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purkinje-effect · 2 months

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, Chapter 98: Рентгениздат

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 29. Go to previous. CWs: unreality, dissociative hallucinations, delusions, explicit intrusive erotic minutiae

So in love with the wrong world. [98-1]

______________________________

They exited through the Upper Level checkpoint in Anchor Inn. See’s did little more than look them over. Still, ‘Choly found himself unclenching once they were out of earshot, not just for the sharp shift into the overcast natural afternoon light, but for the reflexive expectation of getting mentally manhandled. In Covered Parking, most of the inhabitants had relocated to the Upper Level as those had done inside. Makeshift tents comprised a majority of their shelter, and it took some navigating to traverse the dense congregation of nearly homeless. He and Angel ambled down the ramp to ground level.

“Surely, if only the Mayor would permit further restoration, these people could have proper arrangements indoors.”

If Angel could frown, it would have.

“I’m sure for most people, it’s unnatural to live inside Ant Lane. I for one don’t blame them.”

They could have easily found Little Boy Blue by the presence of Children of Atom scurrying about on mechanic’s errands, but ‘Choly trusted the clicking of his Pip-Boy to inform him just how close he could get. He shuffled nearer until the Geiger counter’s feedback accelerated into a rapid, irregular pace, then took a few steps back in compromise. With a pleasant, melancholy murmur, he found a cracked bumper block to sit upon, and he watched from a distance.

Sticks eventually surfaced from the hood at the back of the blue coupe, laden with sweat and grease. Despite the workout, the challenge had the ghoul grinning and bubbly. He pulled a rag from his apron and wiped his face down, before rounding back to the driver’s seat to root around in the cabin.

‘Choly next identified Fresnel emerging from under the hood, in her plaid flannel and a pair of jeans, worn over a high-neck undergarment. He couldn’t make out what she told the three Atomites nearby, but they rushed off to abide by it. Sticks emerged and glanced around, only to roll his eyes and shoulders and flapped a hand at whatever request their assistants had left to accomplish. Fresnel vanished back under the hood, and for some time, Sticks resumed his preoccupation with things in the front seat.

He decided to put on his radio drama. The tape would be safe out here for an afternoon, and he could tell if any risk arose by any observable changes in the quality of the playback. He slid it into the tape deck of his Pip-Boy and clicked it shut, then selected ‘audio source: holotape’ in his Radio menu. He stretched out his legs and glanced over to Angel, who had curled up its tendrils under itself just like it had inside.

At times like this, his nerves craved a cigarette.

The hallmark introduction clanged, and the play started. He had enjoyed Lights Out all his life, and remembered this episode, but he didn’t remember details all that well. The two women began to bicker over the appropriateness of horror as a genre, only for their shared office to fall to near-total darkness.

“Well, you’re scared, too!”

“I’m not, I’m not, I’m not! Series of coincidences, that’s all. What could it be? I mean, what? Who ever heard of anything happening in a place like this? Well, what are you looking at me like that for? This is no haunted house--"

‘Choly found himself spacing out a ways. His eyes watched the mechanics labor over the car, but his gaze was miles beyond it.

“Up at the ceiling. Ohh. Oh no. Green. The lights now… It’s green. Green. All the lights. Green. You lied to me. You said it was the electricians. Look at the light. It’s green! Makes your face green. You look dead. You hear me? Dead! You’ll be dead. I’ll be dead. We’ll be dead, dead, dead--"

“--Stop it! Stop it! You’re not going to drive me crazy just because there’s something wrong with the electricity. You look around. Everything’s all right. Everything’s all right. Nothing’s wrong here. Nothing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daria finishes up her transcription after hours. It's just us in the wide, empty office. I pace nearby, hands in my pockets blindly jumbling their contents. She fumbles through a passage; from her skewed, scrunched lips, I presume the handwriting confounds her. Compulsion snags me. I straighten in place.

“ ‘A note to the sound department:,’ ” I announce in English, pantomiming my annotation, “ ‘At this point in the play, I want the sound of a body being turned inside out. I suggest the use of a wet rubber glove to plant the picture of a human being deliberately turned.’ ”

She doesn’t look up from her work, or even really pause, despite my restrained chuckles. Her poor attempts at ignoring my nuisance endear me.

‘You’d get in so much trouble if someone were to find out about your American radio habits.’

A trace of lyric etches her tone.

‘Now who do you know that doesn’t collect their share of bones? I don’t see you handing me to Gosteleradio.’[98-2]

She slides over the carriage to return with a click and whir, and scoffs.

‘Where else would I get such entertainment? You don’t need wiped holotapes to bother me with strange stories.’

Dripping with sleaze, I hop up on the corner of her desk, shoving over stacks of papers in the process. She almost scrambles to right the paperwork, but stops herself short. I lean over to her, to plant a smooch on her smooth, bright cheek.

‘I’m nothing if not entertaining.’

Her smirk wins out over her frustration, and she pecks a short kiss onto my lips. Starting with a pat at my lapels, she slowly caresses them along my flat chest, only to throw her hands in her lap.

‘You damned stilyagi, wearing men’s clothes, tempting women.[98-3] But you can't have my undivided attention. Not yet.’ Her breath staggers, belying her composure. She flusters. ‘You’re such a terrible influence on me. Can you stop and let me finish? The sooner I’m done, the sooner we can go back to your place.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Choly straightened. His heart raced, and his blood ran hot. Both clammy hands shot behind to steady him. He focused on his breathing. Though the recording had finished its playback, he couldn't say how long ago. He could still visualize and feel every naked, ravishing curve of Daria, from her pale pert nipples to her lush ebony hair perfumed with amber and cherries. How they would go at it until they ached the next day. A soft, distressed moan escaped his lips at the raw arousal and intent he once had felt for the woman.

That was a lifetime ago--if it were true. Yet, far too vivid, and far too foreign to him, it couldn’t have been a daydream. And it had to have been true, because he had never in his life felt attraction to any normal human being, let alone for it to feel so right and replete. Had he? The way his body only throbbed more intently when he tried to calm himself, it repulsed him. God help him, the sex had been so good.

“Perhaps we ought to set aside the horror genre for a spell, Mister Carey. The twist seems to have hampered your attempts at relaxation.”

He stared at the tape deck of his Pip-Boy at length. His throat adhered to itself, despite repeated attempts to swallow.

“Series of coincidences, that’s all,” he murmured, pale and hollow. “Someone wanted me to pick this holotape, to hear it now.” His eyes strained out toward the still-choked river. “Why do I remember it. Why do I remember it now.”

Angel lifted itself up on its tendrils, and urged ‘Choly to stand.

“Come along, Sir. Everyone’s taking a break above us. Why don’t we go see Mister Sticks?”

In a dull haze, he struggled to his feet.

“You’re right,” he told Angel. “I need to be around people right now. Not all these… ghosts… in my drafty skull.”

“There we go,” it encouraged as best it could.

As it shepherded him back up the ramp, their rickety joints would rightfully have produced a horrid din of scraping and scrabbling. Or, they felt that way, anyway. Gradually, the Pip-Boy’s sputtering clicks faded before ceasing altogether.

“I wasn’t a virgin,” he mouthed silently, through an eye twitch. “Wasn’t, even then…”[98-4]

Since then, have I grown queerer still?

On the Upper Level, Sticks and Fresnel sat around a communal cooking pit fashioned from cinder blocks, rebar, and concrete rubble. He hadn’t noticed Maury until now, sitting comfortably with Sticks, Fresnel, and several Satellites. A warm chat wove amongst them.

“Ah, ‘Choly’s here,” Sticks said. He patted a welcoming knee. “I’m surprised you stepped out here. I was beginning to think you were getting allergic to sunlight, and between that and your smoothies…”

“Worry when I cast no reflection,” ‘Choly muttered. He rolled his eyes and squeezed into the circle to sit across Sticks’s leg. He needed the proximity of leaning into his chest more than he would admit. The bouquet of engine grease, rust, and river scum invited him in, to spite his drab olive. A sigh punctuated his anxiety. He retained a twinge of self-awareness. “It’s been a while since I smelled fresh cooking other than razorgrain porridge.”

“We’ve been making kitchen sink stew for weeks,” Maury replied. “Minus an actual kitchen sink, as you can see. A little bit of whatever we can find. The variety is getting tiresome.”

“I can respect the desire for a little consistency,” Fresnel said. She smiled at ‘Choly, but his eye contact faltered in favor of getting a better look at her dark under-armor’s moto-quilted leather collar. “Even if it isn’t the same food each time, it’s nice when food can be predictable.”

“Anything is better than porridge and prewar rations,” Sticks groaned. Warming to grin, he rubbed at ‘Choly’s shoulder, and wrapped his gloved hand around it to squeeze. ‘Choly leaned into Sticks’s chest. “Of course, these fine folks know their way around improvised recipes. I don’t even have to ask what’s in it, to know I’ll like it.”

“You know what they say about necessity and invention,” Maury chirped.

Like strands of spiderweb trailing the air, potent recollection of appetent lips and heaving flesh persisted after ‘Choly. He disguised the prickling of his skin as an attempt to get more comfortable in Sticks’s lap. The ghoul picked up on the surreptitiousness, and decided to take credit for the untoward shiver by dragging him closer by the hip.

As he tried to sit back up, his head grazed Sticks’s shoulder. The thread count of the cotton shirt loosed no more than a few strands of hair. Sticks tucked them behind his ear with an absent smile. ‘Choly’s breath stitched in his ribs, and the corners of his lips twitched. He'd kept his shoulder length hair tucked into a neat semblance of a duck’s arse for years, before succumbing to the exhilarating fuck-you of chopping it all off himself into a chubchik when conscripted.[98-5] This shorn, masculine style of bangs had served to tether his sense of gender while a soldier, but it took years for his hair to grow back out after his time in the Soviet army, so he could resume his tendency toward a trim, tidy updo. He had always preferred it pinned up, and yet he also often caught himself savoring the ways Sticks might loose its fine chignon waves. The ghoul evoked so many unexpected proclivities in him, and yet--

“Perhaps Mister Maury would be inclined to help me update my recipe database,” Angel wondered. “I struggle direly with ingredient definitions these days. Mister Sticks is supposed to help me as well, but things have been quite hairy as of late. Soon, then, perhaps…?”

“The robot wants to learn from me?” Maury glanced up from stirring the stew pot. His other hand gripped the layers of scarves draped around his shoulders. “The robot can want?”

‘Choly teetered ever so slightly.

“One thing at a time, chap,” Sticks said. ‘Choly attempted to match breathing patterns with him as he spoke, to self-regulate, but it only served to entangle himself in physicality. “I made you a promise. I'll keep to it. Unlike those stiffs in The Hall, my word means something.”

He wanted to neck so badly in that moment, convinced thoroughly that if only he could lay into his lover with impenitent, gnawing osculation, he could rewire this short circuitry. That's all this was--he'd simply gone too long without indulging his sense of eros. A part of him, still toeing the past, must crave plump, warm lips against his own, but nothing could really, truly satisfy his sensibilities quite like a cracked, leathery, gnashing mouth. Until this moment, he wouldn't have even questioned whether any fraction of his past self could have survived.

He kept repeating to himself, You have Sticks. You have everything you've dreamed of, and then some. Happiness, beyond all things best left forgotten. What's the use in remembering who you used to be? What's the use in pretending you haven't changed as much as you think? Besides, if you're so convinced everything's as made-up as you insist, what's stopping you from having made all this up, too! Narrative be damned! Whatever may be, just enjoy it.

“What did they do to you now?” Fresnel teased.

“Not just me, but all of us. This whole Certs debacle… They really tried to screw us over for good this time.”

I'm nothing, if not entertaining. …If not entertaining, I'm Nothing.

“You gripe about Certs every opportunity you get.” Maury shrugged at him. “This again…”

Daria’s spectral fingertips traced ‘Choly’s hips, and dipped between them. His buttocks clenched, only to tremble pathetically against Sticks's leg as he tried to forget the woman's touch. Her ravenous, impassioned sucking. Her digital adroit. She would work him to a begging, sopping mess before letting him tuck her entire fist deep inside him. He quaked inside with grief that any slip in his body language might betray the illusion of his attempts to sustain attentiveness or decorum.

“They've really shown their true colors today. They don't intend to pay out. They never intended to pay out. They're cheapskates.”

Sticks sat up straighter, still balancing ‘Choly on his thigh. The ghoul bounced his leg ever so slightly. It couldn't have been a simple restless tic. ‘Choly squinted his eyes tight, and gagged. Eventually, he pushed through his mental viscosity to place a begging hand on Sticks’s knee. He gripped it with firm intent. Sticks’s leg stopped.

“Think about it,” Sticks said. “Why else would The Hall freeze repairs on the property it owns? They're shooting themselves in the foot because it's the cheaper option. Classic bureaucratic maneuver. Just think of the good we’re doing, to go on this little ramble. It’s going to be more important than ever for Ant to keep its economic ties with the outside world.”

“--What, what are you even on about?” ‘Choly put his limp, haggard cheek against Sticks’s shoulder. “I didn't hear the announcement this morning, and I don't know what these ‘Certs’ are.”

“You're Lucky to keep being out of the loop on some of this malarkey, babe. The Hall’s been paying everyone for the repairs to the mall in Certs. Mall certificates. You remember those, right?”

‘Choly nodded, mentally sapped. Just this context alone started to percolate incredulity, but Sticks continued, much to the malaise of everyone present. Yet, ‘Choly welcomed any clinical, economic topic over his present preoccupation.

“Certs are worth what The Hall says they're worth. You know what they say about invention…” The ghoul wagged a lyrical finger at Maury. Maury chuffed and smiled, shaking his head. “These things work a lot like how they did before the War. You can only spend them in the Concourse, and only with Laners who abide by the logic of face value. Everyone thinks The Hall will just… pay up, all up front, the moment repairs are done, but I've said it before, and I'll say it again: that pay day will never come. See, it isn't just that they haven't got enough pulls to pay everyone the value of their labor. If it were that simple, they'd pay people in caps when they ran out of pulls, then in cash, and so on. They lose equity if they exhaust their coffers in full. It's no coincidence they'd value Certs in the only currency exclusive to the settlement, either: even if they do pay out one day, a guy can still only spend his earnings here. The Hall can't afford to invest in their own population here, but they're simultaneously reliant on us to fix everything. Cheapskates.”

“Your theory makes an alarming amount of sense, if true,” Fresnel uttered. “I've spoken with several Laners who believe Certs will accrue value, not lose it. It's going to destroy people who've been stockpiling Certs, thinking they've amassed great wealth during a harrowing time.”

“Some, more than others. I hate to break Orqueida’s heart, but poor soul, she really thinks those Certs are worth something. I didn't want to be right.”

“Perhaps the girl will do the smart thing,” Maury supposed, ”and use them to buy all the supplies you all will need next week. They might not even be worth the paper they're written on before you return.”

“You make it sound like no one's cashing in their Certs right now,” ‘Choly said.

“No one can,” Maury continued. He started ladling out servings into bowls, and started with the two Satellites sitting nearest him. “Certs have what Sticks calls ‘speculative value.’ The idea is that people hold onto them, in the hopes they'll eventually be paid.”

“One big whopping I.O.U. is what it is,” Sticks went on. “Write up however many slips of paper that say they’re worth pulls. Draw the Mayor's face on it, for all I care. The only thing that's worth a pull is a pull. Thing is, Mindy. What you've got to understand… These Certs have a clause written on them. They've got this fine print. You know how fine print goes.”

Again, ‘Choly nodded.

“There's a clause that states, clear as day, that The Hall will only cash in on Certs once repairs are completed in full. And as of this morning, The Hall will not contract another minute’s worth of labor for said repairs. It would take them disregarding the terms and conditions of their own damn play money, for this to amount to something. Or, I don't know, requiring the remainder of the work be done completely pro bono. I saw this all coming a mile away.”

The two Satellites ‘Choly didn't know groaned.

“Sticks is so financially bright,” Maury praised, perking up. “He advised all of us in Covered Parking to trade away our Certs, so we wouldn't end up holding mere slips of paper when the time came and passed without us being paid. It wasn't easy to keep the Laners from jumping to some conclusion that we're rejecting their money. We respect pulls, not Certs.”

“You had their best interests in mind, but couldn't convince Orqueida not to hoard them?” ‘Choly snipped, trying not to seethe. “If you're so smart with money, why are you screwing over Laners over this, instead of scheming up some way to screw over The Hall for engineering this inconceivable exploitation?”

‘Choly felt Sticks’s fingers tracing the laces of his Surgical Leathers through his shirt. His irritation sublimated into awkwardness, and his heart ratcheted, between his lusting after the specter of Daria, and Sticks’s lusting after the specter in his lap.

“Don't blow a gasket,” Sticks soothed. “One, I can't just make people do whatever I want, even if it's for their own good. The more I've tried to convince her, the more adamant she's gotten that I'm just trying to get rich off this. She's not the only one this situation has made paranoid as sin. If she wants my help sorting all this out, she'll ask me for it. Hopefully, she'll come around before the Concourse catches on to what The Hall is pulling. Two, give it time. Have a little faith in me, why don't you.”

Something about the whole situation felt off. He wondered what currency the Mayor had been donating to Sutter Grove. But he was too tired to hash out whether speculating were constructive, or if he were simply inventing reasons to worry. It would take little persuasion on his part at this point, to coax his leather-skinned companion to act on all those little nips and teases once they retired for the evening.

He resigned to a coy smile. Just the notion of bedding Sticks tonight cast out a tether to moor him to reality.

