother’s accident, he wasn’t sure when she would want to ever learn. If she would want to.

“Is there a reason you wanted to learn?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Julie shrugs. “Just haven’t yet. And I’ve been thinking about maybe getting a part time job, saving to try and get a car of my own before I go to college. I know it’s still a year away, but cars are expensive and minimum wage is shit.”

College. Something he knew was coming but was hoping it could be a little farther away. He wonders if this is how every parent feels. Wishing their kid would just stay in one place for a little while longer and stop growing. Stop changing. So they don’t have to change with them.

He’s not a parent. Not yet, and not for a long while. But he can’t help but feel some sort of protective instinct over these kids that changed his life. Want to look out for them in every situation, make sure that nothing ever hurts them. He knows that’s not how life is supposed to go. Kids are supposed to make mistakes and learn from them. That’s the way it went for him, so it’s the way it will go for them.

He just didn’t want it to.

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this,” Robin comments while unboxing the newest releases. “We all knew this day would come someday.”

Steve sighs, leaning on the door of the stock room. “I just wanted that someday to take longer to actually get here. It’s like the last few years went by so fast and got so muddled in my mind that I forgot time kept moving.”

“I get that. But,” she places the last tape on the cart and turns to him, “just because the kids are getting older, doesn’t mean that they’re leaving.”

They are in a way, though. Even though he knows that won’t be permanent. That they won’t forget about him the way other people have, it still makes the anxiety trapped in his chest start to rise. The instinct to hold on tight and never let go so much stronger.

“This town is too small for them. We both know that. They are going to go do amazing things, while I’m still here doing the same mediocre things I always do.” He holds the door open for her as she rolls the cart through.

“Have you ever thought about doing other things?”

Steve pauses in front of the cart, making Robin run into him. “What?”

“You’re acting like you can’t do other things. If you hate what you’re doing right now, try something different. No one’s forcing you to do the same thing you were doing yesterday.”

She pivots the cart to move around him, leaving him with thoughts he’s honestly been scared to think about.

Steve’s made a routine for himself. Go to work, pick up the kids, drive them around, go home. Live a life that he enjoys and work a job that he kind of hates. Follow his best friend wherever she goes because he’ll love whatever it is.

Was it what he thought he’d be doing with his life, no. Is it something he wanted to do the rest of his life? He doesn’t want to answer that question. The rest of his life was uncertain for the longest time. Each year testing the strength of his body and his mind. Making it feel like tomorrow was some bright future he may never get to see.

It was easy to get so stuck in the present when the future seemed like it would never come. Now that it is, Steve is scared to figure out what it is. What it means for him.

“Look,” Robin continues, knowing exactly how he’s feeling. “I’m not saying you have to pick what you want to do right now. Or tomorrow, or the day after that. I’m just saying that if you really hate doing this,” she waves towards the shelves, “then you can start thinking about what you would want to do instead. There is still so much time for you to figure it all out.”

Time is something Steve’s learning how to deal with. But Robin’s right. Maybe it’s finally the right moment to think about what he can do with it.

. . .

“That is so exciting,” El exclaims when Julie tells her that Steve is going to teach her how to drive. “You will be the first one of us to learn how to drive.”

“Well, that’s actually Max,” Lucas corrects. “She learned how to drive a while ago.”

“Yeah poorly,” Mike adds. “And only in a parking lot.”

Max rolls her eyes. “I drove in the street that one time.”

“And almost got us killed.”

“Scared Steve shitless.” Dustin laughs.

“Scared all of us shitless.”

“Not me,” Lucas defends. I wasn’t scared.”

Dustin snorts. “So that wasn’t your high-pitched scream then?”

Lucas kicks him under the table.

El turns to Max. “When did you drive?”

Max motions for El to get closer and whispers it into her ear. Just another reminder that Julie has no idea what they are talking about. Another inside joke that she’ll never understand. El takes a second to be shocked before bursting out into giggles.

When the bell rings, Max stops Julie before she can walk away. “Hey, could you help me bring my stuff to my next class. El has a test today so she can’t do it.”

Julie shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

She picks up Max’s backpack and carries it in front of her. Following after Max as she yells at the groups of seniors who like to stand in the hallway and block everyone’s path.

“So, you and El have gotten pretty close, yeah?” Max asks way too casually than she should for such a loaded question. And in the middle of the hallway.

“I mean we’re friends, right,” Julie tries to play it cool. Especially since to El, this is all they are.

Max stops, turning her chair to Julie and giving her a look that tell her to cut the shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this here.”

She barely wants to talk about it at all. The hatred for herself slowly turning into guilt that churns her stomach each time she looks at El. Knowing that she’s feeling something that she shouldn’t. Almost asking El for something that she can’t give. Wishing that this feeling could go away and they could just go back to being normal friends. Without all this complicated shit.

“That’s fair.” Max resumes rolling down the hallway, stopping in front of her classroom and reaching out to take the bag from Julie. “Your house after school then?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Julie wishes she would.

“El’s my best friend. Of course I’m not.”

The school day ends, and they go over to her house. She sits next to Max in her room like it’s some interrogation. Waiting for her to be the first to speak. Not wanting to share too much too fast.

“You know, El’s probably going to be pissed when she figures out that we hung out without her,” Max finally breaks the silence.

Julie huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

The thing about actually having a crush, Julie realizes, is that it’s so special to have one. Like a little secret that she and only a few other people know. This special little feeling that, at the end of the day, brings her so much joy to have. Even though it’s terrifying. It’s a good terrifying.

“I was really happy when El became friends with you so fast,” Max continues. “I love the guys, but she needed someone else who knew how to take it down a notch. Someone calmer. Someone like you.”

Her lips can’t help but turn into a soft smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “I think we all needed that too. Life has been crazy the last few years and it’s been nice to have someone to remind us that life doesn’t always have to be tied to that. Especially for El.”

“What do you mean?”

Max takes a deep breath, shifting the pillow behind her. “There’s a lot that I can’t tell you, and there’s stuff that I don’t even really know. None of us do. She wouldn’t tell us all of it. But you know how El is adopted right?”

Julie nods.

“I, uh, don’t know how much of this she wanted me to tell you. Just that she didn’t want to do it herself so bear with me here. Before she was adopted, El was in a really bad home. If that’s what you could even call it. And a lot of really terrible things happened there that none of us like to talk about. She escaped from there one night and eventually got adopted by Hopper.”

Julie remembers that night she stayed at the Byers after they got kicked out of the house. How she told El about the fourth of July when the mall burnt down, and she saw all those people walking to their death. The face El made after she said it. Looking determined as all hell and older than she needed to be. Like a switch in her mind flipped and she was a totally different person than Julie knew her to be.

How horrible her life must have been to take the joy out of her face so fast. To turn defense mode on in a way that made her look like a soldier.

“That’s terrible,” are the only words Julie can think to say.

Max nods, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, it is. This is the same place, same people, that are responsible for a lot of the bad things that happened in this town. They worked at the Hawkins lab.”

“Shit,” Julie sighs, leaning back against her wall.

“Yeah, shit.”

The room fills with silence.

“Why are you telling me all of this now?”

“Because I’ve never seen El open up to a person as fast as she has with you. It took a long time for her to open up to me, and sure there were other things in the way that stopped that, but I’m talking right as we became friends. We were close, but not you guys close.”

Julie can’t imagine Max and El being different from the way they are now. The soft interactions full of a trust that looked so natural. Like they had been friends for a lifetime, fully comfortable around one another.

“And I’m starting to notice, and please tell me if this is out of line, that you might be thinking about El differently than I think about El.”

Julie wonders if this is the time where it isn’t taken well. That someone tells her that this is the worst thing that she could do. Having a crush on a friend could break relationships. She didn’t want to break this one.