“We've all had a long day. Can we stop talking business and just… eat? So we can have some quiet, and maybe get to bed at a reasonable hour?”

“Grandpa ‘Choly, looking to get in bed before the sun’s even down,” Sticks ribbed.

And yet, ‘Choly found that the more pyretic his recollections became, the less he genuinely desired to act upon them. He knew he craved some unknown nourishment, but remained unconvinced Sticks alone might provide it.[98-6]

“Another proof that I'm not a vampire. I'm not nocturnal.”

“All right, then, Daywalker,” Maury smirked, clever and delighted. He ladled up a shallow metal bowl and gave it to ‘Choly. “Don't bite.”

For a while, conversation quietened with everyone's mouths full. ‘Choly couldn't place any one particular ingredient or even flavor to the strange stew, but true to Sticks's description, he found it delicious nonetheless. It would stick to the ribs, and had an indescribable complexity to it. He thought briefly to ask whether it contained any dairy, but it seemed unlikely, all things given, and he doubted Maury or any who'd helped him prepare the meal would have remembered anyway. He couldn't help but agree with Sticks: This was leagues better than razorgrain porridge or ancient preserved rations.

“So how much work do you suspect you have left on Blue?” he asked them.

“Less than either of us believed,” Fresnel replied. She ate another bite, chewing thoroughly, before elaborating. “The rads which saturate Blue have energized me as I work. That said, much of the restoration is the interior. Engine damages were minor. It surely is a shame it couldn't just be myself and Sticks, to go North. It feels like something of a waste, to scour Atom’s touch from the inside of the auto.”

“You and I might enjoy that glow,” Sticks started with a smirk, “but you and I both also know I would prefer it if my vehicle could have passengers who aren't immune to it.”

“I can respect that.” She grinned into her dish. “After all, Her Light still courses through the engine itself.”

“The, ah, sooner that engine can be secured,” Maury uttered, the corners of his mouth twitching, “the sooner Covered Parking can rest easy. I admit freely, that I started helping Sticks with the vehicle, prior to the storm, because I had wanted to keep an eye on the invertible. I hope you understand that I appreciate that you haven't invited me along, despite my involvement. I fear my heart would give out on the spot if I so much as thought of stepping inside one myself.”

“Quite all right, pal,” Sticks replied. “We can't have that. You're best suited to holding down the fort here, and we all know that. We appreciate all you've done for Blue. We appreciate you. All of you,” he added, motioning around at the six or so who'd since joined the circle once servings began making rounds.

“Thank you for dinner,” ‘Choly agreed, quietly.

“It's nothing,” Maury chirped, beaming.

“Oh! mais it is everything!” Fresnel insisted, with warmth and enthusiasm. “Come now, Monsieur Maury. Accept the praise! Acknowledge all Atom has provided us.”

She rose from her seat and extended both hands to Maury, encouraging him to stand. He hesitated, but complied, and she had him escort her back down to ground level.

Sticks pressed his face near ‘Choly's ear.

“You good to sit tight while I help these fine folks with the dishes?” he asked him. “Not much daylight left.”

“That's sweet of you,” he agreed, letting Sticks squeeze out from under him. A bit unlike him, though, to take on a menial task like that, when numerous others could handle it.

“It's the least I can do for their hospitality.”

“Oh! Do let me help, Sir,” Angel begged in delight, following him.

As the group rounded up the various tins and dishes to rinse, ‘Choly sat by the fire and watched. He still had so much to take care of before they headed out in two days. He needed to craft a fresh batch of Melancholia. And he needed to do one more pass of maintenance on Angel, and refuel it. And he needed to return the Lights Out holotape to Sacristan Haidinger, along with a copy. He could ask Sticks to copy the holotape with his more advanced dual-deck Pip-Boy model, while he drew the blood required to concoct the Melancholia. But, he shook the idea from his head with the two-fold dread, not just from a likelihood he’d have to confess the cause of his sexual restlessness was not Sticks, but more so for the certainty that he would insist ‘Choly then owed him a favor--he was forever adamant to be repaid in kind for just about any favor, no matter how small or convenient, and this would be no different.

He whet his lips and hemmed.

No, I’ll duplicate it without bothering him with it. Yes. I’ll format one of the JBD holotapes, and use that. But… I think I’ll give it another listen first. Maybe… several.

He rattled back to the present when someone rustled his shoulder.

“Did you really mean it that you wanted to go to bed early tonight?” Sticks ribbed.

When ‘Choly glanced up at him, the ghoul winked. He extended both hands to ‘Choly and helped him stand. Despite the mixed messages, all that mattered in that moment was the opportunity to spend time with the man of his dreams. Nonetheless entangled in the silvering cobwebs of the past, he needed more than anything to acclimate to the present, and be elated for the future.[98-7]

_____________________________

[98-0] Arch Oboler’s Lights Out, episode “Murder in the Script Department.” To pair the audio with the text, if desired: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPqvsdjJq1M

[98-1] “So in love with the wrong world.” Florence & the Machine’s “Blinding.”

[98-2] Рентгениздат. Röntgenizdat. During the Soviet era’s deep censorship, Russia saw extensive black market trafficking of all sorts of non-Russian media, most notably music. Also called ribs, bones, or bone music, old x-ray film was repurposed to cut “blank” records, upon which would then be recorded music from all over the world. The records made this way retain their x-ray images.

[98-2] Гостелерадио СССР (Gosteleradio). A prominent authority in Soviet censorship, this state committee regulated all television and radio media, especially non-Russian content. A separate committee also regulated printed work.

[98-3] Стиляги (Stilyagi). The prevalent Soviet counterculture in the post-WWII era, it embraced whatever Western fashion trends and culture it could get away with. Many stilyagi fashioned their own clothing from old textiles because it was otherwise impossible to obtain garments in the styles they sought, both in cut and color.

[98-4] Chapter 50, “Mouthful.” The first time ‘Choly and Sticks laid together, ‘Choly swore to him he was a virgin, entirely convinced at the time that his recollection of this particular aspect of his past was accurate.

[98-5] Чубчик (chubchik), duck’s arse. A common rebellious hairstyle amongst drafted Soviet soldiers in WWII was a shorn head with clean-cut bangs, often thought to have originated from a desire to find ways to fly in the face of rules and regulations, by finding acts that still follow them. The military regulation merely stated the maximum length of hair and the neatness of the style, and said nothing of the appropriateness of bangs. The average Soviet porting chubchik was considered a hoodlum or bad boy, and it still has a reputation to this day. A duck’s arse was one of several mid-century Western styles quintessential to stilyagi fashion.

[98-6] Unknown nourishment. Kafka’s Metamorphosis. What sets a human apart from any other creature is the pursuit of some intangible quality, of which Gregor Samsa recognizes that his sister has found and benefits from, but which he himself never quite grasps.

[98-7] Серебряная паутина (Serebryanaya pautina), silvering cobwebs. Again with the motif of the dramatic irony commanded by the flickering threads of circumstance.

#the anatomy of melancholy #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #let's have fun in new hampshire #sole survivor #ghoul oc #mister handy #melancholy #angel #sticks #fresnel #maury #hierosacristan fresnel

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666prophet · 5 months

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Fallout S1:E3 - The Head

I think this one was solid. Moved the plot along some, but mainly a character development episode. This again I feel is geared to not fans of the games (no offense). It does a good job of showing you how things are and why certain characters react the way they do. Also a good juxtaposition of the differences between the Wasteland and Vaults. Did raise a lot of nit picky things though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Spoilers and Deep Dive ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so The Ghoul was an actor before the bombs, got it cool I can dig it. What is interesting to see is if the go further into how he became so cold. Granted yes being alive for 200 years and becoming and irradiated time bomb will do that to you. I'm interested to see what chem he keeps using, it doesn't look like anything that has been in any game yet. Also just as a thought, maybe wrap up the severed head. Walking around with a head is just gonna make you seem like a Fiend or a Raider. Just food for thought. Its amazing the upgrades that Vault dwellers made to the Pip-Boy seeing as neither the 3000 or Mark IV had any kind of tracker feature.

Sir....in your boot....that would be the most uncomfortable way to carry around caps ever. Its pretty lucky this random person is skilled and knowledgeable enough to fix a component off a suit of power armor. Ok, at this point its safe to say that Maximus can't fight for shit. He also seems to have an odd obsession with toilet seats. They sent over a new squire amazingly quick, but also how are you surprised he is there? You just talked on the radio and they said they would send a new Squire. Oh its the asshole bully, how convenient. So how far are we gonna take the bully my bully trope.

Its funny that they have a prominent Sunset Sarsaparilla logo on the truck. Considering that Todd Howard has had this weird relationship with Fallout: New Vegas. He doesn't dislike it or speak badly about it, just more tries to avoid talking about it. I would say New Vegas is probably my number one in the series. It feels like a good successor to Fallouts 1 and 2, seeing as Fallout 3, 4, & 76 ditched the west in favor of the east. If any of the older games deserve a redo/remaster it's New Vegas. I see Lucy took my advice. So wait the first sign(not actually the first but still) of wildlife we see in an UNMUTATED FAWN?!?!?! Where is the mother? Did deer on the West Coast just not suffer from mutations due to the fallout? Also weird choice to have a Fallow fawn and not go with something a but more common and widespread in California like Blacktail or Mule. Alright a gulper, I mean you could have also gone with a mirelurk or lakelurk but sure I'll take it.

I think this gives a good incite into how some Vault dwellers are. They are very we are better and nicer. Very naive and very cheery, which gives a good contrast to Norm. The fact that they keep hammering the ghoul hate feels like ham fisted foreshadowing.

Leaches were never in the games. Its interesting to see The Ghoul panic when the winch locks up. Almost like he cares about Lucy for some reason, or he isn't as sadistic as we are lead to believe. Ummmm why does that gulper look like an axolotl? Yes they are also salamanders but not a common species in the US. Ok...gross....it has mouth fingers. I feel like there is some shenanigans going on with this gulper. The white lab coat kind of shenanigans. So either The Ghoul is SUPER addicted to chems or there is something special about these vials. Also that line about getting sidetracked might as well be the new tagline for all the games.

Well here is the "he was just misunderstood, not a bully" trope. More showing the difference between Vault 33 vs Norm as character. I like it. Also showing the cracks with the Overseer comment. The classic waterchip is broken mechanic, a Fallout staple.

Oh were being spoiled in this episode, a whole five seconds of a what looks like a bloatfly. So wouldn't the geiger counter just spike because of the fact that most all water is irradiated? It dies by puking its guts out? That's it? That's underwhelming. Oh look the head, that's plot armor if I've ever seen it.

So is The Ghoul trying to do a tough love mentor thing? I'm confused. Ok so he sold out because of his wife and she is tied to Vault-Tec somehow. Its interesting to see that she seems to know what kind of company Vault-Tec is.

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Its good. Lots of little things but we can chalk it up to me being fussy about detail. Shows more behind the curtain on the characters. We are starting to see more of the world, but I feel like I'm being breadcrumbed on that front. Hope we can start to more widen the scope because part of the story of Fallout is the world. Not just the "main quest".

Final Score - 8/10

#prophet speaks #fallout #fallout tv series #episode 3 #the head

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kharonion · 1 year

Note

48 for micro stories💓💓 whoever you want

request a micro story × oc list

RAMPAGE.

He cares not for the screams of protest as he busts through the purifier's glass walls. All that matters is his employer—no, they hate being called that... his partner—who is sprawled on the grate floor, a sponge for the dangerous radiation spiking with every second. He hears the vigorous clicking of the Pip-Boy's Geiger counter, and he feels like he'll be sick.

Without any hesitation, Charon hoists Gail up in his arms and rushes out. He doesn't stop for goddamn anything because he has to make sure they're safe, goddammit.

And these Brotherhood of Steel lackies are, frankly, getting in his fucking way.

"Are they okay?" a random paladin asks... and Charon grinds his teeth so hard their crack makes the smoothskin jump.

"No. They are not fucking. Okay." Now, he's pissed, and it's taking every single cell of his mutated body to not just fly off on a rampage, just to see if the pricks will come to one another's aid faster than they did for Gail.

But... Gail wouldn't want that; no, they'd be tremendously disappointed. And for once, Charon actually gives a shit about that.

So, instead, he bows his head, focusing on Gail's horridly sick face as he snarls, "Just... fucking help them... please."

#oof have some fallout 3 blorbos Feels today i guess. 😭#this is immediately after Gail starts the purifier at endgame... so yeah. all the feels are happening.#needless to say: Big Ghoul Man is Big Ghoul Pissed.#thank you! <3 #khar writes #oc: gail parsons #fallout charon #x: so tragic so magic #.asks

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starrypawz · 2 years

Note

How about a sorry kiss for chargestep?

Sweet Affectionate Moments AO3

This was becoming dangerously close to a habit. Marshal Charge and Sidestep on whatever rooftop was nearest to their latest escapade but not so close that they would be spotted. There might be a check in, there might be a quip, there might be both and either Sidestep would roll up their mask or Marshal Charge would gently roll it up for them and either Sidestep was the one to lean in or Marshal Charge would lean in but either way it would result in a kiss.

A kiss with the edge that comes when there’s still some adrenaline that needs be worked out and maybe maybe just maybe one kiss isn’t quite enough and what if… What if we held each other a little closer? And I remember last time you really liked it when I got my hands in your hair and pulled a little.

And this time Ronan catches his bottom lip and Ricardo swears a jolt runs down his spine as he mumbles something against their mouth and Ronan feels their body mould to his as he backs them against something and Ricardo has a hazy idea of running his lips against their neck which he’s sure will be amazing from the way Ronan shivers against him as the pad of his gloved thumb trails down their neck and then…

Humming, Buzzing it’s always there cradled at the back of their skull, ebbs and flows, like a tide, like lungs, like a heartbeat,

Ronan tenses

“What?”

Ronan sighs

Cracks and pops, background radiation, Geiger counter brain

“There’s” Ronan pauses

Cracks and pops, more intense, Gieger counter brain, doesn't actually hurt but it irritates pins and needles over and over again

“Shit… there’speople,”

Ricardo bites down on his lip, part of him wants to crack a joke about ‘Of course there’s people we’re in Los Diablos’ and comparing it to something like… Being surprised there’s… Leaves on a Tree? Fish in the Sea? Tomato Juice in a Bloody Mary? Cheese in a Quesadilla? But he manages to tamp down on the urge.

“Press?”

Can’t make out individuals, they’re just too far from that, it’s too hard. But there’s an overarching thread of all too familiar prying almost voyeuristic morbid curiosity

“Yeah,” Ronan sighs, Sharp edge almost sharp enough to hurt and if Ronan follows it for too long it leaves a weird bitter taste in their mouth “LDPD too-”

Ricardo groans, “They want to see me…” Then smirks, “Don’t need telepathy to tell me that right?”

There’s a pause that he knows under the mask Ronan is rolling their eyes or raising an eyebrow or maybe both.

And then there’s one more kiss, both too brief and longer than it should be a pre-emptive apology and also a promise before he heads into the fray.

#fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #sidestep ronan brown #starry writes stuff

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wishing4nuclearwinter · 2 years

Note

Trapped with ‘stay please’ :3c

Ahhh greetings from a month in the future. I have finally finished this sldfksd. Have some Sol and Arcade pre-ship content :3

Thunder cracked on the stale dry air like a whip, reverberating through the floor of the cramped room Sol and Arcade had rented for the night. Sol’s geiger counter quietly clicked its response.

The rare rains that rolled through the Mojave were appreciated by the flora and fauna alike, even when lightning fractured the sky, but radstorms were all but unheard of so far from the oceans of radiation that dotted the map. The woman who’d rented them their beds claimed it was the first one she’d seen blow over outer Vegas since she was a child.

Sickly green seeped in through ripped linen curtains and Sol struggled to swallow against the dryness in his throat.

Thin pre-war plaster couldn’t substitute for the lead lined walls of the Lucky 38, but Arcade’s abundance of caution made up for it with the hoard of Rad-X stashed in his bag. He glanced down at his watch, squinting in the dim lighting before shaking four more capsules into his palm.

Arcade tossed two into his mouth with a swig of purified water and padded across the rug that separated their beds.

“Here, take some more before you go to sleep,” he insisted, weariness bleeding into his voice.

Sol was curled into himself facing the window and he tensed as Arcade spoke, but after a moment he rolled over and pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“Th-thanks,’ he muttered, knocking the offered capsules back. One caught on his tongue and he grimaced, finally taking the water bottle Arcade had been holding out to him and washing it down.

“Of course.”

A low rumble echoed from above, once again punctuated by his Pip-Boy, and Sol flinched. It was barely there, eyes snapping shut for less than a moment, shoulders jumping up nearly imperceptibly.

It wasn’t fear. Not of the radiation caging him in that musty motel room, or the unnatural glow consuming the sky with whispers of two-hundred year old destruction, nor the unpredictable deafening claps like power lines snapping overhead. He told himself that he’d seen too much for a storm to be pulling every muscle taut and leaving panic to tingle at his fingertips.

The mattress dipped as Arcade perched on the edge of the bed. His gaze darted over Sol and he frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? I was planning on saving the Rad-Away for the morning, but–”

“I’m fine,” Sol growled, voice cracking.

Arcade sighed as he leaned over him and raised the back of his hand to Sol’s face, pausing. “May I?”

Sol looked away, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, but he didn’t stop him. A silent surrender.

Arcade moved his hand, gingerly pressing his knuckles flat against his forehead. Clammy, but not hot enough to signal a fever. “Even so, you…” For once, he didn’t attempt to finish his rebuttal and he let the silence ring for a moment before breathing, “Alright.”