“I do,” she finally says to Max. Ready for the berating to start.

Instead, Max nods with resignation. “I think El does too.”

The room starts to buzz as Julie’s heart starts to pick up. “What?”

“She hasn’t, like, told me anything. And she’s probably going to hate me for telling you this at all. But I want to protect her and protect you too and this weird waiting period is really awkward for me, and I’d rather just get to the point where I’m third wheeling.”

“I’m sorry,” Julie interrupts her, still trying to wrap her head around the idea that there’s a possibility that El might like her back. “You think El likes me?”

Max raises her eyebrow. “Have you seen the way she’s been acting around you? Complimenting you every day, clipping your hair back, giggling at literally every joke you say. No offense but that’s a little excessive, your jokes aren’t always that funny.”

Moments start to replay in Julie’s mind. Having been so focused on the way she’s been acting, that she didn’t even notice the way El’s behavior around her changed. How she interacted with Julie just different enough from the rest of the group for it to be significant. For it to be special.

She remembers shrinking in on herself when she knew El was looking at her for longer than she should. Thinking that it was because Julie was making her feel uncomfortable. Never because she could have been doing the same thing Julie has been doing this whole time. Admiring in secret.

“I didn’t notice.”

Max groans. “Of course you didn’t. Neither of you did. It’s like Will and Mike not realizing that they’re into each other. Do you know how frustrating it is to know that your friends like each other but they’re too stupid to do anything about it.”

“Oh my god, you noticed the Will and Mike thing too, I thought that was just me.”

“Don’t try and change the subject. You like El, and I think El likes you. What are you going to do about it?”

Julie winces. “Is nothing an option?”

Max grabs Julie’s arm. “You are driving me crazy. Ask her out or some shit.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” Julie says, full of fear. “What if I mess up and then I lose all of you guys. I already feel like an outsider sometimes when you guys start talking about the things I don’t know about. I’m the friend that everyone would be ok to lose if this doesn’t work out.”

A few beats pass before Max starts to speak. “Ok, one, you are not the friend that everyone would be ok to lose. You have integrated yourself into the group more than you think you have. Second, you are so focused on a relationship that you haven’t even started yet. Life’s too short to have regret for the steps you didn’t take. Believe me, I know.”

Max wraps her arms around her leg, shifting it to a better position. Inadvertently reminding Julie of the things that have happened the past few years. The events she was just a bystander to, never fully experiencing what happened. When they did, somehow. She still wished she kind of knew.

But maybe Max was right. Maybe Julie could take the risk. Ask El on a date. Hope that it would work out, and that she wouldn’t regret it later. What would she regret more? Asking, or forever wondering how it would have turned out had she not.

. . .

July 1987

The room is blurry as Steve comes into consciousness. The bright lights giving him a headache, and the taste of copper resting on is tongue. His one eye can’t open that well, almost swollen shut. His wrists burn against rope as he twists them. Trying to get them apart.

His good eye blinks, focusing on a pair of black boots in front of him. Raising his head, he meets the scowling face of the Russian officer. Hearing words spoken in a language he doesn’t understand to the other man in the room.

“Ah, he’s awake,” The Russian slurs in English. Stepping forward and looking down at Steve. Menacing.

“Let me go,” Steve begs. “I don’t know anything.”

The officer grabs his hair, pulling his head back to look at him. Steve’s tempted to spit in his face.

“I am only going to ask you this again. Who do you work for?”

Steve can’t help but let out a sad laugh. Knowing he won’t be awake for much longer. “I already told you. I work at Scoops.”

The ringing in his ears starts when his cheek burns. Vision blurring again. He straightens his head, panting to try and get the air back into his lungs. Only for it to leave as the officer hits him again. Always the right side of his head. It hurts so much it’s almost numb.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleads as the officer winds up again. Blood pooling in his mouth with the next collision. He spits on the group. “I work at Scoops,” he screams with as much breath he can muster.

The world goes dark again.

Steve wakes with a scream. The surroundings not matching that of his cell. A weight around his torso preventing him from getting up. He rips the blankets off of him, pulling the weight off and throwing it away. Cursing as his feet can’t kick off the sheets. Can’t get free.

Tears are streaming down his face as he struggles. His hands free. The rope burn stinging his skin. His torso itches like crazy. Like small little bites stabbing into his skin. He needs to find Robin. Needs to see if she’s ok.

“Steve,” a voice says to him. How do they know his same? Did he tell it to them? What are they going to do to him now.

He still struggles with the blanket, finally pulling his feet free. Attempting to get off the bed and search for anything as a weapon. This place isn’t the cell he was in before. They must have moved him when he was knocked out.

“Steve,” the voice says again. Sitting up on the bed and starting to move towards him.

Steve flinches from the touch, raising his fists. Ready to strike them first this time. His heart is beating in his ears, the constant ringing in his right only amplified. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.

He needs to get out of here.

A light clicks on. Illuminating the room he’s in. It doesn’t look like a cell. It looks like a bedroom. Have they constructed this just to give him a false sense of security?”

“It was just a dream, Steve.” The man gets out of the bed, taking a cautious step towards Steve. Hands outstretched to block any punches Steve might throw.

Steve wasn’t the threat here. He was just trying to protect himself.

“Can you tell me three things you notice about this room?” The man cautiously spins them around, clicking on another lamp in the room.

The bare walls reflect the light, the soft yellow so different from the blaring white. The walls a tan instead of white or grey. It looks so familiar, but Steve’s mind is so confused. The tears continue to stream down his face as he tries to figure out where he is.

“I work at Scoops,” Steve stutters.

“I know you do.” The man replies quickly. “I believe you.”

More tears. Steve’s hands lower. They know now. Does that mean he’s free to go?

“Tell me three things you see,” he repeats. So soft it makes Steve want to crumble.

“A bed,” he whispers. “A nightstand. A lamp.”

The man takes another step forward. Coming into more clarity. Brown curls fall onto his shoulders. He looks nothing like the Russians.

“Good. Anything else?”

“There’s a picture on the nightstand. The bed has blue sheets. There’s a poster on the wall.”

Eddie places a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder, he flinches before leaning into it. Closing his eyes and trying to focus on the touch. Letting it ground him.

There’s a knock on the door. Steve’s eyes fly open again as he whips his head to look. Heartbeat increasing again.

“Take a seat, sweetheart, I’ll get it.”

Steve freezes, unable to move. He’s directed toward the bed, somehow, he sits down. Knuckles clenched into white.

“Are you guys ok,” he hears a soft voice say. “I heard screaming.”

Eddie doesn’t open the door more than a small crack. “Yeah, we’re fine. I got this, you can go back to bed.”

The door shuts with a small click. Eddie returning to Steve. Sits next to him as the adrenaline fades. Leaving his body exhausted and his mind still searching for explanations.

“Can you tell me what year it is, Steve?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s July second, 1987. You survived them, Steve. Everyone did.”

A sob escapes his throat. His body collapsing into himself. Curling up as the energy releases. He’s wrapped into a hug and pulled further into the bed. Being protected while he falls apart.

Steve wakes up again a few hours later. Gets out of bed and into a routine. Takes a shower, gets dressed, makes himself breakfast. Goes through the motions of a normal morning.

The front door closes quietly. Eddie and Robin coming into the house. Sitting with Steve at the table.

“I took Julie to school, that’s why I wasn’t here,” Eddie explains. “I told Robin what happened.”

Robin looks down at the table, biting at her lip. “Tomorrow marks two year since-.”

Steve looks at his coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

“I can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels so close yet a lifetime away.”

“It was like I was back there. Even when I woke up.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I thought it was going to be better this year.”