As he made to stand, clawed fingers grabbed at the hem of his undershirt, holding him there.

“Wait.”

Arcade raised an eyebrow, but stilled with a light, “Waiting.”

Sol’s tongue was cotton, his mouth revolting against his mind, fighting to stop the words from tumbling out. “Stay. P-please.”

Arcade glanced out the window, tracing drops of acid rain that had begun to slowly coat the glass. “Well, seeing as I quite literally cannot leave, I don’t think you have to worry about me fleeing into the night. Not that I had been planning some kind of grand escape before acute radiation sickness became a concern.”

Sol swallowed audibly and his grip loosened as he shivered despite the unseasonable humidity. His elbow stayed propped beneath him, shoulder painfully jammed against the side of his jaw by muscles that refused to unwind.

“I-I didn’t…” he murmured, voice humming.

“Didn’t what?”

Wind rasped along the side of the building and Sol screwed his eyes shut just as Arcade mentally caught up with him. He hesitated, looking over the mattress that had the space for two, if barely, then back to Sol’s rigid form.

He had been there himself too many times to not see that a single crack of thunder would likely be enough to send Sol teetering over the edge of panic.

“Sure, I can stay here if you want.”

Sol’s mind screamed at him, demanded to correct his weakness and crawl out from under Arcade’s easy compassion. Instead, he nodded before finally prying his locked joints loose and shifting to make room.

He rolled over to face the window once more, attempting to guide his attention to the scrape of cheap sheets against his skin, the dip of the mattress behind him as Arcade settled in, the warmth radiating out from him the moment he crawled beneath the covers.

Sol shivered again, the chill in his bones stubbornly clinging to him.

“Just breathe.”

Arcade’s instructions were distant, but the second blanket he folded over Sol’s shoulder was not, nor was the sensation of having something solid and safe behind him as Arcade shifted closer.

He continued to speak and the words were lost on Sol, the soft melody of Arcade’s whispers lulling him into a grade of anxiety he was more familiar with, accustomed to. Sol remained there, imprisoned in that motel room, trembling at forces he could never control, but as a warm hand found his back, he knew he wouldn’t be abandoned.

#idk man #words...#finally starting to do the stuff sitting in my inbox #sol tag #writing4nuclearwinter #wishing4asks

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Written In Stone

I wanted to write more of this today, but I have been so busy it just isnt going to work, so hopefully it will be good where I left off

The GA Rapid Response Scientific Unit landed planetside at 0800 hours Earth time. They were at least ten miles away from the nearest anomaly: what the scientific nerd people had deemed those strange alien settlements before they had learned that they were settlements at all. Admiral Vir --piloting the craft as was his want -- felt the smooth metal of the landing struts ease against the unbroken metallic surface that was the ground. The ship roared and likely echoed like a thunderclap outside as he eased the ship down into position and then cut the engine listening to the soft pop and whirr as the hot metal began to cool. Inside his helmet, he could hear his own breath sharp and focused inside the enclosed space.

Behind him in the craft, the scientists were unbuckling themselves from their seats and stewing gear on the uniforms, the small Tesraki looking like children when compared to their much taller human counterparts. Outside the window a thick red mist had settled over them, momentarily blown away by the power of the engine, only to come descending slowly down from above to settle back over them with the most insidious slowness.The first wave of scientists moved towards the airlock, and he let them go ahead with a group of marines, waiting for the last person to exit before finally following after.

The door cracked open before him with a sharp hiss, as red mist spilled into the room and he stepped outside his footsteps echoing loudly on the smooth metal of the planet’s surface.

The scientists had already gotten to work hauling the cargo from the storage units on the side of the ships, and dragging long crates onto hoering trollies. The sound they made in the immense space was deafening, a ruckus clattering that echoed up all around them.

It put his teeth on edge to hear that sort of noise in such a space,.

It felt, wrong somehow, and he wasn’t even really sure why.

Like screaming in a cathedral during service. Granted, some people might have found that sot of thin funny, but he sure didn’t, to him it seemed as if they were befowling some sort of sacred space by simply being there, and the least they coil do after that was to at least be quiet. The Tesraki, and the Vrul didn’t seem to notice the strange atmosphere around tem, but by looking at the other humans, he could tell he wasn’t the only one who could feel it.

He watched them shift nervously on their feet as great wafts of red cloud billowed in around them.

So it wasn’t just him?

Or maybe it was everything that had happened the night before.

Either way he felt as if their alien counterparts weren’t exercising nearly enough caution. He paused a moment at that thought thinking how odd it was for him, as a human of all things, to be thinking that. Usually it was the other way around, but somehow, now, based on a lack of that inherent sense of pending doom, the Aliens were moving without due caution.

Soon enough the screeching of their metal tools and boxes being dragged over the ground was just too much for him to handle, and he stepped forward, “I think it might be best if we kept the noise to a minimum.” His voice was tinny over the comms, and even through the visors of the suits he could see the aliens staring at him in confusion.

“What do you mean, Admiral.”

He sighed searching for words to define a meaning he couldn't quite understand evanescent like smoke, it seemed to fade every time he tried to grasp at it.

He turned to look at Krill, who had paused to watch him, shrewdly through the visor of his helmet. He wasn’t much of a traditional scientist, but he had insisted on coming along as the crew medic in case something happened.

He switched his comm over so only Krll could hear

“I don’t know krill, Something just feels off here, like we are being watched, and I get the feeling that the noise…. Well the noise is only attracting attention.”

Krill paused for a long moment, And Adam stared at him pleadingly through his visor, though he knew the little alien couldn’t see his face, all around him the other aliens were looking on in concern not sure what was happening. He would have explained it to them, but knew --unlike Krill-- they weren’ likely to understand.”

Krill nodded and turned to the others, “Keep as quiet as you can.”

They nodded in confusion, but the noise from then on was greatly reduced, though every slight scrape put his teeth on edge.

He spent most of his time halfway in between the marines and the Scientific crew, making himself useful wherever he could find use, either carrying things or anxiously watching out into the mist with his rifle cradled in both arms. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth time, he wished that Sunny was there to watch his back. He felt horribly exposed in the mist, and knew that if she had been here he would have felt more confident.

Despite being surrounded by marines, he would have traded them for Sunny any day of the week.

Well, he would have preferred having all of them all at once, but rarely does one get what tey want.

With the scientific tools placed on the hovercart, Adam, lifted the ground Radar he had pilfered from one of the boxes, turning it on and pointing it in the direction of tier final destination. The Radar made a light clicking noise almost like a geiger counter, but he could tell from its alerts that they weren’t yet close to anything substantial.

He set the frequency of his actual geiger counter to a different sort of clicking noise

There was some radiation here, and while the suit protected him from cosmic rays on a regular basis, he would till rather know what kind of environment he was getting himself into. He adjusted the machine, and maverick watched him from some interest, where she stood to the side of the group, the smallest human, but still taller than all of the Tesraki there.

“Since when did you know how to work all the sciency shit.”

“Since I took the time to learn.”

“I thought you were a flight jock, not a science nerd.”

“Why not be both.” he muttered, kicking on the anti grav fields around his boots, and skating around to the other side of the hover car. He liked moving like this, it was nearing complete silence. Clearly Ramirez enjoyed it as well, considering the man couldn’t help from doing little spins and pirouettes like he was back on ice again.

As long as he was quiet about it, Adam could hardly complain, and took his position near the front side of the hovercade rifle still cradled in a sling before his chest, hand resting lightly on the grip. His finger stroked the trigger guard but never the trigger, and he kept his eyes out on the red mist before tem.

From there they began to move, about twenty strong, most of the aliens riding on the hover cart, while the humans scared along beside reaching speeds that seemed to make the aliens nervous. Krill held onto the back of Adam’s suit floating around behind him like some sort of demented baloon. Adam would have laughed if he wasn’t so on edge, especially with the way the other vrul looked at him with such concern and confusion.

Eventually his radar clicking began to speed up, and he looked down at the detector to find a small cluster of those monoliths appearing on the horizon. They were close, at least close enough that the curvature of the planet was no longer getting in their way. The red mist still obscured their vision mostly, but he kept them going, stopping only as the first hulking shadow came into sight, or not stopping but slowing down, knowing that the structure was large enough that it would probably be a while before they actually reached it.

They Stopped about 100 yards away close enough to notice a large pile of rubble at the center of the little cluster of monoliths. There were no floating monoliths here, and the strange metallic grating noise that had followed him on his first trip to this planet was now all but silent.

They unloaded the tools onto smaller hover wagens, one to every scientist.

Adam was handed a couple of tools they thought he could handle, mostly busy work to do the things that the scientists didn’t want to do but still needed to do to cover all their bases. He didn’t mind. He liked having something to do, and he supposed this was the best place to learn: the bottom.

He moved with them across the billowing landscape, which was marginally less foggy now, giving them a view of the entire monolith structure.

Something seemed…. Strangely familiar about it, though he couldn’t have said what. It had nothing to do with his last visit, but something…. Deeper. At any moment he expected a voice to ring out through the echoing and billowing darkness, but none came.

Instead, a beam of light passed over them from the distant Sun, and a waft of blue fog rolled in from the left, darkening things as soon as they seemed to have lightened

The scientists fanned out to either side, and Adam made his way down the middle, towards the large pile of rubble. The marines fanned out with the scientists, one marine to every nerd. He was surprised to find he had his own marine, and looked back over his shoulder to find Ramirez’s familiar space suit following him at a distance, nervously glancing around at the towering black structures that dominated the landscape.

Adam could hardly blame him. He felt the same way.

Together they walked forward to the pile of rubble. It was most just the same black material that happened to make up the rest of the structures, and, carefully, he stepped off the metal and into the rubble, using the instruments to examine the rock, running his machine over, and then under and then over. It whirred, but didn’t make the noise he was looking for. He examined the rock closely, noticing the even grain of the broken pieces, and bagging one for a sample.

Perhaps he was biased, but it certainly didn’t look natural.

Then again there were plenty of minerals that grew in ways that didn't seem natural, so maybe he was just kidding himself. Ramirez hovered at his back nervously shifting from foot to foot and staring around at the sky and rolling mist.

“I don’t like this.” he muttered

“That makes you and everyone human here.” He responded, running the machine over the rock as he climbed a little further up, or maybe it was metal…. Or somewhere in between? He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t rock just like…. Fancy metal.

He sighed, some scientist he was, not even really sure what the difference was between rock and metal other than metal was…. Stronger or some shit, or rock was made up of a bunch of different metals and non metals while metal was….. Just what it was.

He made it to the top of the rock lost in his thoughts when there was a sudden whirring from the machine.

He looked down in shock and surprise only to find his machine resting right over something…. Something that certainly was not natural. He forze and stared.

Looked away and then looked back….. Back at the strange markings on the rock.

Strange markings that could be mistaken as nothing else, other than writing.

“Find something?” Ramirez radioed in, but Adam didn’t answer staring at te strange script before him.

He rubbed his eyes, looked away, and then turned back, rubbing them again.

He felt…. Very strange, and the letters seemed to spin before him morphing and warping even as he looked.

His eyes ran along the line of text.

And so with knowledge they did pass away.

He blinked again staring at the letters that made…. No objective sense but, yet, every time he looked at them he read the same line, no…. It wasn’t really reading though was it. Every time he looked at those words, he UNDERSTOD what they were saying.

He shook himself. No, he was just crazy, and hi mind was playing tricks on him.

“Ramirez, come here.” he ordered.

He heard the slight rattling ehind him as Ramirez clambered up the rock andpaused over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that.”

“Writing of some kind. What do you make of it.”

He stared at Ramirez very intently for a few seconds as the other man took a look, “Gibberish to me, some kind of alien language?”

Adam cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah, I…. Guess.” e turned to his comm to transm.

“I have something.”

“What did you find.”

“Some kind of…. Weird alien writing, I don’t know. Better send someone over.”

It wasn’t long until one of the scientists jogged over followed by maverick. The two of them climbed up onto the pile of rock, and the alien knelt before it in surprise and great interest eyes scanning over the text, “I think you have found something, Admiral.”

As he watched, Adam saw Maverick press a hand to the outside of her helmet.

He opened the cop to her.

“Mav?”

“Yeah boss?”

“Are you seeing….”

“And so with knowledge hey did pass away?”

“Shit.”

“You see it too?”

“Yeh.”

“And Ramirez.”

“Just sees scribbles.”

The two of them stood there staring at each other awkwardly. Green mist rolled in from the lef and it was very suddenly that Adam felt, a strange sensation rising up inside him, a sensation that maverick seemed to feel as well as she stood and the two of them turned towards the pile of rubble. The scientist and Ramirez called out in surprise as Adam and Maverick pushed past them, and began frantically digging through the rubble with their hands.

They flipped over large blocks of stone grabbing the pieces with strange writing and dragging them down from the rubble and onto the ground where they began to arrange them. The other scientists began running over as the commotion started.

A few of the marines tried to pull Maverick and Adam back, some of them pausing to stare at the strange alien letters only to suddenly turn and join their companions while others stood there in confusion unsure of what was going on.

By the end Adam knelt at the bottom of the rubble with maverick behind him and a few of the marines ranged around.

Together they read.

“And so with knowledge they did pass away

And pillars of stone were left by them

And light came before them

And the host surrounded them

Until they were brought up

And none were left save pillars of stone

Woah be unto those who find this stone and read”

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 19/22 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain, Allan Schrieber Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting, Spiders Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: The group settles on a course of action much faster than Martin imagined they would.

Chapter 19 of my post-canon fix-it fic is up! Read at AO3 above or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Martin was still tired as they drew close to Hill Top Road the next morning. It wasn’t surprising; the best sleep he’d gotten, other than the first few hours he’d slept before the spiders, had been in Allan’s car on the way out. He’d slept completely through their stop in Canterbury, where Allan had picked up his lab equipment. He woke up with his head on Jon’s shoulder in the back seat of the car, just a few miles from their destination.

“Ow,” he said as he straightened up, his neck cracking.

“I told you you could stay home,” Jon said. “You barely slept.”

“Don’t.” Martin was cross as he rolled his neck, trying to work out the cramp, and Jon put a hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s all right.”

That about doubled the number of words they’d said to each other that morning—and now they were here, back at Hill Top Road. From the street, the house appeared less foreboding than it had the last time; it seemed brighter, somehow, despite the cloudiness of the day. Maybe the owner had been back—or maybe the most recent occupant had left.

Martin waited for Tim to get out of the seat in front of him, then got out of the car himself. He hadn’t really spoken to Tim directly since he’d shown up yesterday, and wasn’t at all sure how Tim was feeling toward him. He was therefore both reassured and taken back when Tim put a hand on his shoulder on his way to the boot of the car.

I must be looking pretty good, he thought. They’re not even asking if I’m ok anymore.

It was just the four of them; Elias and the others had opted to stay together at the house. Jon had of course wanted to go, and that meant Martin went too; Tim had also made up his mind to go once he knew Jon was going. Martin watched as Allan opened the boot and began to pull out a number of padded carrying cases of different sizes, handing a few to Tim as he did.

“I know I fell asleep, sorry—what exactly are you—”

“We’re going to attempt to measure this—gap between the dimensions.” He handed Martin one final bag, and closed the boot as he did. “All of these instruments are designed to measure different types of energy.”

“They’re all from your lab?”

“Most of them,” Allan said, a small grin on his face; Tim shook his head.

“If I get in trouble for any of that—”

“I told you, no one will even know they’re missing. We’ll get it all back this afternoon.”

“So wait—this will show what, that the gap—exists?” Martin asked.

Allan shrugged. “Well—in all honesty, not really. If we get no unusual readings, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It could just mean we don’t know how to measure it. And if we do—it doesn’t really tell us why. It would just be—well, consistent with some combination of my ideas about the entities and dimensional travel, really.”

“Um—oh. Ok.”

Jon sighed, and Martin recognized it specifically as Jon’s impatient sigh. It was one he had heard a lot in the past, although not so much recently. He supposed from Jon’s perspective, it was kind of a waste of time to not really prove the existence of something he already knew was there. As far as Martin was concerned, though, they could take all the time they wanted.

As they approached the porch, Martin found his impression from the street had been correct. There were many fewer cobwebs on the porch than there had been the last time. The lock, however, was still broken when Jon tried the door, which suggested the owner had not been back.

“You think she’s gone?” he asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Who?” Tim looked at them suspiciously.

“Annabelle,” Jon replied casually.

“Annabelle.” Tim halted at the top of the steps on the front porch. “She’s here? Was here?”

“Was. I would have said something if—" He trailed off as he saw the look on Tim’s face. “Yes, well, the point is she’s not here.”

“Sure,” Tim said, in a way that made it clear he was not at all sure, but he did follow the rest of them into the house.

“This way.” Jon led them back to the spot in the center of the house where the scarred floorboards resided.

He’s so confident. Martin remembered how different it had been the last time they were here. Jon had been so sick; he had been grasping at straws for any way to regain his connection to the Eye. Martin certainly hadn’t wanted that to happen, but he also hadn’t wanted him to be miserable. Now, though, Jon was pushing ahead, jumping in—he was eager, excited even. Given the circumstances, Martin didn’t like it much more than he had liked things the last time they were here.

“That’s it?” Allan said, staring down at the floor. “Not really what I was expecting.”

“Well—obviously it’s not the gap itself,” Jon explained with slight irritation, as if he were offended at Allan’s disappointment. “It’s a representation of it. Certainly someone would have reported it if it were a cavernous maw extending into the infinite reaches of—”

“Yes, all right,” Allan, unbothered, set down the equipment he was carrying and seated himself on the floor next to it. “Let’s see—Tim, bring those over here, please.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim set his bags down on the floor next to Allan and stepped back near Martin to observe.

“So I’m thinking—hmm—let’s just start with this.” He unpacked a small handheld meter and held it up for them to see. “This is a Geiger counter.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That’s for radiation, right?”

“Yes,” Allan replied, as he pressed a button and the instrument’s screen flickered to life. He looked up in their direction just long enough to catch the anxious look on Martin’s face.

“No need to worry,” Allan said cheerfully as he stood up. “I’ll be looking at this from several angles, and this is just somewhere to start. Don’t let the idea of radiation bother you. There’s some level of radiation around us all the time—background radiation, it’s completely—well, not harmless, exactly, but well within the bounds of what the human body can withstand. This particular instrument is sensitive enough that we should be able to see relatively minor deviations from what we’d expect.”

“Oh,” Martin said, not knowing what else to say.

“All right, here we go.” Allan held the instrument up in the air and pressed a button and waited while it emitted an uneven series of a few clicks, and then checked the screen. He repeated this several more times, then nodded.

“Well?” Tim asked.

“Oh, sorry. I haven’t really done anything yet, just measuring background levels. Nothing out of the ordinary, pretty much what you’d expect for this part of England. But now I’ll know what I’m comparing to when I measure—that.” He gave another unimpressed look at the jagged mark running over the floor before bending over it with the instrument in hand. He moved it close to the mark and repeated the same process of measurements—pressing a button and then waiting for the clicks, then repositioning it to another spot, pressing the button and waiting again. “Huh.”

“What?” Martin couldn’t read Allan’s expression at all.

“Nothing,” Allan said, shrugging as he stood straight again. “I was averaging in my head, of course, so I might not be quite right, but—it would be like taking your temperature and reading 37 degrees exactly.”

Martin was relieved, but Jon, standing apart from the rest of the group, did not seem to be feeling the same way.

“Well, let’s move on,” Allan said, returning to his equipment pile and choosing a new device. “Let’s try this one. It’s for—oh—electromagnetic fields, radio frequencies—it’s sort of a cheap piece of equipment, actually, not very precise—but it should give us a good general picture.” He squatted down next to the mark on the floor again, adjusted a dial on the instrument, and began to move it closer and further away. He adjusted the dial several times as he continued to move it around the floor.

“Still nothing,” he said after a few minutes, sitting back on his haunches.

“Then that’s not the right way to measure it,” Jon said.

“I said when we came in that was a strong possibility,” Allan said, but it was clear Jon didn’t like this turn of events. “I’ve got a few more things we can—"

“It’s here,” Jon said.

“Can’t you just know the right way to measure it, then?” Tim’s tone was sarcastic, but Jon paused.

“Well…” He concentrated for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Apparently I can’t.” His growing frustration was obvious.

“Hey.” Now that Martin was starting to feel a bit easier about everything, he felt a little bit bad for Jon. “That’s—that’s all right. That just means we’ll need more time to—”

Martin’s attempt at soothing him didn’t work. “But it’s right there. Damn it, I know it’s there. I can feel it, it’s like it’s just on the other side of—”

“Oh,” Allan said. Martin’s eyes jumped back to the instrument in his hand, still hovering just over the mark in the floor, and there was some kind of movement on the digital screen. A moment later, it had gone quiet again.

“What was that?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.” Allan frowned. “It’s like there was a sudden—pulse of electrical activity. A lot of it.”

“Jon,” Tim said, looking over at him, “did you do something? While you were talking?”

“That couldn’t possibly—” Allan started to say, but Jon cut him off.

“Yes,” Jon said. “I—I don’t know, I was looking for the—well, really, the tape—it’s—”

“Oh,” Allan said again, as the numbers on the screen resumed their movement. He walked it intently over different parts of the floor, then moved it further away and then closer again. Martin couldn’t really follow the whole thing from where he was standing, but Allan’s body language was enough to concern him. “This—this doesn’t make sense. Even if—Jon, stop. Whatever you’re doing, stop.”

“All right.”

“Incredible,” Allan said after a moment had passed. “That really shouldn’t be possible. There’s no—” He stood and walked toward Jon, and extended the meter toward him. “Do it one more time.”

“Don’t—” Martin started.

“I’m all right,” Jon snapped, but then softened as Martin felt the slight sting of his tone. “I’m—I’ll be careful. I’m fine right now.”

Allan was concentrating hard as he looked at the screen. “What was—have you done it yet?”

“No, I was—”

“It’s just that—never mind. Do it again. If—if you’re ok.”

Jon nodded, and glanced briefly in Martin’s direction. “I’m ok.”

Martin watched as Allan moved the instrument around Jon for the next thirty seconds or so, again switching the dial several times.

“Well?” Tim asked, as Allan stepped away.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Tim, can you—can you fetch the Geiger counter for me again?”

Tim did, and Allan stood back from Jon as he held it up into the air again. They heard the occasional irregular click as he did.

“So for now, don’t, um—just don’t,” he said as he stepped toward Jon. The frequency of the clicks began to increase as he moved the meter closer to his head, and Allan made a small sound in his throat as he flipped a switch on the instrument. “Let’s just—keep the sound off for right now.”

Martin could feel some of the blood drain from his face.

“Ok, now—know something,” Allan asked.

“What?” Jon said. “Sorry, it’s always difficult to think of—”

“Anything. Just not the—the gap. I want to see if—”

“Did I have coffee or tea this morning?” Tim asked.

Jon thought. “Coffee.”

“Stop,” Allan said. “Stop.” He took a step back, white faced, and looked at Jon as if he had just appeared there.

“What?”

“Can I ask—how long did you say you’ve been doing this?”

“Knowing things? Uh—a few years? I mean—not always like this, at first it was much harder, and—"

“A few years.” Allan turned the thought over. “Ok. I’m going to say this once—because I think you should know. I don’t see—I don’t see how you’re—well, alive.”

There were long seconds of silence before Jon answered.

“I’m fine.”

Martin exploded. “You are not fine.”

“I just meant in the sense that—”

“I know, and—”

“I am alive. That is the point.”

More long seconds ticked by.

“You heal though, right?” Tim said quietly. “Like—after you—like when I found you in front of the Institute.”

“Yes.” A look of sudden understanding passed across Jon’s face. “Yes, that’s right. That—that would make sense.”

“Would it?” Allan looked at Martin. “You, um—sorry to—you’re—well, you’re sharing a room, so—I imagine you’re—close?”

Martin wasn’t sure what Allan was getting at. “Um—”

“Yes. He heals too. Or, he has, in the past.” Oh, Martin thought, after he heard Jon’s answer.

Oh.

“Wait. Are you saying that being near Jon is—”

“I don’t know,” Allan said. “I really don’t know. This is entirely unprecedented. It really shouldn’t—” He started to say something else, but hesitated.

“What?” Jon asked.

“I—” he hesitated again. “I want to do more tests, but I’m not sure if it’s—well, entirely ethical.”

“To ask me to keep going, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Allan looked at Martin.

“It’s not up to me,” Martin said.

Allan looked between Martin and Jon. “I’m, uh—I’m going to run out to the car for some extra equipment. Tim, come with me? I could use your help.”

“Sure,” Tim answered, and followed him out.

Martin waited a moment after they were gone, then said quietly, “I’m not sleeping away from you.”

“Martin.” Jon walked over to where he was standing and reached out to touch Martin’s hand. “Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good.” He had more to say, but he didn’t.

“Come on. That’s not what this is about. You don’t want me to do this.”

Martin sighed. “Fine. No, I don’t. I don’t want you to do any of this. Not just the tests, or whatever. Like—any of this.”

“I have to,” Jon said. “You know that.”

“Why do you think I didn’t say it? I can’t stop you. And I’d rather you not shut me out.”

“Martin, that—” He stopped himself, and squeezed Martin’s hand instead. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Martin let his hand fall away as Allan and Tim returned; Allan had put on a long-sleeved lab coat, and was holding a pair of gloves and a mask. “Just a precaution,” he said. “If you want to go ahead.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “I do.”

Martin watched as Allan pulled out yet another meter from a different bag. “Martin—can you hand me that?” he asked, indicating the case Martin was still carrying. He’d forgotten about it.

“Oh. Sure.” Martin handed it to him and he began to unpack that as well.

“So—this is so I can record the readings,” he said, as he pulled some wires out and began to connect them to the new meter. “And this is—it uses a more powerful method of detection than the Geiger counter. It’s not as sensitive, but that’s, uh—well, that’s not going to be an issue.”

Martin suddenly realized how much he didn’t want to be there anymore.

“I’m going outside. I’ll just be out front.” Without waiting for anyone’s reaction, he made his way back to the front of the house. He stood on the porch, his arms folded and resting on the railing. He looked out over the lawn. The rest of the neighborhood, apart from this house, really was a suburb. It seemed nice enough; maybe not a great neighborhood, but not a bad one, certainly. It hadn’t really done anything to deserve this awful place.

He sat and watched the clouds roll overhead and wondered it if would rain. He tried not to think too much about what was going on inside the house, what they were doing and where it would lead. He had no idea how long he had been standing there when he became aware that he wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Tim said, as Martin looked over at him.

“Hey,” Martin answered, then went back to looking up at the sky. “So—what’s going on in there?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “It’s like some sort of weird playdate? It’s over my head. Allan keeps turning dials and saying things like incredible and amazing and then Jon—”

“Never mind,” Martin said. “Just—is he keeping himself together? Jon, I mean?”

“He seems to be.”

They looked out at the sky and lawn together.

“Martin,” Tim said eventually, “I know I said this before, but I want you to know I meant it. Jon is lucky to have you.”

“Hm.”

“Listen, I know—I know this has to be hard for you. Before we—before we make any decisions, I want you to know that—”

“Don’t,” Martin said coldly.

“All right.” Tim nodded and returned to looking back over the railing. “Do you want to be alone?”

No, Martin thought. I don’t ever want to be alone again. He wanted to scream it.

Instead, he just said, “Not particularly.”

“Good,” Tim said. “I don’t particularly want to go back in there.”

***

“So—wait,” Melanie said, looking at Allan over her half-empty dinner plate. “You’re saying you don’t really know anything at all, then?”

“Well, yes and no.” He was struggling to find words as they sat together in the great room again. “What I’m saying is—from a scientific perspective, which of course is why I’m here—there’s no way to know what any of this means. I’ve never heard of anything like this before. It’s completely unique, as far as I know.”

“So we can’t prove there’s a gap between dimensions, and we can’t prove the entities exist,” Sasha clarified.

“Correct,” Allan said. “I can’t even begin to suggest a mechanism for anything I saw today.”

“But you did see something today,” Melanie prodded.

“Well—yes,” Allan said. “That’s an understatement. We saw massive fluctuations of energy just—across almost the entire spectrum. And—again, I have no way to explain it or understand it, but—Jon does appear to be able to manipulate it, to some extent.”

“Well, that’s definitely something,” Melanie said. “You said you recorded your readings. Do you think you’ll learn anything else from going back through them?”

“Not—not in a way that could help us. It will take years to even begin to make any real sense of this. As—as a scientist. To be perfectly clear, I—I can’t vouch for any particular course of action. I have no way of verifying that there has ever been any travel across dimensions, or that—starting an apocalypse would provide the energy required to do it again, or—or that anything we discussed yesterday is even a possibility.”

“As a scientist,” Georgie repeated. “What about—as a person? What do you think?”

“I’m—I’m not sure that’s really what’s important here.”

“Yes, it is.” It was one of the few things Elias had said at all since they’d come home.

“I agree,” Sasha said. “I’d like to know what you think.”

“Well—personally”—he looked around at the group— “after what I’ve heard from all of you, and after talking with Elias last night—I believe Jon.”

It was quiet for a moment as the group absorbed this. Martin’s stomach, which had already rejected even the concept of any food he’d thought about putting in it that night, tightened painfully.

“Ok,” Georgie said slowly. “Well—for the sake of argument—Jon, do you really think you could do it? Could you—could you really move us to another dimension? In a way that—well, will actually help things?”

“I can do it,” Jon said, without hesitation.

“No,” Martin said.

The discomfort was tangible; Martin could tell nobody wanted to speak.

“Martin,” Sasha finally said, “why—why are you so against this?”

“I’ve already said. It’s too dangerous.”

“So you think he can’t do it? That it won’t work?”

Martin drew his hand down firmly over his mouth.

“Say what you have to say,” Jon urged him. Martin didn’t care for how calm he was. “They should hear it.”

Martin stared at him. “Ok, fine. Fine, I’ll say it. If you think you can do it—I’m sure you can. I’m just not sure you will. What if—what if this time—what if the Eye finally just takes you?”

“It won’t. It didn’t last time.”

“Didn’t it?”

“No. Not—not like that. I still—I still got to choose.”

“And we still don’t know what Annabelle’s been trying to get you to do.”

“She doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Do you believe me that I’ll never let them out of here? The entities? That’s what she wants.”

Martin paused; he knew his panic was coming across to everyone. “Yes. But that’s not—even if you don’t—look, if it fails, that’s it for us. We’re stuck in an apocalypse. This world is stuck in an apocalypse. You said that yourself.”

“And it’s still true. It is a risk. But I don’t think I’ll fail.”

“But what happens to you? What if—what if we lose you?”

Jon looked away.

“Jon?” Georgie prompted.

“It’s—it’s a possibility.”

“How much of a possibility?” Georgie asked.

“It’s—um—” Jon cleared his throat. “It’s not unlikely.”

“I see,” Sasha said.

“That matters, right?” Martin somehow managed to get the words out. “Tell me that matters to the rest of you.”

“Of course it matters,” Sasha said. “I didn’t—"

“No, it doesn’t,” Jon said.

“Jon—”

Several people began to talk at the same time, but it was Tim who won out.

“Listen,” he said. “Listen. I know—I know this is going to sound awful, but—I agree with Jon.”

“It does sound awful,” Sasha reprimanded him. “It sounds completely awful.”

“Just hear me out.” Tim spoke his words slowly and deliberately. “If I were Jon—if I could stop this—if I had this chance to—to save the people they haven’t hurt yet—I would. I wouldn’t hesitate. And I wouldn’t want anyone to stop me.”

“Yes, you would,” Jon said. “You did.”

“And—I know I’ve been angry—but this isn’t about that. It’s not because I blame him. It’s because he’s the only one who can. I think—I think this should be Jon’s choice. That’s all.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Jon was still calm, controlled. Martin hated it.

Tim briefly met Martin’s eyes before looking down to the floor in front of him. “And I wouldn’t wait. I’d—I’d want to just do it. If we really can’t learn anything else, I say we do it soon. Tomorrow, if we can. Prevent as much further damage as possible.”

“I agree,” Jon said.

“No,” Martin said. “That’s insane. Are you insane?” He looked around at the group; none of them would look back at him. “Have you all lost your minds? Are you considering this?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sasha said, finally raising her face. “Are we?”

“Jesus Christ.” Martin got to his feet, not really sure where he was going; he was halfway there before he realized he was headed for the door to the back of the house. Behind him, he heard several people speaking, although he had no idea if they were talking to him; he couldn’t process it anymore. He couldn’t think at all until he felt the cool night air on his face. He stopped, heart pounding, and crumpled onto the porch against the back of the house. For the first time in his recent memory, he wanted to cry; of course, now he couldn’t make the tears come.

Behind him, he heard the door open and close.

“Go away.” He didn’t really care who it was.

“I’d rather not.” Beside him, Jon lowered himself onto the porch; for some reason, Martin had assumed it would be one of the others. He was surprised to find he felt slightly mollified. “We don’t have to talk. It’s just—I don’t have anywhere else I want to be right now.”

“Come off it. Go back in and keep explaining why you need to martyr yourself.”

“I’ve said what I need to say. It’s better if they talk without us.”

Martin sighed heavily. “They’re going to go for it, aren’t they?”

Jon didn’t answer him. Instead, he moved closer to Martin, leaning into him and resting his head on his shoulder. Hollow as he felt, Martin didn’t even think; his automatic response was to put his arm around Jon, pulling him in even closer. He pressed his lips to the top of Jon’s ear.

“We never had a chance, did we,” he said. “The two of us.”

“We still might.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I never believed we’d be here, either.” Jon said.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Jon turned so that his back was against Martin’s chest, and Martin did what he always did; he slipped his hand up under the edge of Jon’s shirt, bringing it up to the scar on Jon’s ribcage. Instead of protesting or merely tolerating it, though, this time Jon brought his own hand to rest over Martin’s on the outside of his shirt.

“I loved you here too, you know,” Jon said quietly. “Before this, I mean. In this world.”

“Oh, I know,” Martin said.

“Well. Here I thought I was making a grand romantic confession, but—never mind, I guess.”

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” He kissed Jon’s temple softly by way of apology. “Thank you. I just meant now that—now that we’ve been together, now that I know what you’re like when you—it’s sort of obvious, looking back. Plus, there was your pin.”

“My pin?”

“You know—when we had forgotten everything when we first—and you couldn’t remember your pin number on your laptop.”

“Oh,” Jon said, and even in the dark Martin saw a smile play across his lips. It had been too long since he had seen Jon smile. “Right. I used your birthday. That’s—is it odd that I feel embarrassed?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Sasha just—she insisted I set it in front of her, and then she kept guessing them—”

“Because you kept typing 1234.”

“Well—yes, but—anyway, it just came into my head, and I knew no one would ever guess, because—because I was never going to tell anyone how I felt. Especially not you.”