Robin’s hand finds his, her fingers shaking. “Me too.”

They find themselves curled up on the couch for the rest of the day. Eddie there just to make sure they’re both ok. The house quiet except for the low volume on the tv. Lights off so they don’t flicker. Robin’s fingers pressed into Steve’s wrist to feel his pulse. His arm holding her close, proving that she’s there.

They made it out of there. They’re both alive. He wishes that their minds would stop trying to tell them otherwise.

. . .

Julie walks into a dark house. Steve and Robin asleep on the couch with Eddie awkwardly sitting next to them. Looking out of place. She wants to ask about what she heard last night. How she heard the screams from across the hall.

Eddie gets up when he notices her. Motions for her to meet him in Steve’s bedroom. Shuts the door gently behind them before turning on the light.

“You probably have a few questions about last night.”

Julie nods. “Is he ok?”

Eddie runs a hand down his face. “Physically, yeah, he’s fine. But other than that, he will be. This week is an anniversary of something for him. He was reminded of that last night.”

“The mall fire,” Julie fills in. “I know that they were there that night.”

“Do you know why?”

Julie shakes her head. No one would tell her more when she asked.

Eddie nods, crossing his arms and swaying on the balls of his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you what happened. I don’t even know the full of it.”

She thought Steve told him everything. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s the reason Steve can’t hear well in his right ear anymore. And the reason he gets really bad PTSD attacks. Like the one he had last night.”

“And that’s why,” she tilts her head to the door. Knowing that Steve and Robin tangled together in the living room.

“She was there too.” Eddie looks at the door. Pain painting his face. “A part of me wishes I knew what really happened to them so I could help. But they already relive this pain more than they should, they don’t need to do it again just to fill me in.”

Julie pauses before asking the question that’s been on her mind since the first time she heard screams through the walls. Wonders if there’s a part of her that really wants to know. Or if this is just morbid curiosity. But there were memories of her own that haunt her. Placing her back into moments of her life with things left unexplained.

She cares about these people. It hurts to know that they are in pain. And if she could help, know how to help them through the panic or PTSD attacks, she thinks it’s important enough to know.

“Do you think you could tell me what you know,” she asks softly. “Or at least what you do to help calm him down. I think it would be good for me to be prepared in case it happens and you or Robin aren’t here.”

Eddie presses his lips together. “I’ll do the second one, not the first. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.”

Eddie tells her what he does to calm Steve down when it gets really bad. How with the panic attacks, it’s good to count with him while he breaths. And if he’s willing, grab his hands to help ground him. Tell him about what’s in the room. How it’s different than the pictures in his mind. More things kind of all based on that.

Julie takes it all in, making a mental list in her mind, hoping she doesn’t forget it. Hoping that if it ever happens, she won’t mess it up. Saddened by the fact that this is Steve’s reality.

. . .

A few days pass since Steve’s reality morphed with his nightmares. The date crossed out on his calendar far enough away that it’s finally starting to sink in. Steve made it out of there two years ago. Yet it still affects him like it was yesterday.

Just like back then, life moves on. He goes to work and comes home. Gets weird thinking of the future, and what that means for him. How each milestone will pass, the anniversary of dates coming and going. Affecting him in more ways than he realizes. Until he’s waking in a cold sweat and his body is transported back into his past selves. Some fucked up time travel.

His mind stays fixated on that night. How long it took for his brain to recognize Eddie’s face. To differentiate the safety of his home with the danger of his interrogation cell. How dangerous it could have been.

Eddie told him that Julie has asked about it. How he didn’t say anything, but did tell her ways to help him through an attack. It’s something he never thought of before. Out of all the possibilities that run through his mind, the thought of her being present for one of the attacks never crossed. He never thought she would be there for one of them.

But she almost was. If Eddie hadn’t been there, it would have been Steve opening the door. He didn’t want her to see him like that. He didn’t want the monsters in his head to meld her into something she wasn’t.

She wasn’t a part of this life, he wanted to keep it that way. But Steve has never really gotten what he wished for. It was time to tell her the parts he could.

No one wants to hear about the truth. They don’t want to know the dangers that rest beneath their feet. Blissfully ignorant and wanting to stay that way. Ignorance, however, can hurt sometimes. He didn’t want it to hurt her.

When Julie gets home from school, Steve asks her to sit in the kitchen. Takes the seat across from her and starts to lay out everything. How this conversation can’t leave the room, and she’s never to let anyone know that he told her this.

“This is about Starcourt, isn’t it?” She asks somewhere in the middle of his warnings. “Why all those people walked straight to their death.”

“How did you know about that?” Steve knew that people must have seen it, but it was kept out of the news.

Julie tells him about the night she went looking for her mom. How she got caught in the crowd of people walking toward the mall. Saw the names of people she knew flicker on the tv screen the next morning.

Steve tells her more than he should. About how Will going missing five years ago was a catalyst to so much more. How he got roped into everything. Skipping the bit in the middle for the most part, focusing on how Max came into it all. Then gets to the Russians.

Tells her the story of an innocent mystery turned terrifying nightmare. The interrogation that thankfully didn’t end in his death. Fireworks that crashed into the monster the size of a building and crashing a car into a possessed maniac. All of it ending in burning red, leaving the survivors to cope with their loss.

She’s taking it better than he thought she would. And he hasn’t even said everything yet. Just barely gets to spring break before Julie is pulling him into a hug. Until he realizes the wetness of his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes. “I am so sorry you had to live through that.”

He doesn’t finish telling her everything. It’s probably a good thing. The NDA’s aren’t as loose as the ones from a few years ago. And it’s better for her to process this and maybe learn the rest later. If she wants to. If he wants to explain it all again.

. . .

“Alright, now turn on the blinker and slowly hit the gas again,” Steve instructs as Julie sits at a stop sign. No one else around.

It’s been a few weeks since she’s started learning how to drive. Slowly easing into it in random parking lots while no one is there. Learning where all the signals were, and basic traffic laws. Most of it was review, but she didn’t mind the practice.

She pushes on the gas, jerking the car into motion. Pulling away from the parking lot and onto the street. For the first time. Julie is driving on the road.

“Ok, good. Just try not to hit the gas so hard next time.”

Steve’s been an ok teacher. Patient for the most part but gets frustrated when he can’t explain something properly. But he hasn’t gotten angry at her yet. Carefully corrects her but makes sure she knows that she’s doing ok. That she’s starting to get this right.

Julie pulses the gas. Learning how to keep the speed of the road. Overcorrecting when she gets too close to the yellow lines. The overcorrecting again when she gets close to tree line.

It’s scary driving something so large. So powerful. Hearing how the engine revs each time she pushes her foot down too hard. Feeling the pull of the seatbelt against her chest as she hits the breaks too fast.

But she’s getting it. Adjusting herself as she gets used to the feel of the petals beneath her feet. Loosens her body as she gets more comfortable gripping the steering wheel. As she gets used to the size of the car and the way it moves.

“Great. You’re doing really great, Julie. How about we turn here and-.”

A deer jumps in front of the car.

Julie slams on the breaks as she swerves close to the trees. The car coming mere inches from the trunk. Her arms shaking as they grip the wheel.

It all can happen so fast.

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt, turning towards her. “Julie, take a breath ok.”

One wrong move and the hood of the car would be curved around the tree. The airbag would be in her face.

“Just take a breath, we’re ok.”

What if her foot had slipped as she pushed down on the breaks? What if her hands fumbled the turn? Would the deer have contacted the car? Would she have killed it?

“You followed your instincts. We’re ok. That’s all that matters. We’re ok.”