“Yeah, well—I wasn’t going to either.” He held Jon tighter. “We’re a couple of idiots. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” Jon turned his face up and back, and Martin couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Martin,” Jon said, “I know—I know I’ll never change your mind.”

“If it were me, you would never go along with it. You would never let me—you didn’t, actually.”

“I—” Jon paused. “No. You’re right. I’m asking you to do something I couldn’t do.”

“Thank you.”

“I just—I want you to understand. I want you to hear me.” He paused.

“I’m listening.”

“Nothing will ever fix what I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do this. Jonah Magnus did this. The Web did this. The—never mind. Go on.”

“Nothing will ever undo it. Every day I think about—about Sasha. And Tim. And Daisy. The other ones, the ones who—and an entire world of human beings who suffered because of things I did. And then there’s everyone here in this world who—none of them should ever have—” Jon’s voice cracked. “But I can stop it. I can make it so it doesn’t get worse. Or at least—at least give it a real chance. And I have to try.”

“And you have to try tomorrow.”

“Tim was right, Martin. Every day that passes like this is—”

“Tim is just worried about Danny.”

“Is that wrong of him?”

“I—no. No, I guess not. My point is just that it’s not like he’s—it’s still completely selfish.”

“He’s not being any more selfish than you.”

“I know that.” His chest ached as he breathed in, and he sighed reflexively. Jon turned just enough to tuck his head against Martin’s collarbone, and he felt his chest loosen just a little. “Ok, but really—what about Annabelle? That’s not being selfish. We both know what she wants—but we have no idea how she’s trying to get it. And we’re probably walking into it.”

“Probably.”

“Well then, why—”

“Because I don’t intend to give it to her.”

“But that’s exactly the point, we don’t know how—”

“Do you really think that waiting will solve that? Even if she is trying to push me—do you really think that she won’t just—change tactics? Adapt?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“If we wait to—I don’t know, learn something, let something happen that she doesn’t want—do you really believe she won’t have some other plan?”

He hadn’t ever thought that far ahead, to what would happen after they waited, whatever that meant. He realized with a sinking heart that no, he didn’t really believe it.

“But then—why are we doing anything at all? Why are we even bothering? If we can’t ever do the right thing—”

“Because we have to try. I have to try. I just do. Doing nothing would be—and maybe—maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yeah. That—that’s our thing, for sure. Luck.”

Jon reached for Martin’s free hand, the one that wasn’t against his heart, and pulled it to his mouth; he kissed each knuckle in turn. “We haven’t been entirely unlucky.”

Martin was out of things to say. Once more, Jon had already won. Everyone in the room behind them was deciding to go ahead with this stupid plan. There was nothing he could do that was going to stop it.

Well—as he thought about it, he did have one more thing to say.

“Jon—I don’t—I don’t want to go into this like—like last time. So—just so you know—nothing’s changed. I’m going with you. Wherever that is.”

Jon held his breath for a moment before answering. “And if I can save you—"

“Then you’d better save both of us.”

“Martin—”

“No. You know what’s out there for me without you, and—I don’t want it. You can’t—" Jon turned suddenly in his arms, so that Martin’s hand slid from his ribs to his shoulder.

He kissed him.

“Jon—”

“Please.”

They were still kissing several minutes later when Jon abruptly sat up; he opened his mouth to say something, but then learned back in toward Martin.

“No,” Martin said, putting a hand up to Jon’s face. “You know something, don’t you? They decided and you know.”

Jon nodded, sliding his hand over Martin’s as he did. “Yes.”

“Ok.”

“They want to do it. Tomorrow.”

***

It was hours later; Martin didn’t know how long he had lain awake. He’d come back to the bedroom on his own at first; he’d stayed for some of the planning, listened to their excitement, their nerves, their arguing—but it had quickly gotten to the point where he couldn’t do it anymore. He knew where he would be anyway, and that was with Jon; he had nothing else to contribute. The looks he’d gotten when he’d stood up had been seared into his consciousness, a mixture of worry and pity.

“Martin,” Sasha called to him as he was leaving, “are you—”

“Yes,” he’d said.

He’d gone to brush his teeth before getting in bed. He didn’t know what possessed him, particularly, but when he saw his reflection in the mirror, he did something he hadn’t done in a long while. He removed his shirt to look at his own scars. They were still there; they were exactly the same as they had been on the day he’d first seen them, dark red to pale white, torn and jagged and alternately smooth.

He was tired, he’d realized. He wanted to sleep, of course, he was still exhausted from the night before—but it was more than that. This was all just enough. Maybe it was all right. Maybe he and Jon had already had more time than they were meant to. Maybe it was time to let it go. Just—just so long as he didn’t end up alone.

He’d gotten in bed. He’d almost fallen asleep before Jon had come in, but after Jon had undressed and slipped under the sheets next to him, the restlessness had begun. Each time Jon moved, or sighed, or breathed even a little bit out of rhythm, Martin’s brain nudged him awake again. And now, here he was, sleepless and empty.

He breathed out, trying to reset his mind.

“Martin.”

“Sorry.” He’d thought Jon had been asleep.

“What—no, don’t apologize, just—go to sleep. You need rest for tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

There was silence, and for a moment, he thought Jon had drifted off again.

“Martin, I’m—I’m not leaving you. I won’t go without you. You need to sleep.”

“I—I know.” He was lying, and Jon knew he was lying.

“Martin, this isn’t—this isn’t like last time. For one thing, I’d—I’d have to steal a car to get back to London on my own. All right? Can you trust me?”

Martin swallowed; that was exactly the problem, he realized. “I want to. I just—”

“Ok. All right. You’re right, of course you—that’s not fair for me to ask. I—hang on.” He saw the light from Jon’s cell phone; he heard him stand up and rummage through the suitcase on his side of the bed before sitting down on the mattress again.

“Jon—”

“Here. Give me your hand.” He held up his arm; Jon grabbed his hand, and Martin realized Jon was trying something around their wrists in the light from the phone.

“What—”

“It’s an old drawstring that pulled out from a pair of shorts. I never took it out of my suitcase.” He grabbed one end of the string in his mouth and pulled with his other hand. “There. I can’t possibly untie that without waking you up.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“I think so.” Jon turned off the light on his phone, and Martin felt the tug on his arm as Jon leaned over to put it back on the table next to the bed. “Anyway, I’m—I’m all right. You’re—not.”

“This—” Martin started to laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yes. It is. Does it matter?” Jon interlaced his fingers with Martin’s and carefully folded up their bound arms between them; he brought his head to rest on the pillow next to Martin’s shoulder.

“I—I guess not.” He didn’t even realize he was finally crying until Jon reached up with his other hand to touch his cheek. He felt better for it, somehow; feeling something was good. It was better than the emptiness.

“Sleep.”

He did.

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madasthesea · 4 years

Text

Trope: Age Regression

The first Tony said to him when the smoke cleared was:

“My father won’t pay the ransom.”

His voice was about three octaves too high and his head a foot and a half too low.

Peter’s heart was so loud in his ears he could barely hear.

“What?” he rasped.

Tony’s dark eyes darted around the room, his chest visibly rising and falling with each frantic breath. When he spoke, his voice trembled, but he straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin like he wasn’t afraid at all.

“My father won’t pay you to get me back. He told me.”

Suddenly Peter’s heart was pounding for a whole different reason.

“He told you?” Peter hissed. Tony flinched and Peter took a step back, taking a deep breath.

He looked around him, at the time travel device he and Tony had been working on. Peter wasn’t sure how it had gone so abysmally wrong. But the evidence was standing in front of him, fidgeting and trying not to cry.

“I didn’t kidnap you,” he said after a long moment.

Tony looked dubious at best.

“I swear I didn’t,” Peter insisted. “I was doing an experiment and it went... wrong.”

Despite himself, Tony glanced back at the device, looking curious. He hesitated, glancing back at Peter, then asked, “What kind of experiment?”

“A complicated one,” Peter hedged, crossing the room to examine the device. Half of it was still smoking slightly, the complicated wiring burned and shriveled. Peter sighed.

“Well, clearly you screwed it up,” little Tony said, crossing his arms over his thin chest with a huff. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Clearly,” he said, unimpressed. Tony’s eyes darted away again, nervous color on his cheeks. When Peter shifted, Tony automatically flinched away, his eyes flashing to the door like he was considering running.

Peter looked at Tony a little closer. He looked exactly like he did in the pictures Peter had seen, him with his circuit board, his computer, the things he’d built at such impressively young ages. But even without those pictures, Peter would have known instantly who was standing in front of him: His eyes were exactly the same—dark, intelligent, sizing everyone and everything up within seconds.

“How old are you?” Peter asked.

Tony hesitated. “Eight,” he finally said.

Peter took a deep breath, letting his cheeks puff up as he blew it out.

“Um, FRIDAY, let Pepper know. And Bruce.”

“Of course, Peter,” FRIDAY answered, and Tony jumped, looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes.

“That’s FRIDAY,” Peter said, then bit his lip. Could he tell eight-year-old Tony about the AI he would create in thirty-five years, or would that affect the timeline of Tony’s life? Was the Tony standing in front of him a fifty-three year old turned eight? Or had Peter pulled the eight-year-old Tony out of his time and sent the adult Tony back to 1978?

He changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”

Tony shook his head, looking wary, but then his stomach audibly growled. Peter snorted.

“Come on. I make some mean grilled cheese.”

“How do we fix it?” Pepper whispered, glancing back at the child with Tony’s eyes, kicking his feet as he sat at the kitchen island eating a grilled cheese sandwich.

“I... I have a few ideas, but I don’t know for sure,” Peter hissed back, his voice high. Pepper had taken the news rather well—better than Peter, at least, who was panicking more and more with each question.

Bruce rubbed his forehead.

“I’ll take a look at the time-travel device,” Peter stammered. “See if I can reverse the polarity. That might do the trick. Maybe.” He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “This is all my fault.”

Pepper laughed a little and rubbed his back. “Sweetie, I’ve known Tony way too long to believe he wasn’t at least eighty percent responsible for this little snafu. We have three geniuses living in this building and another four on speed dial. We’ll figure it out.”

Peter gave her a small smile, then glanced back toward Tony, who had finished his sandwich and was now watching them, the hesitance in his expression slightly lessened. He smiled at Tony and got a twitchy little grin in return.

Tony was pouting as he rubbed his arm where Bruce had drawn some blood. Peter steered him out of the medbay with a hand on his narrow shoulder, having overseen the ‘torture’ (as Tony called it, his little voice cracking a little bit when he’d seen Bruce coming toward him with a needle) since Pepper was busy taking care of Morgan and alerting the other residents of the tower about what had happened.

Peter looked down at Tony and rolled his eyes. Tony had apparently always been a drama queen. He led the kid up to the common floor, not quite sure what to do while Bruce was running a few tests, hoping to establish just which Tony they had with them.

A few of the team were there, talking quietly on the couches. Natasha was standing a few feet away, on the phone with Scott, judging by the voice coming from the other end. Tony fell a few steps back, taking in the new space. Peter let him, knowing that the kid was still skittish, unsure if he could actually trust these people.

“Steve?”

Everyone whirled to see Tony, his eyes wide with shock. Peter's heart sank. He turned back to watch as Steve saw who had addressed him, his face falling just a little bit as he looked at the boy. He stood from the couch, coming closer.

“I-I mean, Captain Rogers, sir,” Tony stammered, his hands twisting behind his back.

Steve put on his best Captain America smile.

“You must be Tony,” Steve said, crouching down and offering a hand to shake. Tony took it, his own hand dwarfed by comparison.

“How…” Tony said, looking around. There were tears in his eyes. “My… my dad will be so happy to see you, sir.”

Steve’s smile turned a little pained. “And I would love to see your dad again. But let’s get you taken care of first, ok?”

Tony nodded, still staring at Steve like he was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

“I’ve gotten the things you listed, Peter,” Bruce said, coming into the room, and Tony’s attention quickly changed over to him. He was a little tightly-wound like that, Peter realized—anything that changed, any new noise or sight immediately attracted his attention and it wasn’t until Tony decided that it was safe that he tuned it out. “We can work on fixing the device tonight.”

“I can help,” Tony said, his young voice confident and eager.

Peter and Bruce shared a glance. Tony seemed to interpret this as doubt, because he huffed and frowned, stopping just shy of sticking his bottom lip out.

“I can. I’m smart. Probably smarter than you.”

Behind Tony, Pepper and Rhodey both bit their lip to keep from laughing.

“We know, Tony, that’s not what we’re worried about,” Bruce quickly soothed. In reality, it was an insanely complicated piece of technology, and while Tony was a genius, he was still eight years old. And any small mistake could make the difference between bringing their Tony back and not. “But having you around the device might set it off, due to the rift in space-time centered around you. You’re an anomaly.”

Peter also had to bite back a smile. That was a good bit of off-the-cuff bluffing.

Tony looked slightly pacified, but his pout was still in place.

“In fact,” Peter said. “I’m not sure I should help either.” He made eye contact with Bruce, telling him to just roll with it. “Since I was in the room when it happened, I might be exposed too. Bruce, maybe Rhodes and Scott can help you and Tony and I will steer clear, so nothing goes wrong.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Bruce agreed.

“A planetarium?” Tony asked skeptically, looking up at the glass-plated building in front of them.

“Heck yeah!” Peter cheered, holding onto Tony’s hand—to great protestation—as pedestrians pushed passed them. He’d needed something to get Tony out of the tower while Bruce and Rhodey worked, because he kept trying to sneak down to the lab. Lucky for all of them, his babysitter also happened to be Spider-Man and was able to catch him each time. “Think about how much new stuff we’ve learned since 1978, kid.”

Curiosity lit up Tony’s eyes. “Do people live in space now?”

“Come find out,” Peter said, pulling him toward the entrance.

Despite Tony’s original protests, Tony was instantly captivated by everything in the planetarium. He and Peter jumped on the Geiger counter simulator to mimic an earthquake, and they played the little video game to try to land their rockets on the moon. Peter took a picture of Tony walking on the faux-Mars surface and sent it to Pepper to let her know they were ok.

Tony spent nearly 15 full minutes sticking his hands in the cloud synthesizer, letting the water vapor swirl around his hands as he trailed them along, a look of wonder and peace on his face. Peter watched him, wondering how Tony would react if Peter told him that when he was older, he would invent a suit that let him fly amongst the clouds, through the atmosphere and out past the stars.

Peter hesitated when they got to the stairs leading up to the fourth floor—the one they’d added after the Invasion of New York in 2012. It was all about the discovery of extraterrestrial life and interplanetary travel. And, as the only person on Earth to have travelled through a wormhole and lived to tell the tale, Tony Stark was an important part in that era of science. Would knowing somehow mess up Tony’s life and by extension all the people he didn’t save?

Tony didn’t have any such apprehensions though. He bounded up the stairs before Peter had decided if they were going or not, and Peter was forced to follow, nearly running into Tony where he stood stock still at the top of the stairs.

Tony’s wide eyes looked around at the exhibit signs that read ”The Confirmation of Extraterrestrial Life” and “The Future of Alien-Human Contact” in bold letters.

“Aliens are real?” he asked, nearly breathless. Peter couldn’t tell if all the pictures and videos were interesting or scary to him, but he crouched down anyway so he could talk to Tony without having to speak over the crowd.

“Tony—” Peter started, only to be interrupted by the sound of jeering, pre-pubescent laughter. He turned to see a group of four boys, around 12 or 13, all with mocking expressions. They were looking at Tony.

“Aliens are real?” One mimicked in an exaggeratedly high voice.

“Were you born yesterday?” Another asked, laughing and shoving the shoulder of his friend, egging him on.

“See any family resemblance?” The first one spoke again, his voice breaking slightly as he snorted, gesturing toward a nearby picture of a Chitauri.

Tony took a step back as if in shock. His little shoulders stiffened and his eyes widened before his face set in a poorly constructed mask of indifference. He didn’t say anything, which was so different from the Tony he knew now, who made it his goal to be brasher and louder and snarkier when he was hurt.

Peter stood and even though he was shorter than most his age, he towered over these little pre-teens. He put a hand on Tony’s bony shoulder, holding him close to his side.

“Hey,” he snarled.

All four faces fell in sync, as if just seeing Peter for the first time.

“Get lost,” he snapped at them, glowering, and all four hightailed it down the stairs.

Tony’s mouth was pursed in a thin line, his eyes determinedly dry.

“Tony,” Peter said, crouching down again in front of Tony.

“I want to go,” Tony said imperiously, but his voice was too high to sound natural.

“Hey, no, we don’t have to go. We want to learn about aliens, remember.”

Tony turned his head away but Peter put a hand under his chin and guided it back.

“Don’t worry about them, ok?” Peter told Tony. “You’re smarter than all four of them put together.”

Tony looked a little surprised, then offered a fleeting smile.

“Do you want to stay?” Tony bit his lip, but nodded. When Peter started walking again, Tony stuck just a little closer to him than usual.

Peter hurried a little faster than he had on the previous floors and managed to keep Tony from reading the various quotes and informational signs. He therefore missed his own name be referenced a couple times. They played one last game, stopped off at the cloud simulator again, then stepped out into the bright sunshine, squinting.

They crossed the plaza, teeming with people and Tony looked around in curiosity.

Peter noticed Tony repeatedly glancing at a street vendor selling ice cream and cotton candy.

“Do you want some?” Peter asked. Tony immediately looked straight ahead, his ears red.

“No, sir, I’m sorry.” Peter made a face at being called sir by Tony.

“Well, too bad,” Peter said, and Tony’s shoulders drooped despite Peter’s light tone. “Because I want some, which means you have to help me eat it whether you want any or not.”