Was this what it was like right before her mom’s crash? Did a deer just jump in front of the car? Her foot missing the break as she slammed into a tree. As it crashes just right to take her life. Was this mistake so easy to make that Julie almost made it too?

“Julie,” Steve touches her shoulder, comforting her. “It’s ok. Take all the time you need.”

Julie unbuckles her seatbelt and bolts out of the car. Runs to the wood as bile stings her tongue. Let’s the adrenaline out onto the dirt as she crashes. As the air escapes from her lungs.

Steve’s beside her rubbing her back. Saying something but it doesn’t register. Too stuck in her head to think of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” slips out of her mouth. Not sure of what else to say.

“Don’t be. It was just an accident, it happens all the time.”

Tears start to make their way out of her eyes. “But I didn’t see it. I could’ve. I could’ve crashed the car. Or worse and.” Sharp, shaky breaths interrupt her sentences.

Steve turns her to look at him. “Julie, hey. Look at me.” She does. “Take a deep breath, ok.”

He counts as she forces herself to breath in. She holds it, feeling the beat of her heart in her lungs. Releases it. Does it again.

“I didn’t see the deer either,” Steve admits once she calms down a little. “Something must have scared it, and it ran into the road. And you did a good job avoiding it.”

She doesn’t feel like it was a good job. “It all happened so fast.”

The tears continue to stream down her face. The feeling of the break pressed into the bottom of her foot. Throbbing. Her shoulder stinging from the pull of the seatbelt. The feeling of it all finally registering.

Her forehead hurts. Something is dripping down in between her eyes. She reaches up and swipes away blood. The buzz coming back to her veins.

“Fuck,” she mutters, eyes glued to her hand.

Steve gets up and comes back with a small first aid kit. Wiping away the blood with some napkins and pressing them against her forehead. Waiting for the bleeding to stop.

She doesn’t even remember her head hitting the steering wheel.

They sit in silence while Steve cleans the cut. Julie wincing when the alcohol wipe hits her broken skin. Steve finds a small piece of gauze and tapes it to her forehead. Packing up the first aid kit and returning to just sitting next to her.

“We’ll sit here as long as you want to, then I’ll drive us home,” he says.

Drive. Julie doesn’t know how she can sit in the car again. Knowing how easy it is for it all to fail.

“It all happened so fast,” she says again. Fixated on it.

“Yeah, yeah it did.” Steve’s trying to stay strong but she can see the shock in his actions too.

“Was it that fast when,” a lump forms in her throat. “When she? When my mom?”

Steve realizes what she’s talking about, starting to open and close his mouth. Trying to find something to say.

“I,” he starts. “I don’t know.”

“That’s all I could think about.” She looks at him. “All I can think about is how I could almost have died just like her. One wrong move and I-. And we-.”

Steve grabs her arms, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s ok. Whatever could have happened, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re here, and we’re safe. You got shocked and followed your instincts. And because of that, we’re both ok.”

Ok normally doesn’t feel like this. But she tries, really tries to listen to his words.

“I know none of this is going to stop the what ifs in your mind. Believe me, I know. But those what ifs are not going to change what happened. It’s important to remember that.”

She knows he’s right. But it’s so hard to keep her mind on track. Letting it off rail to the ends of possibilities. Wondering if there was ever one where there was never an almost crash to begin with.

“Let’s go home. Get an icepack on that head and make sure it’s ok before you go to sleep. Ok?”

Slowly, Julie nods. “Ok.”

She gets in the car. Buckling the seat belt and tugging it to make sure it locked. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and readjusts it and the mirrors before slowly pulling away. The almost accident fading as she stares in the sideview mirror.

It was just an accident. It can happen to anyone. It just had to happen to her.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis,

@ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi,

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet,

@steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy,

@connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso,

@crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @melonmochi

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drc00l4tt4 · 10 days ago

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Did someone order Godfather OC/SI x Canon 😋 also it's so hard to find a definite timeline i honestly just guestimated and prayed I got close

(Close-ups under the cut)

#the way the light leaves her eyes by part iii was a conscious decision pls notice this #also fluffy Fredo content because he deserves to be happy #NEED to start writing their fic. the timeline sources have been a fvcking nightmare #Like what month does Vito come home from the hospital. How long was Fredo in Vegas before Sonny died #At this point I have my own timeline and if it's wrong I'm gonna throw the It's An AU Leave Me Alone excuse #[ dr's artwork ]#fredo corleone #lyla flowers #the godfather #strawberrycocktails shipping #yumeshipping #yumeblr #oc x canon

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ncssian · 1 month ago

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Take the Long Way Home

Three: Isolation

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

A/N: sorry for the delay like ten things happened to me back to back. also i read the newest shatter me book and jamesrosa is lowkey the grumpysunshine nessian shouldve been if canon cassian hadnt been a coward

WC: 7.5k

***

When Nesta awoke, it was dark outside and she was alone.

The fireplace crackling in the corner was the only source of light in the room, but the heat was stifling enough to make her shove her heavy blankets off. She was still in the bathrobe she vaguely remembered changing into earlier, and her hair was stiff from her falling asleep while it’d been wet.

As if through a distant fog, the memories came back to her piece by piece. Cassian had been here. Cassian had bathed her and brought her her medicine. Since she’d arrived here, she’d lost track of the days slipping past her and hadn’t even known that he was scheduled to visit.

He must have left again.

Still nursing a headache and a gnawing hungry stomach, Nesta forced herself out of bed and to her feet, grasping the nightstand for support. She felt like shit, but she needed to get downstairs and find her meds before she felt like even more shit.

In the firelight, she spied something stacked atop her dresser. A sweater and thick flannel pants. Opening up one of the drawers, she found it full of her clothes, neatly folded and arranged. She opened up another drawer. This one was full of miscellaneous things: her hairbrush, her makeup, and…

Her meds.

She scrambled for a familiar blue pill. She didn’t need it right away— if she was standing and walking without wanting to die, then she was fine— but it would feel comforting just to have one on hand.

Her doctor had forbidden her from any more Adderall, among a couple other things, which Nesta couldn’t really complain about. Taking too many medicines had inhibited the effectiveness of all of them, and she could stand to sacrifice a few drugs if it meant she got to keep the important ones.

She forced herself to leave her room and go downstairs despite every protesting bone in her body. It wasn’t that she objected to starving herself indefinitely, but that Rhysand’s threats rang in her ears of what he’d do if he ever found her in less than good health.

Getting sent back to Los Angeles would be a fate worse than death. Worse than her entire family finding out about her dirty sins.

If her reactions weren’t so delayed due to her brain fog, she would have jumped at the realization that the downstairs wasn’t empty.

“You’re still here?” she addressed Cassian, whose back was turned to her as he stoked the living area’s fireplace.

He dropped the poker and whirled around with wide eyes. “Jesus, you’ve got quiet feet.”

Still in her bathrobe, she suddenly felt too exposed in front of this man. Even though he’d bathed her naked body just a few hours ago. Even though he’d used to find her at her slummy apartment half-dressed and missing her underwear.

He seemed to think along similar lines. “Why didn’t you change into the clothes I laid out? It’s too cold at night not to be wearing something thick.”

Nesta was too taken aback by him rummaging through her luggage and organizing her things to explain that changing outfits required an energy she didn’t currently have. But he was right that it was cold, because she found her feet leading her to the blazing fireplace against her will. She took a seat on the ground, as close as she could get to the fireplace while maintaining a distance from him, and stuck her toes out toward the fire.

Cassian carefully cleared his throat and spoke again. “I wanted to be with you when you woke up, but it seemed like you planned to sleep for a long time, so I got up and started fixing up the house.” He picked up the poker and continued stoking the fire. “Are you sure you rested long enough? You seemed pretty out of it earlier today.”

Nesta internally flinched at the reminder of how she’d been in front of him. Still, she gathered the voice to answer, “I can’t sleep in long stretches. This is all I’m getting.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, staring into the fire with her. After a moment he said, “Both the fireplaces were untouched when I got here. Have you been staying here in the freezing cold for the last week?”

Yes. “I don’t know how to work a wood-burning fireplace.” Her admission came out in a whisper. She’d only ever handled those gas ones that went on and off with the flip of a switch. And even then, what kind of person didn’t just use central heating?

“Well, we’ll definitely have to change that,” he muttered.

A spark flew out from the fire and landed on her ankle, stinging for a millisecond before dissipating into nothing.

Cassian got up and walked away. Without turning her head, she heard him go up the stairs and return a few seconds later. He dropped some clothes onto the floor beside her.

Nesta looked at the thick pair of socks, sighed, and reached over to pull them on. After a minute of consideration, she pulled the flannel pants on, too.

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” he asked her as she readjusted her robe around herself.

For the first time in days, her stomach didn’t churn at the thought of food. But that didn’t mean she wanted Cassian sticking around to hand-feed her. “You can get going now. I can take care of myself from here.”

His lip curled wryly as if she’d said something funny. “It’s almost ten p.m. Where am I gonna go at this hour?”

She didn’t have the energy to scowl, though she wanted to. “Go home.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m staying the whole weekend, sweetheart.”

That made her finally snap her head up to face him directly. “No you aren’t,” she seethed.

He held his hands up in defense. “I know, I know, you asked to be up here alone.” He winced as if the fact hurt him. “But it’s just for a few days and I’m not in the mood for a fight, so I suggest sucking it up and telling me what you want for dinner.”

Nesta imagined opening her mouth to order Cassian out of the house—her house. She imagined standing up for herself, imagined fighting him back and winning.

And then she imagined losing.

Her stiff shoulders drooped. Blinking, she turned back to face the warmth of the fire. “I don’t care what we eat.”

“That’s what you always say,” he tried to push. “You have to care about something eventually.”

No. She didn’t.

***

She was deeply changed from the woman that Cassian had used to know.

Very occasionally, he managed to pull her old cruelty out of her, but for the most part Nesta was haunted and reserved in a way that was completely different from her drunkard days.

On his second day at the lodge, Cassian had tried goading her into a fight just to see if a spark of life could be found in her, but upon failing he wasn’t able to stomach trying again. It felt too much like a joke bombing in front of a dead crowd: pitiful for the both of them.

By the time Saturday rolled around, he was growing restless. He’d organized everything there was to organize in the house. He’d carefully monitored Nesta as she followed her treatment plan, making sure she took her meds at the right hour on the dot, counting her pills after she fell asleep every night to confirm nothing was missing or left behind. There was a sunroom attached to the back of the house with a functioning Jacuzzi in the center, and he’d even cleaned that out and gotten it to start working again.

He needed to leave the house.

He didn’t know how Nesta could stay upstairs in her bed all day. She’d already rejected his offers to go on a walk or visit the gas station, so he needed to think of something different.

He tried of think of what the lodge was missing. There was semi-functioning Internet, but no television, and many shelves but no games or books. Other than the Jacuzzi, the house lacked a single entertaining thing to do.

He knocked loudly on Nesta’s bedroom door. “Nesta?” he called out. “Can I come in?”

No answer, which he took as another I don’t care. He entered the room to find her sitting in her rocking chair and staring out at the blinding white mountainside through the window.

“Hey, did you bring any books with you when you came here?” He already knew the answer since he’d gone through all her bags while unpacking them, but he wanted to give her something to say.

She didn’t look away from the window. “No.”

“Then let’s go buy some.” He didn’t frame it as a question that she could say no to. “Get ready and meet me downstairs in five.” He turned around and left.

She was going to go out whether she wanted to or not. He just wanted to see if she would do it on her own first. He dared to hope that her interest in books would convince her.

In the end, it took her fifteen minutes to meet him at the front door. He’d been losing all hope when she finally appeared on the stairs, in jeans and a nice buttoned sweater with her hair pulled into a tight knot, and then he’d grinned so widely he thought his face would split apart.

He was still feeling triumphant on the drive to the nearest town over, humming softly under his breath. “The lodge usually gets snowed in for a few weeks at least once every year, so now’s the time to get out of the house before peak winter comes in. The town we’re going to is too small to offer anything exciting, but it has the necessities— a grocery, a couple of restaurants, basic goods stores,” he babbled.

“Okay,” she said, watching the scenery as they drove by.

He nodded to himself. Okay it was.

“I can carry them for you,” he said at the bookstore later, concerned by the growing stack of novels in her arms.

“No thanks.” Nesta seemed content just to be holding the books, her thumbs brushing along the sides of them as she continued browsing.

Considering how remote the town was, Cassian hadn’t expected this place to have any kind of great reading collection, but Nesta was somehow an expert at finding and collecting what she liked— recent mainstream stuff along with some older hidden gems.

Eventually the stack really did get too big for her to carry, so he slid some books off of her pile without another word. He picked up the novel on the top and studied it. It was labeled a dark romance, whatever that meant, but the synopsis on the back didn’t tell him much about the plot.

He opened to the first page and raised his brows at the extensive list of trigger warnings. “Are you really into this stuff?” he said, flipping through the rest of the book. “Stalking, knifeplay, rape-but-not-technically-rape?” He wanted to get an idea of her tastes without judging, but it was difficult when every new thing she revealed about herself was a total surprise.

“No,” she answered simply, even as she inspected another book that had a similar cover to the one he was holding.

“Then why are you reading them?”

She put the book down and wandered into the literary fiction section instead; he trailed after her. “Because I keep hoping it’ll turn out different,” she said. “I read about horrible men because I want them to surprise me and turn out to be nice. I want the romance to turn out to be soft.”

Cassian whipped his head up to look at her. He hadn’t actually expected her to answer his question, yet that might have been the longest response he’d gotten from her… ever. “Why not just read another genre?”

She trailed her fingers across the spine of a tattered edition of The Hobbit. They were pretty fingers, he thought. Elegant like a piano player’s. “I like the idea of a bad guy going good for his girl,” she said.

“But if it never happens, why waste your time with all these books?” He gestured to the stack in her arms.

She raised a brow at him. “I’m stupid.”

The bluntness of her statement made him give a startled laugh. “I find that hard to believe, but okay.” When he moved to return the book to the stack, she startled him again by saying, “Why don’t you read that one now and tell me how it ends? Save me from wasting my time.”

He fumbled to open the book again. “Yes ma’am.”

So he followed her through the store as she collected more novels, trying to skim through the book in his hands and watch his step at the same time.

“I don’t read much, but this all looks terrible to me,” he told her honestly after flipping through at least five different parts of the book. The writing, the characters, the dialogue, all seemed too egregiously low-quality for someone like Nesta to be reading. He eyed her with concern. What if her knife-sharp brain was dumbed down by this stuff?

No, that wasn’t possible. If abusing drugs couldn’t do it, then some questionable books definitely wouldn’t.

“Specify what’s terrible,” she hummed. She was crouched on the floor by a table full of books now, resting her body while she flipped through a poetry book. “Most romance is an acquired taste. We probably won’t have the same standards.”

Something low in Cassian’s stomach tingled warmly at her voice— at the fact that she was speaking to him willingly in the first place, and giving him orders at that.

He cleared his throat and willed the flush in his cheeks away. “Why don’t you tell me what you like to read about first? Then I can tell you if this has that.”

Again, he didn’t know a single thing about her beyond the fact that her apartment from a few years ago had been crawling with romance books, smutty and clean alike. He knew because he’d peeked over her shoulder more than once while she’d read them to piss her off.