Tony perked up, looking up at Peter in surprise, a hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

It made Peter think of something Tony used to say—when he was his actual age, not eight. Anytime Peter protested to Tony buying him something, Tony would scoff and say, “Are you really going to deny me the chance to see your face light up? That’s mean, Parker.”

Peter grinned, happy to turn the tables, just for a little bit.

“Come on,” Peter urged. Tony happily trotted alongside Peter as they went and bought some blue cotton candy. They sat on the edge of the fountain, tearing off pieces with sticky hands. Peter laughed at the face Tony made with his first bite, his eyes bright with delight as the treat dissolved in his mouth.

They finished their cotton candy, Tony swinging his feet as they dangled a few inches above the ground. Peter washed his sugar coated fingers off in the fountain, and Tony followed suit.

“All right, buddy, we better head on back.”

By the time they’d gotten off the subway, Tony’s sugar high had worn off and he started lagging behind as they walked the last handful of blocks. There was a moment of terror where Peter glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t see Tony. He stopped dead, ignoring the disgruntled looks people threw at him. After a second, where Peter’s heart pounded against his ribs, Tony’s small figure became visible among the crowd. Exhaling heavily, Peter quickly grabbed Tony’s arm and tugged him up against the building.

“You scared me,” he admonished gently.

Tony blinked up at him, a befuddled mixture of confusion and exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Peter just shook his head and crouched down next to him. “Hop on.”

Tony stared at him.

“Come on, piggy back ride.”

Hesitantly, Tony clambered onto Peter’s back, letting out a small laugh as Peter quickly stood, hooking his hands under Tony’s legs.

Tony was a barely noticeable weight to Peter as he started walking again, the tower looming ahead of them. He was warm though, reassuring Peter that he hadn’t actually lost young Tony Stark in the middle of New York.

“What do you want for dinner, buddy?” Peter asked.

“I get to pick?” Tony asked, his bony chin digging into Peter’s shoulder.

“Sure,” Peter said, shrugging and making Tony yelp and grip onto him tighter. Peter smiled to himself.

“Anything I want?”

“Anything,” Peter confirmed. “As long as it isn’t too spicy. Morgan doesn’t like spicy food.”

“Who’s Morgan?” Tony asked, his voice going high with his curiosity.

Right. Peter had forgotten that Tony didn’t know Morgan, just like he didn’t know any of them. It felt so wrong.

“She’s my little sister,” he said simply.

“Oh,” Tony mumbled, then went very quiet, all excitement at the prospect of picking dinner gone.

“What’s up?” Peter asked.

More silence.

“Tony?” Peter craned his neck, looking over his shoulder only to see Tony’s dark curls.

Tony shook his head.

“Don’t make me tickle it out of you,” Peter warned. “In the middle of the street where everyone can hear you squealing.”

Tony’s head shot up. “No!”

“Alright, so tell me,” Peter commanded, bouncing on his toes to make Tony laugh and take any sting out of the order.

Tony’s little arms tightened around Peter’s shoulders.

“I wish you were my brother,” he muttered, burying his face against Peter’s back.

Peter swallowed, his chest warming. It was a little weird hearing his father figure say he wanted Peter for a big brother, but having his father figure be turned into a eight-year-old was a little weird, too. But it was nice to know that regardless of age and history and responsibility, Tony thought of Peter as his family.

“Yeah?” he asked. Tony nodded. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.”

True to most eight-year-olds when given the chance to choose dinner, Tony asked for pizza, which they were happy to oblige him with. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he was told they were allowed to eat in the living room while watching a movie. He settled down on the couch wedged next to Peter, his hair still horribly messy from the impromptu wrestling match he’d had with Steve while they waited for dinner. Peter shared a look with Pepper, silently agreeing that he was really freaking adorable.

Peter, who had done the math with Tony’s age and realized that, in Tony’s mind, only one Star Wars movie had been released, eagerly suggested they watch the next one. Tony perked up, looking excited for a second before shrinking in on himself.

“Dad says it’s a stupid movie. Space doesn’t work like that.”

Every adult in the room frowned, but Peter did one better.

“Has your dad been to space?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Tony shook his head.

“Then what does he know?”

Tony’s jaw dropped, his eyes lighting up with impish delight at the insouciant remark.

“So, Star Wars?” Peter suggested again. Tony nodded so hard he looked like a bobble-head.

By the end of the movie, Morgan was asleep in Peter’s lap and Tony was barely conscious, leaning against Peter’s side. Pepper almost melted into a puddle when she looked over at them and dutifully snapped a picture while Peter rolled his eyes, blushing.

“I’ll take this one,” she whispered, carefully lifting Morgan into her arms while nodding at Tony, “if you take him.”

“Yeah, I’ve got him. Goodnight.”

Pepper leaned over and kissed the top of Peter’s head, then Tony’s, who stirred slightly. Then she disappeared into the hallway.

“Petey?” Tony slurred as Peter picked him up. Peter smiled a little at the nickname Tony had adopted as soon as he heard it from Morgan.

Peter took Tony to Rhodey’s currently unused room, since it was closer to him and Pepper than the usual guest rooms. When he tried to set Tony down, however, Tony clung to his t-shirt.

“Tony?” he whispered. He was shocked to see tears clinging to Tony’s dark eyelashes. He sat on the bed, settling Tony against the pillows, the boy still clutching his sleeve.

“Don’t send me back,” Tony pleaded, his words thick and heavy with sleep.

Peter’s gut twisted, his mouth parting in surprise. He’d known Tony had had a rough childhood; Tony was doing better about being honest about that, about his unhappy relationship with his father. But to want to stay here, with strangers, rather than go back to his parents and his home and everything he knew? It must have been worse than he thought.

What should he say to that? How could he tell Tony “I like you, but I want my grown up Tony back now, sorry?” Would explaining that Tony was actually meant to be fifty-three help or hurt? He didn't know.

Luckily, he was spared from having to say anything, because when he looked down again, Tony was asleep.

Sighing heavily, Peter gently pried Tony's hand from his sleeve and laid it on the bed. He pulled the covers up to Tony's chin, then left, shutting the door silently behind him. He'd deal with that later. Right now, he had a time machine to build.

Peter woke up late, having only gone to bed at four AM when Bruce had tricked him into going and getting snacks and he’d come back to find that FRIDAY had locked him out of the lab. The machine was coming along fairly well—they assumed, considering the blood results had been unable to determine exactly which Tony they had with them right now.

Peter headed to the kitchen and grinned when he saw Tony and Morgan both already there, Morgan regaling Tony with a very longwinded and very elaborate story about the trip to the zoo she’d taken a few weeks ago. Tony seemed more interested in his pancakes than the story, but he nodded along diligently between bites.

“Peter!” Morgan cheered as he walked in, which always made him feel pretty good. Tony looked up and smiled too, perking up a little bit.

“Hey, squirt,” he said, ruffling Tony’s hair. “Good morning, Momo.” He tickled her side and she squealed in delight.

Peter piled his own plate with slightly cold pancakes from the tray left on the counter, sitting across from Tony at the table before drowning them in syrup.

“Petey, when is Daddy coming back?” Morgan asked suddenly. Peter froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

“Back?” he repeated stupidly.

Morgan nodded, pouting. “Mommy said there was an emergency he had to fix, but shouldn’t it be fixed by now? I miss him.”

Peter glanced over at Tony, who was watching them from under his lashes, like he was pretending he wasn’t listening.

“Well, sometimes emergencies take a while to fix, M.” Peter paused, looking at Tony again, who looked back up at him, his eyebrows drawn down in a miniaturized version of Tony’s scowl. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Tony’s mouth twisted into a frown and he suddenly jumped off his chair, leaving the room. Peter sighed, then stood too, following him out.

Tony was sitting in the living room, on the same couch he’d fallen asleep on last night. His toes barely scraped the floor.

Tony jutted his chin out when he saw Peter, his thin arms crossed over his chest.

Even at eight, Tony was a genius. He clenched his jaw, looking straight at Peter with a furious pout that didn’t quite hide the way his bottom lip trembled.

“Am I—” he started, his high voice breaking. “Morgan’s dad, that’s gone, I...”

Peter sighed, then came and sat on the coffee table in front of Tony.

“You were building a time travel device,” Tony said.

“Yeah.”

“And it went wrong.” Peter nodded.

Tony sniffed, then demanded: “Am I your dad?”

Well, not technically, Peter thought, but he wasn’t going to get into that complication with an already distressed eight-year-old.

“Yeah,” Peter said softly.

Tony hiccupped, wiped his nose with his hand.

“Do... do you like me?” He asked, quietly like he didn’t actually want Peter to hear.

Peter’s first instinct was to assure Tony that he loved him, but he remembered Tony talking about how he loved his dad almost as much as he hated him and realized that to Tony, an abused, neglected kid who had spent most of his life thinking he could never be a father, liking and loving were very, very different things.

Peter knelt on the carpet in front of Tony and smiled. “You’re my best friend,” he said honestly.

Tony’s eyes went huge, filling instantly with tears. Peter held his arms open and Tony threw himself into them, burying his face against Peter’s shoulder as his little body shook.

Peter rubbed his back until Tony calmed down, sniffling only a little bit as he sat back in Peter’s arms.

“I’m supposed to be 53?” he asked in disgust. Peter nodded with forced solemnity. Tony’s nose wrinkled. “That’s so old.”

“I know. You have gray hair and everything,” Peter agreed, wrinkling his nose to match Tony’s, making the kid giggle.

“Do I groan every time I stand up? Jarvis does that cause he’s ancient.”

“Every time,” Peter whispered, like it was a secret. “And you fall asleep watching TV.”

“No,” Tony gasped, looking so horrified Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

“Peter.” Peter turned and found Bruce watching them with an almost sad half-smile on his face. “It’s done.”

Tony’s smile dropped and he looked at Peter with wide eyes.

“It’s ok,” Peter assured him.

“Am I... am I going to remember?” Tony asked.

Peter sighed, standing and taking Tony’s hand. “I don’t know, kiddo.”

Tony paused as they passed the kitchen, where Morgan was still sitting at the table, playing with her stuffed Spider-Man toy.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Peter echoed.

They went down to the lab, where Rhodey and Pepper were waiting. They both gave Tony a hug while Bruce set up the machine. Tony gave Peter another long hug as well, then dutifully stood where Bruce told him to.

There was a flash, some smoke, and eight-year-old Tony was gone. In his place stood the Tony Peter knew so well, with his crows feet and gray hair and reading glasses.

Tony blinked, looking around. “Pep, when did you get here? Bruce? What happened?”

Peter stepped forward and hugged him. He’d liked young Tony but he’d missed his Tony every minute. He liked being the one to bury his face in Tony’s shoulder, having Tony cup the back of his neck and hold him there.

“Kid? You ok?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. He could hear the others making a tactical retreat behind him, but still didn’t pull away from Tony, and Tony didn’t make him. He’d learned to appreciate Peter’s clinginess.

“Hey, are you and Pepper going to have more kids?” Peter blurted.

Tony did pull away now, a look of surprise on his face. “Where did that come from?”

Peter shrugged, tucking himself under Tony’s arm as they made their way out of the lab. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.”

Tony snorted. “I already have two absolutely terrible children, I can’t handle a third.”

“Hey.”

Tony shook his head, tightening his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “I guess you never know, kiddo. Life is full of surprises.”

Peter huffed a laugh, thinking about the last day he’d spent with a miniaturized Tony. “Don’t I know it.”

#Irondad Bingo #Irondad and Spiderson #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #brotp: speaking of loyalty #my writing #fic #ugh I wish this was better but it's been sitting half-finished for like... five months?#I just want to be done with it

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siribear · 4 years

Text

‘let glory take point,’ deacon says. ‘she’s the one with the armor.’ it’s true. glory’s the only one even remotely defended, her heavy jacket modified with metal plates stitched within the padding of the tan coat. she and deacon are only dressed in their plain shirts and jeans, for lack of any other armor available at hq.

‘after you, ma’am.’ whisper gestures, falling in line behind glory.

‘don’t call me ma’am,’ glory mutters, leading them through the metro.

thankfully, they only encounter raiders during their trek. the unorganized group doesn’t stand a chance against the three trained agents. glory draws all the attention while whisper and deacon sneak around to pick off the distracted raiders.

‘nice to see that even with your sneaky shit, you haven’t lost your touch, dee.’

deacon, almost in response, finishes off a raider with a clean shot to the head. ‘i aims to please.’

whisper slings an arm across his shoulders, now that the area’s cleared. ‘it’s why i keep him around.’

glory frowns and makes to flick at her glasses. whisper flinches backward, slinking behind deacon. ‘and he made you into a deacon 2.0.’

‘i have to admit, she’s the better looking between the two of us.’

whisper turns around to call the elevator and to hide her growing blush. only made worse when glory openly agrees. the elevator dings, and an automated voice announces its arrival to bzzt floor. ‘after you, miss glory.’

‘being pretty doesn’t make that any less annoying,’ she says, but still enters, and whisper can only smile.

down in the basement, they’re greeted by the haptic sounds of gunfire. immediately, deacon and whisper duck down and behind the minuscule cover the open elevator doors provide. glory ducks, winding up her minigun. no sudden gunfire slams into the elevator, but they can still hear the gunfire, followed by screaming. the only voices they hear are human, over the unmistakable sound of laser fire.

‘more synths,’ whisper says, low. ‘sorry, glory.’

glory sighs. ‘let’s just get this over with.’

glory takes point again as they slowly make their way forward, down a short hallway that ends in a left turn. slowly, at least, until glory charges forward, whisper and deacon on her heels. a handful of raiders, whatever’s left of the group that took over the metro, faces off against a squad of synths. unfortunately, the raiders are trapped behind their makeshift wooden structures, and even with the high ground granted by their constructed lofts, they’re no match for the synth’s lasers and glory’s minigun. the synths, on the other hand, have taken advantage of the stalled subway car, peering through broken windows and metal doors.

between the sharpshooters, the synths are picked off, sparks lighting the dim subway with every one that goes down. glory ends the remaining raiders in a bloody shower of red. all in all, they did well. no injuries on their side, but the carnage turns her stomach. they probably thought the trio could help them; everyone turned against the synths - but the raiders would have turned on them right after, no doubt. some dimming part of her feels - terribly guilty.

‘what’s going through your head, partner?’ deacon asks from his crouched position, hands deep in the pockets of a dead raider. he passes her a handful of pistol ammo, the bullets tinged red with blood.

‘idealism,’ she says, softly.

‘go on.’

she groans, frustrated. ‘just - wondering how many people we can prevent from turning to raiding, you know? no lack of food, water, safety. no need to turn to chems. that sort of thing.’

deacon stares at her for a moment, silent. then, ‘watch that bleeding heart of yours. most people are content to let you bleed out.’

‘yeah, i’m figuring out that much.’ the world pre-war was by no means perfect, but it still shocks her how bad things have gotten. but maybe it’s always been this way, just under the surface, the bombs blowing away the top level of society, peeling back the layers, leaving them with this. she doesn’t take part in the looting, this time.

when the scavenging is finished, glory stands near the door that will lead them back to the surface. ‘you know, this was actually a pretty good run. you two aren’t so bad. guess i can say it was good seeing you two, but i should report back to griswold.’ on the way up, whisper quickly runs her through the updates from the day’s earlier meeting. ‘hey, you find a way back into the institute, i want to be there.’ she cracks her neck. ‘storm the place, give my last fuck you to the assholes who created me.’

‘top of my list, glory, don’t worry.’

‘and keep an eye on the brotherhood,’ she says, motioning to the sky. ‘i’ve been seeing those vertibirds flying around. who knows what they’re looking for.’

‘duly noted, mademoiselle gloire,’ whisper says with a grin. deacon chuckles.

glory isn’t as amused - or not that she’d admit. there’s definitely a smile she’s fighting. ‘and you were doing so well.’

‘what was it? i aims to please.’

glory points between the two of them. ‘i’m getting out of this pair. right now. before i strangle the both of you.’

‘you know we’ll miss you terribly, gloria.’ deacon receives a friendly middle finger in glory’s wake.

whisper hardly needs his help maneuvering around the city these days. it almost makes him feel useless. almost. until he stops her from walking right into mutie territory; the mutants have moved further into the city, set up their favorite, bloody decorations along the buildings like christmas lights.

but his partner likes to walk the old roads, likes to wear away the poor, centuries old pavement. ‘save some road for future generations,’ he begs her, and, bless her, she takes to a sidewalk. leave it to her to think of the future.

so, maybe that’s why he appreciates her. it’s been far too long since he’s thought of the future. can’t appreciate the seeds you’ve sewn for the future if you don’t survive the day. she makes him think there might be an end to that.

whisper stops at the entrance to goodneighbor, hand stilled on the metal door.

‘take a hit to the head back in malden? forget how to use doors?’

she spins on her heel, puts her back to the door, and all deacon can think is: uh oh. he knows the look; she wants to talk. and he’ll talk, sure, but -

‘why didn’t you tell me about the tech you picked from kellogg’s brain?’

- deacon is, unfortunately, finding it more difficult to lie to her. she’s picked out enough of his bullshit, gone along with the rest of it. the act itself isn’t difficult - deacon’s been lying for years. but there’s a little part of him that whispers (ha) don’t lie to her.