“Tell me if they’re kind to each other,” she said, sitting down fully on the ground now so she could stretch her legs out. “At least at the end of the book.”

Cassian furrowed his brow and flipped to where she’d directed him. It was a rough sex scene with dialogue, except only the man was speaking and the woman was just sort of laying there and taking it. There didn’t seem to be much affection to it. “Hm.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“What’s another thing that you like to read about?” he redirected.

“Can the woman defend her boundaries? Can he respect her? Can they be friends with each other?”

Cassian read a seventh excerpt from the book just to be sure. “No.”

Nesta rolled her eyes from the floor— a surprisingly adorable expression that made him wish he hadn’t seen it. “Put it up, then,” she said.

He tossed the book onto the table she was leaning against, though he still carried three other romance books in his free hand. “What now? Should we go through the rest?”

Nesta sighed as she scanned the bookshelves in front of her. “No point in being picky. I live on a mountaintop in the middle of nowhere now.”

Cassian didn’t know why it annoyed him so much to hear that— it was only the obvious truth, even if it wasn’t ideal. But that reminded him— “We need movies.”

“To watch on what TV?”

Damn, she was right. “How about games?” he tried.

“Will I be playing against myself?” she said with acidity cutting through her usual monotone.

“We can play when I visit, obviously.”

She stared him down with an icy gaze. “So my new life revolves around waiting for you to visit me so we can play second-hand board games. Is it too late to kill myself?”

He gave her an alarmed look. “Yes it is.” Perhaps he would hold off on buying the board games for now, though.

Nesta’s mood was clearly soured by the fact that she was stuck living alone in the mountain house, which was why Cassian didn’t understand her refusal to leave it. On their way to the checkout line, he hesitantly brought up the topic for the second time that weekend. “If you don’t think the lodge is helping you, why don’t you come back home? We can work out something else for you.”

“Something else like what?” She stopped and turned to glare at him. “Do you and Rhysand have something worse for me planned in mind?”

“What? No—” he spluttered.

“No matter what, you aren’t going to let me live in Velaris where my family is.” Her eyes burned with familiar fire. “So what is it to you how I get to recover?” She spat the last word out mockingly.

“You know it isn’t up to me,” he tried to explain. “I just want something better for you than that stupid lodge—”

“And how would you know what’s better for me?” she sneered. “You don’t know a single thing about me or my situation, Cassian. You’re just the help. You’re my weekend chaperone so I don’t end up dead all by myself— that doesn’t mean you get to have an opinion about my life.”

He took a step back from her in surrender, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Alright. I got it.”

It was difficult to get upset at her words when they were so justified, but Cassian managed to feel hurt anyway. He didn’t understand what had gone wrong. They’d been doing so well— she’d seemed like she was feeling better, and now it was unraveling all over again. One thing was clear, though: that bastard Rhys had been right. Nesta wasn’t going to abandon the lodge anytime soon, no matter how torturous she found it.

As they checked out her sizable pile of books at the register, he spotted her eyeing a small framed poster of a rugged nature scene. Despite it being spring in the photo, the mountainous location seemed to be much farther up north than where they were now. The title at the bottom declared THE YUKON.

“You want that?” he asked her. She didn’t say anything and refocused on the books being bagged in front of her. He pointed to the poster behind the counter and told the cashier, “Can you add that, too?”

From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw Nesta flinch.

***

“Where do you want to go next?”

Nesta looked pointedly at the town square they were in, surrounded by approximately five buildings and nothing else. “Gee, where do I start?”

“Okay, smartass,” he said, but he was biting back a smile. After getting her books and poster, her irritation seemed to have melted away, and he was eager to keep her this content for the rest of the day. “Let’s go thrift shopping,” he suggested. Girls liked that, right?

They both narrowed in on the building across the main street that said USED GOODS in plain white lettering. Nesta made a face. “You call that a thrift shop?”

“We can look through the belongings of all the old people that have died in this town.” It came out sounding less exciting than he wanted it to.

Despite Nesta’s reluctance, they ended up killing an hour at the thrift shop. Much like with the bookstore, Nesta had a knack for finding the things she liked among a sea of junk— in this case, it was vintage sweaters.

He remembered unpacking and putting away her clothes, all of them modest yet suited to Nesta’s unique style. It didn’t match the image one would have of a substance-abusing stripper at all, and yet that was apparently who Nesta had been while she’d been away.

Watching her hold a knit vest printed with cats against her chest, Cassian felt that surge of curiosity in him again. He wanted to know more about her personal style. He wanted to know whether life in LA had been easier than Velaris or harder. He wanted to know if anyone had looked out for her while she’d lived alone in California, if she still had that little drinking problem or if it had dwindled away over the years. He wanted to know what her favorite books were and why.

But he couldn’t ask her any of these things, because he wasn’t a stranger that had noticed her from across the bar or a coworker with an office crush. He was Rhys’s lackey first and foremost, Feyre’s best friend second, and then…after going down the long list of people that Cassian owed his loyalty to, only then was he a man who was utterly enchanted by the woman across from him.

He picked up a brown zip-up with an interesting pattern, wondering if it would fit into Nesta’s tastes as well. “What about this?” He flipped it over to show it to her.

Though it was still difficult to pull more than two or three expressions out of Nesta, he could’ve sworn her eyes slightly widened with delight. “Wow,” she drawled, taking the sweater from him. “Maybe you aren’t totally useless after all.”

The compliment affected his pulse more than it should have.

But Nesta soon ran out of things to look at— this town could only offer so much— so he said, “Let’s go to the diner for a late lunch.”

Cassian was delaying returning to the lodge, he knew. There were only so many opportunities he could get to show Nesta around like this, and every minute she wasn’t spending in her room was a victory to him.

Nesta just shrugged and said, “Whatever you want.”

They stopped at the truck to drop off her shopping and walked down the block to one of the three food establishments in town. Inside the diner, peeling vinyl booths and faded checkered flooring greeted them, like stepping into a time capsule from decades ago.

Nesta turned her nose up at every booth they passed, until finally reaching one at the back that seemed clean enough for her standards. They sat across each other and Cassian pulled a sticky menu toward himself.

“Shake and burger combo?” he suggested. He expected her to give her usual I don’t care, but she shook her head and grumbled, “Sounds like a digestive nightmare.”

He bit back a smile and offered the menu for Nesta to inspect. She squinted at everything, not seeming to find a single thing appetizing, until finally saying, “I’ll have water and a side salad.”

Any amusement slid off his face. “Do you really want to get better, Nesta?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning across the table to look into her eyes. “Are you really here to heal, or just kill time before you’re allowed to come back home?”

She met him with a fiery glare and hissed, “You think I want to be like this?”

“No. Which is why you need food, Nesta. Nutrients.” He’d only gotten her to eat a couple of solid meals in the few short days he’d been at the cabin. Everything else had gotten thrown up or thrown in the trash, and he no longer believed it was a physical reaction more than a psychological one. He just needed to figure out how to get around the mental block that was hindering her.

“At least add some fries,” he tried.

She shook her head. “The smell of grease makes me sick.”

It hadn’t been a problem just a week ago when they’d had burgers together, but he didn’t mention that. “If you’re not ready for a full meal yet, then I’m going to order for myself and you’re going to share off my plate. Fair enough?”

She still looked unhappy but reluctantly nodded. Perfect.

Despite everything smelling and looking delicious, Nesta couldn’t hide her disgust once the food and drinks arrived.

“Relax, it’s not for you,” Cassian told her.

That seemed to ease her up, and her disgust gradually melted into curiosity. “What kind of sandwich is that?”