‘didn’t seem important.’

she cants her head to the side. ‘try again. you can do better.’

see, he can. but he doesn’t want to. so he gives her the truth. part of it, anyway. ‘it might have been a waste of time. i figured, between tom and carrington, they’d find out if it was a lead worth pursuing.’

he notices the tension begin to drain from her shoulders. a leak, not a release. ‘so it wasn’t because you don’t trust me?’

so that’s what this is about. carrington must have gotten to her more than she let on. ‘of course not. i trust you.’ more than he probably should, but deacon still considers himself a good judge of character.

she catches her genuine smile, turns it into a grin, and he can hear the wink in her voice when she says, ‘thought you can’t trust anyone?’

he rolls his eyes even though she’s turned her back to him to push through to goodneighbor. ‘just you, partner,’ he mumbles, low enough that she can’t hear.

amari looks between the two of them before pulling away from her paperwork. the memory den is empty today, likely in preparation for what they’re about to do. though, irma had apparently been told who to look out for, because she had simply waved them on to the back.

‘do you have a geiger counter?’ the doctor asks.

‘mine is in the shop,’ whisper answers dutifully. the doctor’s hands return from under her desk and away from a pistol she no doubt has hidden. deacon has taught them all so well.

‘i recognize you.’ amari nods at deacon. ‘you’re the other one?’ when whisper introduces herself, amari’s eyes widen. ‘ah, i see. h2 mentioned you.’

‘he’s why we’re here. malden center is open again for one last run. desdemona is working on another route.’

amari closes her eyes and nods. ‘i thought as much. thank you. it was getting dangerous holding him here.’ she rises from her desk. ‘i’ve kept him the back room, but we’re going to need it if we’re going to go through with this procedure.’ she holds out a note with another shorthand - different from deacon’s own - scribbled in drummer boy’s handwriting. ‘your other friend isn’t here yet. i’ll go have h2 move to another room.’

‘no!’ whisper near-shouts. ‘i’ll get him, it’s no trouble.’

‘i don’t think that’s - ‘ amari begins, but whisper is already halfway to the back. ‘is this her first?’

deacon nods. ‘they got particularly close. she took a bullet for him.’ he remembers the look in her eyes when they were sitting in the lobby in ticon. like a mother looking at her son. how it didn’t hit him then that she’s a mother - ‘she’d find out one way or another.’

he can’t protect her from this.

‘he left this for her.’ amari pulls a holotape from her pocket. ‘that’s how i knew who she was.’

whisper is breathless, half-skipping down the stairs to where h2 waits. she takes in that mop of brown hair, his padded blue jacket, though he’s grown a beard since the last time she saw him. he sits on a couch at the edge of the room, staring down at his hands.

‘hey - ‘

‘whoa, lady.’ it’s h2′s face, but not his voice. this man’s voice is rougher, not the soft-spoken young man she met in the church. ‘doc said i’m in quarantine. i might be contagious or something. what’re you doin’ down here?’

there’s no recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. just confusion. ‘i, uh, i work with the doctor. she said you’re clear, and we’re moving you to another room. she’s - she’s upstairs.’

‘oh, hey, cool. i was gettin’ bored down here. only so many times you can count ceiling tiles, y’know? was tempted to take a little nap in one of those pods. anyway, upstairs, you said?’

whisper’s glad for the sunglasses when he comes closer. somehow, she keeps the tears out of her voice. ‘yeah, upstairs. she’ll get you set up to leave.’

‘thanks again, lady. nice meetin’ you.’

she doesn’t turn, just listens to the sound of his retreating footsteps. ‘yeah. nice to meet you.’

it’s where deacon and nick find her moments later, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the two memory pods in front of her. the former puts a hand between her shoulders, leans around her. ‘you okay? i should have warned you - ’

‘no, i needed to find out myself. i get it.’ she’s since dried her tears.

‘this is for you.’ he takes one of her hands in his, places something cold and metal in the center. ‘from h2. before.’ it’s a small holotape with her codename written on it.

she puts it in her pocket. ‘thank you.’

nick passes by the two of them and runs a leathery hand over the glass of one of the pods. ‘from what i understand, we’re jumping into kellogg’s memories. sounds crazy, but knowing the institute - ’ he looks to her. ‘you ready?’

the pod looks like the one she stepped into two hundred years ago, though cushioned and inclined. the top half is entirely glass, with a single monitor hanging from the top. static hums on the screen.

whisper takes one step toward it, then freezes. what if it doesn’t open when it’s over? what if she’s stuck again, two hundred years - she grabs deacon’s hand without thinking, grips it like she’s holding on for dear life.

maybe she is.

‘we’ll all be right here,’ he reassures her. ‘it’s just memories. kellogg can’t hurt you in there.’ he turns to someone walking by, and she sees dr. amari has joined them downstairs. ‘he can’t hurt her somehow, right? this is just routine memory viewing?’

dr. amari sighs. ‘routine is not the word i’d use. unorthodox, yes, but no more dangerous. mr. valentine here is the only one in danger of complications.’

‘nick - ‘

‘it’s all right, doll. i agreed to this.’

she sighs heavily. deacon leads her over to the pod and doesn’t let go of her hand until it begins to close. it hisses shut, the hinges clicking as it locks. locks.

‘your heartbeat spiked. i need you to calm down or the memory sync won’t work,’ comes dr. amari’s voice from a small speaker near her head.

calm. breathe in, breathe out. count to ten. breathe in - deacon taps on the glass next to her. the closed pod muffles the sound of him dragging a chair over next to her. i’m right here, she reads his lips.

‘that’s better. this is your first time, so i have to tell you: it might feel a little strange. the static on the monitor is white noise, that’s all. you will be viewing these memories, as if you’re there. but you will be viewing them from kellogg’s perspective. okay?’

‘okay,’ whisper croaks. her voice barely sounds like her own. like h2′s didn’t sound the same -

‘no, no, calm down. we’re almost there. mr. valentine is ready when you are. are you?’

breathe out. ‘i’m ready.’

‘good. sunglasses off, close your eyes, and - ‘

whisper feels a sharp shock at the base of her skull, and the world goes black.

deacon watches whisper through the glass, eyes closed like she’s sleeping, but her eyes move back and forth rapidly. her breathing is even, at least. he props his chin in the palm of his hand, and waits.

she’s in a bedroom, looking down at child drawings on a bed, worn out crayons spread across a threadbare blanket. a woman sits next to her, smelling of cigarette smoke and something - something else, something familiar, but she can’t place it. she wants to turn her head to look at her, see why she seems so familiar, but she can’t. instead, she flinches at a loud knock on her bedroom door and a louder, male voice screaming on the other side of it.

the woman slides a gun into view, the revolver she’ll come to know, and places a hand on hers. ‘connie,’ the woman says, and finally she looks up. mousy brown hair, bruises on her face, a split lip. ‘you can’t rely on anyone else, honey. this is the only thing you can trust.’

the gun is heavy in her small hands. the man bangs on the door again. she aims the revolver at the door, hands shaking. the man screams and yells, and she doesn’t pull the trigger.

i ran away from home, kellogg’s voice is soft in her mind. i think she wanted me to kill him, but i didn’t realize until i was older and it was too late. don’t know what happened to her. maybe she got out.

oh, whisper thinks.

‘that’s not it. we’ll move on to the next memory.’

she’s older now, a prominent scar on her face and leather jacket reflecting in the kitchen window. she watches her wife clean up after breakfast. she has a job to get to in the afternoon, but until then - she wraps her arms around the woman’s waist, presses a kiss to the top of her head. sarah, this she knows. she remembers her, because how could she possibly forget her? her face, the sound of her voice.

and then their daughter coos from her high chair, tosses around crumbs sarah will be finding around the kitchen for months. mary. almost two years old. thank god she’s got her mother’s face. don’t know what she’d do if mary inherited this mug.

surprised to find out i had a family, once upon a time? we aren’t so different, you and i.

‘another memory, then.’

she stalks down a hallway like death. she’s the reaper. she’s deliverance. justice. revenge. there will be no mercy when she finds them. the revolver fits perfectly in her hand. a voice calls to her overhead: ‘they died like dogs. and you weren’t there to protect them.’ she knows this voice. she hates this voice. she’s going to tear his throat out with her teeth. she kicks down a door and fires. one, two, three, four, five, six. one was enough. two through six were for sarah and mary. it doesn’t bring them back, but it feels fucking good.

not so different.

‘getting closer.’

she nurses a beer. or was it a whiskey? maybe it’s rum tonight. she doesn’t know the name of the bar, but it never matters. what does matter: there’s always a drink.

this was the start of it, she remembers. remaking a name for herself. answering to no one but herself. having someone else lord over her makes them think they own you. and, well, when you have something they can take away?

she takes the job from the drifters. kill some family upriver. names don’t matter. caps do. keeps the liquor flowing.

kellogg is quiet, contemplative. all she gets is the soft buzzing in the back of her mind, and then she’s shuffled off to the next memory.

she stands in front of a woman in a clean, white suit. not many people like that around here, anymore. and she’s got two robots flanking her with a third hovering just over her own shoulder. she’s already calculated every way to make it out of this alive if it goes bad.

institute. boogeyman. and apparently she’s gotten on their bad side. not her fault, really, if the institute’s been pissing off people with enough caps to buy her help to get back at them. the only solution she can see: the institute pays her more than that. no more problem.

so the scientist doesn’t believe her at first, that’s fine. she believes after she single handedly takes out three of their skeleton-looking synths before any of them can get a shot off.

minutemen for you, institute for me, kellogg says. how close we were to becoming the same person.

‘manual override initiated. cryogenic stasis suspended.’

no. no, no, no. please, she can’t watch this again.

she stares at the faces of the people as they begin to wake up. first, the confusion. then, the panic. they don’t need to open any of these pods. just one. a man wakes, a baby held in one arm. that’s the target. the man looks at her, then past her, and when she turns, she sees - herself. the back up. the pod hisses open, and the man coughs and sputters, never letting go of the child.

cruel. she wonders what the fuck she did to the institute to deserve this job. the old man could have done this himself. not hard to steal an infant from a man whose muscles have been held in stasis for two hundred years.

she raises her revolver when he won’t let go, though, and maybe that’s why she’s-he’s here. do the hard job no one else wants to do. she pulls the trigger, and the man slumps forward. the scientist with him takes the baby who cries loud, echoing off the vault walls. she wonders if that’s what mary sounded like when they took her. oh well. that was years ago and she was a different person, then.

she looks to the woman with murder in her eyes. she grins. this woman would be her justice. her deliverance. her reaper. if only they’d let her go. as it is, she’s the back up. the other scientist down the hall puts her back to sleep. the other poor suckers stay trapped in their pods, forced to suffocate until their end.

‘are you okay? your heart rate increased again.’

‘dr. amari,’ she whispers, throat laden with tears, ‘next memory.’

their little house in diamond city has started to become a home. shaun has started to pin his drawings everywhere. some of her, down to her distinct scar. some of his parents he can barely seem to remember. she hasn’t had the heart to tell him what she did. because she’s rather enjoyed - this. what she could have had. shaun’s got the floor covered with his comic books now, and he knows he’ll have to clean them up before dinner.

he’s a good kid. looks like a perfect mix between his mother and father. shaun laughs at travis rambling on the radio, or maybe it’s something he’s reading in his books. she’s busy cleaning her revolver, breathing in the moment.

it ends, though, as do all things. the institute’s courser steps through the door, and everything changes. shaun is to go to the institute, for good. and she’s to hunt down virgil, hiding out in the glowing sea. shaun looks up at her with confused, but understanding eyes. she doesn’t even get to say goodbye before he and the courser disappear in a flash of blue light, teleported back to the institute.

she spins the chambers on her revolver, listens to it click and whir. with a flick of her wrist, it’s done. she’ll set up in fort hagen for now. the old man will have her house cleaned out the moment she leaves, so she packs only what she needs. her guns, ammo, armor. her favorite cigars and booze, because if she’s going to the glowing sea, she’s going to enjoy herself before setting foot in that radiation bath.

she picks up shaun’s pile of comics and stacks them neatly on the desk. maybe whatever courser that cleans her place will take them back to shaun. she laughs, realizing how stupid that sounds. so she picks up the stack herself and throws the entire thing into the trash can.

she shoulders her bag and turns off the lights, locking the door behind her. at least she had the taste of her perfect little family.

good riddance.

now get out.

‘that’s it!’ amari shouts, but deacon isn’t listening.

he’s watching whisper wake up slowly, electrodes at the base of her skull falling as she pulls away from the chair. she touches her cheek, follows the trail of her tears from earlier. whatever she saw bothered her. a lot. she practically jumps when the pod clicks open, and he’s there in an instant, helping her out of it and steadying her shaking legs.

‘that’s why we could never find an entrance to the institute. there isn’t one. at least not an obvious one.’

‘teleportation - that’s,’ whisper starts slowly, tries to reform words. ‘how?’

‘i assume that scientist the courser - ‘ deacon stiffens. ‘ - mentioned, virgil, will know something. he’s your best bet. the glowing sea,’ amari says to him, the only one not privy to any of this, ‘that’s where you’ll find him.’

the glowing sea. a heavily irradiated expanse of land. great.

‘where’s nick?’ whisper asks.

‘he was up before you. i’m going to check on him, make sure there’s no side effects from that procedure. then i need to get ready to move h2. excuse me.’

amari leaves in a rush, but whisper stays where she is, looking dazed. he remembers the first time he used the memory pod, and he ended up much like this after it. though reliving the memories of an institute hitman couldn’t have been easy on her.

‘whisper,’ he tries, bringing her focus back to him, instead of the chair she’s burning a hole into. ‘you okay?’

‘deacon,’ she stares up at him, eyes wide. she opens her mouth to speak, cups his face like she’s trying to see if he’s real, and then her eyes shift down, and suddenly she’s kissing him.

his hands instinctively go to her hips, but the rest of his body is two steps behind his brain that is currently short circuiting. it’s over, as quick as it was unexpected, and he has a hell of an internal war trying to convince himself that he isn’t disappointed.

she pulls away slowly, eyes half-lidded, and she whispers, ‘thank you,’ against his lips, still so close he can trace out the syllables. whisper comes back to herself, eyes back to his, bright and hopeful. ‘thank you, thank you,’ she repeats.

‘wait. what?’

she’s still grinning when she bends down to pick up her sunglasses, fallen to the floor of the memory pod, and it doesn’t fade even as she drags him back upstairs to the main floor of the memory den.

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #otp: i'm in your corner #i had a lot of fun with the memory section actually #79k words and they finally kiss. jesus.

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ahtohallan-calling · 5 years

Text

chapter 21 of don’t read the last page is here!

masterpost

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

“Happy birthday, Kris.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a square of fabric; he let it fall open and, after reading what was on the front of the t-shirt, looked at Anna with a mixture of shock and amusement.

Ellie squinted at it from the far end of the table. “Best dad ever? Why does it say that? I don’t get it.”

march

"Call me as soon as you're done, okay?"

"What if you're in the middle of saving a bunny's life or something?"

"I won't be. I'll probably still be at lunch."

Anna sighed in relief and stepped closer, leaning her forehead against his chest. "Oh, good. I'm nervous as fuck."

"Why?" he asked, settling his arms around her.

"I don't know. Just...now that I'm excited about it, I'm worried it'll be a false alarm after all or like...that something's wrong."

Kristoff kissed the top of her head. "It's going to be fine, baby. I'm sure of it."

She tilted her face up towards him, propping up her chin on his chest. "Why does everything sound so reassuring when you say it? Tell me something else that'll make me feel better."

"Uh...like what?"

"I don't know. That I'll never get morning sickness and only be in labor for five minutes."

"I don't think either of those things can really happen. But," he said quickly, seeing the disappointment on her face, "it'll be worth it. Because then we'll get to meet our baby. Who, just saying, is going to be the coolest kid of all time and will definitely be a Mario Kart prodigy."

She smiled and raised up on her toes to kiss him. "Love you."

"Love you back."

And then, because that seemed to be the way of things in his life these days, he had had to miss lunch in order to help out with an emergency surgery and missed lunch. The dog in question, thankfully, was completely fine, but his heart was pounding as he scrambled to check his phone. Ryder raised an eyebrow at the way he rushed into the break room. “All good, man?”

“Great,” Kristoff said absentmindedly as he flicked open his texts from Anna.

hey no worries that you didnt pick up sure u just got busy but congratulations dad🎈🎉👶

nov 12 is the due date but they said prob will be late since its our first

!!!!!!!!!!!!!! love you

For a moment he just stared down at the screen, hardly daring to breathe. So this was really happening; by the end of the year, he’d have a one-month-old baby. He was going to be a father.

“Stop mooning over the girlfriend and come help me in the kennels,” Ryder called.

“Fiancee,” Kristoff said absentmindedly before typing out a quick response, ignoring the exaggerated gasp of shock from the doorway.

I can’t wait. Love you back :)

---

“Kristoff?”

“Distractions won’t work this time,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“I’m not even racing this time, dumbass. What’s in 209 days?”

“Huh? I-- fuck!” he shouted as he drove right off the edge of the track, to Anna and Ryder’s delight, and promptly fell to last place.

“Watch out, Nattura,” Anna growled. “I’m coming for your ass.”

“Was she always like this?” Honey asked, amused, from where she was sprawled across the armchair.

“Yes,” Elsa replied from her spot on the floor, not looking up from her phone. “It was worst when we played Candyland, because there’s not even a point to being competitive at that.”

“Hello? Does anyone care about this ominous countdown on the fridge?” Sven asked again, huffing when he was drowned out by Anna’s cheering as she threw a banana peel in front of Ryder’s kart and secured a last-second victory.

Kristoff, at last, glanced at him. “Will you get me a beer while you’re over there?”