“Turkey.” He’d purposely ordered things that were plain but not too bland, not wanting her stomach to be upset by either too many flavors or none at all. He took half the sandwich and placed it on an extra plate before sliding it over to her.

She stared at it for a long time, her features not revealing anything. Cassian continued to eat off his own plate while he waited for her to make a move.

After about a minute, she finally pinched off a corner of the sandwich and brought it to her mouth. Tried to smell it, immediately regretted it, and shoved it into her mouth before she could change her mind.

“How do you feel?” He watched her carefully for signs of sickness.

She sighed through her nose while chewing. “I miss eating.”

His heart was splintering. He didn’t know how Nesta had ever reached this point— knew that it had all been kicked off by her father’s death, but didn’t have the slightest idea of all that had happened between then and now.

“Once your stomach gets better, I’ll make you a feast,” he promised. “I’m a really good cook, too, so you can look forward to it.”

“Are you?”

“I am,” he insisted. “You wouldn’t know, of course. Your sense of taste is all messed up right now.”

Nesta still looked doubtful, but she didn’t push the topic. She never pushed anything, really, and it was usually up to Cassian to keep their conversations going. For now, though, he just let her continue picking at her sandwich. When she was almost finished with it and still looking fine, he passed over the side salad she’d asked for next.

It was a slow, tedious process to get her to eat, but Cassian had plenty of time. He even ate at the same pace as her so she wouldn’t be left behind, though he felt like a starving man being fed one grain of rice at a time.

“Do you like cats?” he suddenly asked in the middle of dipping a fry into his milkshake.

“What?”

He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “I could get you a cat. So you don’t have to be alone at the house.”

Nesta gave him the flat stare she only ever used when someone said something idiotic. “Do I look like someone who can take care of a cat right now?”

“Maybe not right now,” he argued. “But one day, yes. I think you’d like having a cat. You remind me of one.”

“I don’t want a fucking cat, Cassian.”

The sound of his name on her lips made him stop stirring his milkshake halfway. It certainly wasn’t her first time saying it, but it happened so rarely that it took him by surprise a little bit every time. Like having a valuable gift dropped straight into his lap.

“Alright, fine,” he conceded. “Try my milkshake.” He stuck the straw in her face before she could get snippy again.

She turned him down, of course, but by the end of the meal he was more than satisfied with how much she’d eaten. Not only satisfied, but deeply proud. He could only pray that her stomach would be okay for the rest of the night.

After paying and leaving a generous tip, they headed back through the main square for the place they’d left the truck.

Evening was quickly coming in now, but Cassian was still dragging his feet at the thought of returning to the lodge. “Want to visit the grocery store next? We can look at fruits and vegetables.”

“I know you’re rich, but all the money you’re spending today is ridiculous.” Nesta said it like she hadn’t been the one buying everything.

Cassian snorted. “Baby, this is Rhys’s business card. Spend away.”

Nesta’s energy visibly diminished at the mention of Rhysand. “I don’t want his money,” she said quietly. “We can go home now.”

“His bank account won’t be hurt by it,” he tried to assure her. “Really, you don’t need to feel bad about some shopping.”

Nesta smirked as they arrived at the truck, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I remember him throwing quite the fit when I spent five hundred dollars on drinks in one night once.”

Cassian’s jaw dropped open. “You spent five hundred dollars only on drinks? It’s my first time hearing about this.”

Her smile vanished so quickly it made him doubt that it had been there at all. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She pulled the truck door open.

“You’re the one who brought it up first,” Cassian tried to say, but Nesta was already inside the truck and shutting the door on him.

That marked the end of their grand day out, for Nesta was quiet the entire ride back to the lodge.

***

Sunday rolled around and brought with it sunshine and a cloudless sky.

It also brought Nesta out of her bedroom before noon, a feat so rare that it had him staring at her from across the kitchen in awe.

“You’re leaving today, right?” she asked him as she sliced a banana into bite-sized pieces. She would slice and pop a piece straight into her mouth, which seemed like a lot of work compared to eating a banana normally, but he never could understand how her thought process worked.

Cassian refocused on her question. Rhys had ordered him to be back in Velaris by tonight, yes. But what he ended up saying was, “I’m going tomorrow morning. Someone needs to eat dinner with you or you’ll starve again.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “That isn’t necessary.”

“I’ll be meal prepping, too,” he continued, ignoring her. “Give me a list of what you’d like to eat by noon, please and thank you.”

Cassian knew his efforts were the equivalent of an umbrella in a hurricane. What Nesta needed wasn’t meal-prepping, but a full-time doctor or counselor to supervise her health. Not a single other person seemed to agree with him, though, least of all Nesta.

The firewood storage stood off to the side of the lodge, a short walk away. Cassian was lugging an armful of logs with him when he found Nesta standing on the back porch in only her pajamas with no outerwear. “Put a jacket on,” he scolded from afar.

She didn’t move as he got close enough to see her clearly. “What is it?” he said, climbing the porch steps to meet her.

“I looked up and you were gone.”

Cassian raised both brows at that. It was an effort not to smile. “Why? Did you think I left without telling you?”

She frowned and he could’ve sworn there was a little indignation to the expression. “No,” she said.

“You did,” he insisted, teasing now. “You got scared.”

The indignation was undeniable now, her lovely neck reddening in proof of her irritation. “I did not,” she hissed. “I’d only be thrilled if you left early.”

He smirked in response. “Thrilled is a big emotion coming from you. Now I know I definitely gave you a fright.”

He was still grinning as he set the stack of wood he had down in a corner of the porch. Though most of the lodge was humble, or as humble as Rhysand’s money could get, a lot had been spent on the back portion of the house: the sizable sunroom with the hot tub as a centerpiece, the massive fire pit with seating in the backyard, the cozy porch with a view of the expansive white grounds.

“I would never abandon you,” he went on as he turned back around to face her, more serious now. “That’s not something you’ll ever have to worry about, Nesta.”

Her face was now taking on the familiar shade of pink it did when she got angry. “The only thing I worry about is you clinging to me every time you come up here. I only wish you would leave, Cassian. It’s been days already.”

Cassian had a difficult time believing her words as much as she did, and it brought a mirthful tremble to his lips that seemed to enrage her even more. Nesta crouched down to the ground.

He was already walking away to get more wood. “You keep telling yourself that, sweet—”

Something wet and cold smacked him directly in the back of the head, shutting him up mid-sentence.

Very slowly, he turned around to face her. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”

She already was packing another one in her bare hands— she’d get frostbite, he worried to himself— and in answer threw it at him again. He dodged it easily, which didn’t make her happy at all. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“You’re what’s wrong with me, asshole.” In only her pajamas and slippers, she suddenly ran at him. Cassian being double her size, the only reason he hit the ground was that he happened to be standing on a patch of ice that slid out from beneath his feet as she tackled him.

He made an oof of surprise as his head hit the ground, and before he had any idea what was going on, Nesta was pelting him with handfuls of snow from above. In his face, down his jacket, even soaking through his jeans. “So—fucking—sick of you,” she said with every hit. “Egotistical male troglodyte thinks I can’t live without him.”

Cassian choked, both at the words and the snow being shoved into his open mouth.

Yes, his blood hummed. This was who Nesta really was: persistent, aggressive, passionate. The complete opposite of the nonchalant facade she typically wore.

He was insanely attracted to this side of her.

It was too easy to flip her over to the ground and grab her wrists, but it wasn’t enough to stop her assault. He was shoveling snow onto her like he was trying to bury her, openly laughing with glee now, but she squirmed and bucked beneath him with such violence that it caused her hips to brush against his crotch. The rush of heat he experienced startled him so badly that he quickly scrambled off of her, and as soon as he let her go, she was trying to shove his face into the snow again.

Cassian was conflicted: he was genuinely sorry to have upset her to this extent, but also fighting the mounting desire to take her to the ground and kiss her senseless. Kiss her everywhere. As if that could possibly do anything to soothe her anger.

He turned around under her hold so he wasn’t eating snow anymore and blinked through melting flakes to find her straddling him, trying to shove more snow down his shirt. It was the funniest, most adorable thing he’d ever seen her do, and he knew he was letting this drag on for far too long.

He hadn’t planned to let Nesta win like this, but his options now were to throw her off his body or to let her stay and risk becoming obviously aroused.

“Enough— I give up,” he panted, snow melting on his tongue and going down the wrong airway. “I give up.”

She stayed atop him even as he broke into coughs, watching intently like a hawk to see if he really wasn’t faking his surrender.

Slowly, like she was dismounting a rowdy horse, she released his collar and unstraddled him one leg at a time. She sat down in the snow beside him while he caught his breath.

He stayed there on the ground, only reaching up to pat her back in congratulations before his arm fell again. “You’re a dirty player. But you won fair and square.”

“I think the point of playing dirty is that it wasn’t fair and square.”

“Ah, well.” He waved her off, still feeling short of breath for more reasons than one.

“You were going to let me win anyway. I just wanted it to feel earned.”

Cassian said nothing at that. He wanted to touch her back again; his fingers were twitching against the snow in restraint.

They sat next to each other like that in silence for a long time.

“Did you mean what you said on the way here?” he eventually asked. “That they were just prescription pills?” The question had been sitting in the back of his mind for a while now.

Above him, Nesta pursed her lips. “No.”

“Oh.” He’d already thought so, so he didn’t know why he was disappointed.

“I couldn’t afford a doctor’s prescription because I had no healthcare,” Nesta continued. “So I had to prescribe them myself.”

He shoved himself up to his elbows and met her gaze in surprise. “How was that safe?”

“It wasn’t. But I double-majored in pharmacology and chemistry so I had an idea of what I needed and experimented with my dosages from there. I think I did a decent job.”

Cassian had to take a moment as his entire view of Nesta shifted on its axis, changing everything he knew about everything. If she was telling the truth, that meant…

He sat upright. “Why did you need a prescription in the first place? Why would you need so many different drugs?”

Nesta turned her head away and didn’t respond.

He knew the answer was obvious, but Cassian still felt the need to pry. “You just don’t seem like someone who would need all those meds. I’ve never thought anything was wrong with you…” He trailed off as Nesta suddenly stood up to her feet, brushing the snow off her behind as she walked back toward the house. He panicked as he realized what he’d said. “Wait, come back—”

She was doing that thing again where she pretended she couldn’t hear him.

Later at dinner, he brought the topic up again against his better instincts. Only because something had been niggling at him since Nesta’s confession. “What about the oxycodone?” He inspected her head to toe, not knowing where on her body she could possibly have been injured enough to require such heavy painkillers. “What was that for?”

She inhaled a tight breath but didn’t let it out. “I’ve never used that.”

“Then why did you have it?”

She didn’t respond, and that was clearly all the information she was willing to divulge for the day. Fair enough. Cassian had already gotten more than he’d ever expected from her.

It was only when they were in front of the fire later that evening, Cassian letting Nesta sip hot chocolate out of his mug, that he said, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. About how it didn’t seem like there’s anything wrong with you.”

She was silent in response.

He continued on, “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed. Not that that’s an excuse, but… There’s nothing wrong with needing those meds, is what I’m trying to say. And if I were a more observant person, I probably would’ve noticed you needed them a long time ago. And…yeah.” He felt like an idiot, wanting to squirm as her silence dragged on.

She only took another sip of the hot chocolate, making him wonder whether she’d heard him at all. He watched her lips wrap around the rim of his mug and knew he should get up to get her her own cup, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He loved that she was drinking out of his mug too much. Besides, Nesta seemed to eat better when it was someone else’s food and drink instead of her own.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot,” she said a few minutes later.

He startled, thinking she’d read his mind for a moment. Then he remembered what he’d said earlier. “You don’t?”

“I don’t. I think you can be very perceptive.”

Chills like electric currents ran down Cassian’s body in full force. Had anyone ever said such a thing to him before? Had he ever even known that he wanted to hear it?

Praise from Nesta of all people felt like being gifted the last drink of water on a dying earth. Precious and unlimited in value. “Thank you,” was all he could say.

After another moment, he hesitantly added, “I don’t know what exactly it is that’s been bothering you…”

Nesta stared into the fire. “Everyone knows I went off the rails after my father died.”

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You mean how Elain and I got kidnapped and assaulted before that? Yeah, that was part of it too, I suppose.”

Cassian’s grip on the now-empty mug tightened at the memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, the way it had been so successfully buried by— well, everybody. Rhysand had saved the sisters in the end and ensured their physical recovery, but nothing had ever been done for their mental states. Elain had suffered but eventually moved past it, and for a while it had seemed as if Nesta was hardly affected as well. Everyone had been convinced that she was okay, until Mr. Archeron suddenly died and all at once it had become clear that she wasn’t.

“Part of it,” Cassian agreed tightly. “But not all of it.”

Her trauma was a wound that had been left to fester for years, only somewhere along the way infection had taken over. He only wanted to know the cause, suspecting that it was hidden away in that period of time where she’d run away from them.

But Nesta had already given him much more this weekend than he ever could have asked for, and he didn’t have the slightest idea why. Either way, he was grateful for her tentative vulnerability. It was only right to offer something in return.

He sniffed lightly. “You know this politics stuff— none of it is clean or legal. The things I’ve had to do for Rhys…”

“What things?”

He was looking down at the hardwood floor when he said, “Terrible things. Not murder, but things that some would say are just as bad.”

“Do you like your job?”

That made him huff a laugh. “Some people thrive in it, but I never thought humans were meant to be violent to other humans like that. The brutality takes a piece of your soul. Every time.”

Nesta hummed noncommittally. “I can think of plenty of people I’d like to be violent to.”

Of course she could. “It’s not like that,” he tried to explain. “It’s people you have no personal issue with, who’ve never done anything evil, that you have to take down. It’s senseless destruction.”

Nesta’s gaze grew distant as she stared into the fire, the blaze of light not seeming to hurt her eyes at all. “I think I know what you mean.”

She sounded so haunted as she said the words that it made Cassian turn to face her. How did she know? But she was slumped over in exhaustion now, done talking for the night.

After several more minutes of nothing but the sound of the crackling fireplace, Nesta’s eyes were drooping heavily. He knew he should tell her to go upstairs to sleep in her bed, but he selfishly wanted to keep her by his side for as long as he could. When she curled up right on the floor beside him and shut her eyes, though, he knew it was time to say goodbye.

The damn house didn’t even have rugs to warm people’s feet, and her bones would hurt if she fell asleep on the bare hardwood. Cassian himself wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. Rhysand would expect him to be back in Velaris by the crack of dawn, and he only had a few hours left before he had to start driving.

So he stood up with a groan and bent down to pick her up in his arms— she was worryingly light— and carried her up to her room without a word.

Whether Nesta was awake enough to be aware of what was happening or not, he didn’t know. But as he was tucking her sleepy form into her bed, bringing the blankets up to her nose how she preferred it, he spied something hanging on the wall adjacent to the bed.

The moonlight reflecting off the snow outside illuminated the poster he’d bought her yesterday. It was positioned in such a way that one could see it every time they went to bed and every time they woke up. For the first time, he took notice of the small slogan printed under the Yukon title: Larger than life.

#ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #rhysta #take the long way home #nessian fic

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