“Yes, if you tell me what the fuck is in 209 days and if I need to like, buy a Geiger counter or something.”

“Anna?” Honey asked suddenly, sitting up. “Everything good?”

“Fine,” she said distantly, suddenly the same shade of white as her t-shirt.

Ryder, his eyes wide, put an arm around her shoulders to keep her from swaying off the sofa. “Jesus, is winning Mario Kart that exciting?” he asked.

“That’s like, November…” Sven said, frowning. “Why is Thanksgiving making you pass out?”

“I’m not passing out,” Anna said, her voice distant, and Kristoff swore under his breath, hastily getting to his feet and crossing to the kitchen himself to get a glass of water. “I’m pregnant, though.”

No one reacted until Elsa’s phone hit the floor, and then they all burst into a cacophony of questions.

“You’re what--”

“How long have you--”

“What the fuck--”

“I think I am going to actually pass out if you don’t all shut up,” Anna said, her voice suddenly nearly a shout, and they all froze and turned to look at her.

Kristoff handed her the glass of water then, and she took a long gulp before meeting her sister’s gaze. “I was going to tell you tonight, Elsa,” she explained, “you know, family and all. And the rest of you guys in a few more weeks when, you know, it’s less…” She waved a hand. “Risky. But...yes. We’re, uh, we’re having a baby. November 12th, mark your calendars for Anna Arendelle’s performance of a lifetime.”

Sven was the first to speak. “Damn,” he said, taking a sip of the beer he’d finally regained the sense to crack open, “you’re really gonna do that to some kid?”

“Do what?” she asked with a slight frown.

“Make him be a goddamn giant and a ginger.”

april

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” Anna said hoarsely as he passed her a glass of water. "You only signed up for morning sickness duties, not every hour of the day and night sickness watch."

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you don’t feel good.”

“Yeah, but now you won’t be able to stay awake at the clinic tomorrow.”

“That’s what coffee is for,”

She sighed and wiped her hand across her mouth. “I think it’s over for now.”

Kristoff leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Are you sure?”

“No. But I hope it is.”

“Me, too,” he said, getting to his feet before reaching down and offering a hand to help her up. She stumbled slightly, and he caught her, eyebrows knitting together with concern. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

“I wanna brush my teeth,” she said, yawning.

He waited while she did, and she couldn’t help but smile at him in the mirror when he let out his own yawn, rubbing sleepily at his eyes under his glasses. “I love you,” she said around the toothbrush, and he laughed.

“Even though it’s my fault you’re sick right now?”

“Both of ours, really. Your fault for being so handsome, and my fault for taking full advantage of that,” she said, cheerful again now that the nausea had passed as she bounced back to bed. “Or maybe it’s the baby’s fault.”

“We’ll have to give her a stern talking to,” Kristoff replied, lifting the blankets for her as she clambered in. “Put her in timeout and everything.”

Anna laughed, nestling against his chest the moment he was beside her once more. “You really are convinced it’s a girl, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Who’s going to look exactly like you.”

“I don’t know,” she hummed. “I’m kind of hoping for a little boy.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just...sometimes I think about what it’ll be like when they’re here, and I just...I keep imagining how it would feel to look over and see you holding a little boy and think ‘that’s him, that’s our son’.”

Suddenly there was a lump in his throat. “Well...well, I guess that would be okay, too.”

---

Sam was surprisingly misty-eyed when she told him. “Look at you, kiddo,” he kept saying, over and over, and she was half-tempted to get up and walk around his desk to give him a hug around the neck.

Lena, though, was so efficiently business-like that Anna just sat silently in her chair, grateful for Kristoff’s hand in hers. “Do we have a timeline?”

“Yes, November twelfth is--”

“Not that. For when you want to go public. Although that does give us a firm deadline.”

Anna let out a surprised little laugh, but Lena just raised an eyebrow; apparently that hadn’t been a joke. Kristoff squeezed her hand and said, “The sooner the better. Might as well get it over with.”

“Well, if we go ahead and go public now, it’s going to hurt Anna’s engagement numbers and detract from the film’s first trailer coming out next week. If we wait until, say, June, it’ll fall perfectly in the lull between the first and second trailers and give us time to start setting the narrative on track well before the press tours. I’ll see what I can do to make sure anything out of state is done before you’re not allowed to fly. When’s the wedding?”

Anna blinked for a moment, trying to process the rapid-fire stream of information. “Um. We didn’t set a date yet.”

“Hmm,” Lena said with a frown. “Well, let’s try to get on that. People will want to know. Too bad you’re not already married, I’d say release a picture of you in the dress and you’d be on the cover of People. For now, though, just a picture of both of you is enough.”

“We don’t want to do that, though,” Anna said quickly before Kristoff could start to get nervous. “Just let them know that he, you know, exists. I don’t want to make it easier for them to find him.”

“Alright. I’d suggest social media, since your fans feel very close to you and will appreciate hearing it directly. But an interview is always a good default if you want a pro’s help putting it in the best way possible.”

She shifted slightly in her seat. “Um. I’m kind of...out of my depth here. Sam?”

He blinked. “Oh, sorry, I was just-- do you remember the day you wandered into my office for the first time, kiddo, with those roller skates?”

“Of course I do,” she said fondly.

“Anyway. I’d do the interview. Better safe than sorry.”

Lena nodded. “Right. Let me find someone willing to do a feature on you,” she said, diving back in to her laptop.

The rest of them sat in awkward silence for a moment before Kristoff cleared his throat. “So,” he began, “what do I need to do?”

Sam shrugged. “Be on good behavior. Don’t do anything that would embarrass her. Don’t go out in pajamas or get a DUI or anything. If the fans are getting too pushy, help her get out. If paparazzi starts shouting, don’t ever shout back. Even if they say--”

“Done,” Lena announced suddenly. “Tomorrow afternoon downtown. No lunch required, just tea, so no need to worry about getting sick.”

“I haven’t been that sick,” Anna said defensively, and beside her Kristoff coughed.

Sam grinned again. “Look at you, kiddo,” he said again.

“Look at me what, puking?”

“Getting ready to be a mom,” he said, and suddenly she felt a little misty-eyed, too.

---

may

“Jesus!” Anna yelped. “I was dead asleep!”

“Sorry,” Kristoff mumbled as he sat down on the warm spot on the sofa she’d just been evicted from, settling her on his lap and promptly burying his face in her shoulder.

She frowned, carding her fingers through his hair. “I was having a very good dream, I’ll have you know,” she said, though there was no real irritation in her voice. “About puppies, I think.”

“You can go back to sleep,” he said, his voice muffled against her shirt.

“I will when you tell me what’s wrong.”

His arms tightened around her waist. “Give me a minute.”

She hummed her agreement and turned to press a kiss into his hair, relishing the feel of him so close against her, enough that their breathing was slowly syncing up as their chests rose and fell together. Worry was tugging at her, to be sure, about what could have upset him enough to not bother with even a hello, but it helped more than a little to know that he would tell her before long so she could help fix it, instead of letting it linger like an untreated wound in his heart.

“Sorry,” he said again, pulling back with a sigh to rest his forehead against hers. “Just needed a second.”

“‘S’okay, baby. No rush.”

He closed his eyes, moving the hand that wasn’t supporting her back to rest against her still-flat stomach. “At the store...there was stuff in the tabloids. About this.”

“But I...how would anyone know?”

“It said ‘a source from the set of Arendelle’s new movie’.”

“Fuck. I knew people were going to start being suspicious of me being sick all the time. Well, they were going to find out soon enough anyway, weren’t they?” she said, hoping she sounded reassuring despite the pit that had just opened up in her chest.

“It said the baby is Hans’s,” he said bleakly, and a little gasp slipped out from her before she could hold it back.

For a moment they just held each other, letting the news sink in. Anna ran a hand up and down Kristoff’s back, and he sighed, still keeping his forehead pressed against hers. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Kris,” she said quietly.

“I know with...with you being famous and stuff, you’re always going to kind of belong to other people. But the baby...she’s just ours. And I guess it was stupid of me, but I was kind of hoping it would always be like that. That the whole time people knew about her, they would know the truth.”

“About him,” Anna said, and he huffed out a laugh. “Sorry, too soon to be teasing you?”

“No. It helps. You’re definitely wrong, though. I’m certain of it.”

She laughed then, too, and kissed him. “The interview will be out soon. And then everyone will know it’s been you all along, and that it’s your son in there.”

“Daughter. And...okay. If you’re sure.”

“Yeah. I’m ready for this part to be over. I know it’s gonna be hard on you, and I’m sorry you’ll have to deal with the bullshit, but...damn, it’s been hard keeping you a secret. I just want to parade you around town and be like ‘hey guys, guess who got lucky and convinced the hottest guy in the world to marry her?’” “Now you’re just being corny to cheer me up. Literally last night you called me Grandpa again when I put my glasses on.”

“Yeah, but you’re a sexy grandpa. Which is how we ended up in this mess in the first place.”

“Not a mess. Just an...unexpected journey.”

Anna grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. “Is that your way of asking me if we can have a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight to cheer you up?”

“You know me too well. And yes.”

“Did you get popcorn?”

“Mhmm. Think you can keep it down?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “Good thing I have a fiance to hold my hair back, eh?”

---

“Wait!”

Everyone turned and looked at Anna as she dug through her purse. “I want to take a picture of this,” she explained. “So I can remember the face he makes.”

Kristoff raised an eyebrow, one hand still in the gift bag. “Should I be nervous?”

“No, just--” She grinned and held up her phone. “You’ll see.”

“Can I open it now?”

She nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement. “Happy birthday, Kris.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a square of fabric; he let it fall open and, after reading what was on the front of the t-shirt, looked at Anna with a mixture of shock and amusement.

Ellie squinted at it from the far end of the table. “Best dad ever? Why does it say that? I don’t get it.”

And then she did get it all at once, her eyes going wide as she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh!”

Kristoff’s mother was already weeping and throwing her arms over his shoulders, and his brothers looked awkward but pleased all the same as they clapped him on the back, and Ellie was already squealing and tugging on her sister’s hand and spouting off something about names, and beside Anna Kristoff’s father smiled and set a hand on her shoulder.

“Congratulations,” he said, his eyes kind and full of warmth, and suddenly she was wishing her own father was here, wondering what he would have said, how broadly he would have smiled.

“Thank you, Mr. Bjorgman,” she said, and when he saw her lip start to wobble he pulled her into a tight hug.

“You can call me Cliff, you know,” he said softly. “Or whatever else you’d like. Shoot, might as well go ahead and help me get some practice in, start calling me Grandpa if you want.”

She laughed at that. “Cliff for now, I think.”

“Fine with me,” he said, gently patting her back. “I hope you know we’re here to help both of you with whatever you need. And that you’re welcome up here anytime, with or without him. Don’t even have to call ahead, just come right in the back door and tell me you want pickles or something, whatever it is. Don’t have much experience in this department of parenting, but I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you,” she said, holding on tighter for just a moment before pulling away to face the rest of them.

---

june

look it’s official

lena had a copy mailed to the house

He squinted at the photo she had texted him, scrolling through the full-page article dedicated to Anna’s rapid rise to fame. He couldn’t help but grin at the mentions of her tampon commercial and unexpected viral fame; she had to have been irritated at that being brought up again. There were photos of her in that blue gown, too, the one she’d worn for the Netflix movie and been so excited to show him. And then there, at the end, was the all-important “what are you doing now” section, the one she had rehearsed with him over and over the night before the interview.

“What’s next for you, Anna?” I ask, and she gives me a bright smile as she sets down her cup of (herbal) tea.

“Well, I’m going to wrap up filming for the sequel, of course, but then I’m going to take a step back from the spotlight for a little bit to focus on my family.”

“Your sister?”

“My fiance Kristoff, actually, and our first baby. We’re really excited,” she adds with her trademark bright smile, and I can’t help but smile back at her.

He grinned and closed the picture so he could type back a response, but before he’d even started a phone call came through. He frowned; it was just a number, no name, but it looked familiar somehow. “Hello?” he asked, expecting it to be a telemarketer.

“Kristoff? It’s Sam.”

“What’s up?”

“I, uh, I don’t know if you saw yet, but just...don’t panic.”

#SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY MY BAD #drtlp #my fics #pregnancy cw

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nastynibblesreturns · 5 years

Text

I'm being bullied into posting this

Context..... very little. I wrote Garlic Fanfiction (while mildly drunk) about half a year ago and..... this is the result.

———

The end of the world started with garlic. Not a Bang, nor even an underwhelming Whimper, just a simple, innocuous clove of garlic. No one suspected anything of the garlic - and, honestly, why would they? The most danger garlic caused to the human race prior to the whole Good God The Earth Is Collapsing incident was the occasional bout of bad breath or over-seasoned bolognese. Certainly nothing worthy of the scrutiny Armageddon would usually warrant.

Perhaps I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Garlic itself didn’t actually destroy humanity. No clove of garlic adorned armour and waged war on the innocent people of the planet, no clove of garlic pressed the Big Red Button to Imminent Destruction, and I certainly can't recall the last time a clove of garlic so much as looked at me. Nevertheless, the garlic was the start of the end.

It began innocently enough. A shimmering advert featuring garlic recipes popping up every five minutes on social media. A wide-spread meme of a vampire saying “fuck it” before biting directly into a clove, with various incoherent adaptations circulating the internet within the day. Garlic seemingly appearing from nowhere in cupboards and trolleys and the occasional babies' fists. It soon spiralled, however. You'd be surprised how violent groups of teenagers with a limitless arsenal of garlic can be. Or maybe you wouldn't, I don’t know.

We wouldn't know for about a year just what this onslaught meant. We wouldn’t guess for maybe a decade that the warning was intentional. We soon learnt.

I'm sure you're more than aware of how cults form and function, yes? I'm sure you can even name some of them. Scientology, Raëlism, Christianity... there has never been a single moment in all of time and space where humanity didn't have some form of radical order or organised religion. Here's the secret: it's because there actually does exist a higher power. It's always watching, always guiding, and apparently it communicates through root vegetables.

We know relatively little of this higher being. We don't know if it is singular or some eldritch mass of intelligence. We don't know it's name or gender - or if it even follows a specific gender binary. We do know that, despite its' overwhelming power, it fails to understand 3rd dimension human communication. We also know that for whatever reason or logic is follows, it did not want the world to end.

There have been endless debates about the symbology behind the garlic. Perhaps it is meant to represent the human condition; plain and rather pungent at first impression, yet surprisingly wholesome in small doses. Perhaps it is simply garlic because... well, why not garlic? Entire religions formed around the Coming Of The Garlic practically overnight, and that is when things really took a turn for the odd. Fresh cults don’t like it when governments try to control the population of garlic, it turns out. The government, in turn, don’t particularly enjoy having garlic-crazed zealots torching their property and hurling cloves through windows. Nor do the military.

Whether it was well-intentioned or not, these cryptic messages from the Forgotten Ones - we humans do like our Dramatic Capitalised Names - sparked an undeniable string of events that rocked society to the core. Fighting bred more fighting. Revolution brought along even more revolution. Conflict is,as always, the mother of invention, and the incidents quickly shifted from makeshift molotovs and garlic spray to superheated plasma rays and portable black holes. Humanity didn’t stand a chance.

Entire cities levelled. Clumps of garlic fell from the sky with all the grace of anvils. They sprouted between the cracked cities like grass, marking areas of bloodshed and death in a manner not dissimilar to widows mourning their fallen husbands during wartime. They said the world would end in a hail of fire and brimstone. They forgot to pepper in the garlic, it seems. The clouds blackened and wept over desolate landscapes. Surviving stragglers began carrying geiger counters as a makeshift gps, guiding them away from the battlegrounds through the frequency of the ticks. The Forgotten ones became more urgent with their messages, thrusting cloves into your line of sight at all hours, before falling silent. Not a single clove of garlic can be found now.

There aren’t many of us left. From a thriving planet of 7 billion, we now number in the thousands only. We wander from safe haven to safe haven like hermit crabs, abandoning each home within weeks. In our groups we scuttle, huddling for warmth and whispering of all-knowing eldritch beings. Recently there has been a stirring. We are beginning to realise something. Something important, and something horrifying.

Perhaps there never was any higher power, we realise with dawning fear. Perhaps the onslaught of garlic was never a message or a warning. Perhaps it wasn’t the sign of the end of the world. Perhaps we were the sign. Perhaps the end of the world didn’t actually start with some advert depicting a vegetable, and was instead started by the passion of billions of resentful humans taking any chance to lash out.

Perhaps the end of the world didn't start with a bang, a whimper, or even the simple garlic.

Perhaps it was just us.

#I really don't know either folks

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littlewhitetie · 5 years

Text

In Loving Memory

“Just a little further,” Lance says. “We’re almost there. At least, according to Hunk’s geiger counter thing.”

Keith is too busy trying to stay upright to respond with words as he drags his feet across the jungle floor. Sweat drips from the bangs plastered to his forehead, stinging as it falls into his eyes. He’s exhausted. The nausea that’s been building since they got to this damn planet is reaching a point where it might make good on its threat soon.

Lance eyes him with concern. “Do you want to take another break?”

“No,” Keith says. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with.”

The Xanorian jungle is creepy as hell. It’s far too quiet, especially considering all the movement in his peripheral vision. Vines creep and slither, ready to ensnare. Tree branches sway without wind; their cloud-shaped clusters of leaves should rustle but don’t. Flowering plants turn to face them, tracking their movements with invisible eyes as they get deeper and deeper in.

And yet Lance seems to think the place is perfectly lovely. It’s so calm and peaceful, he says. The plants are so pretty, he says. Nothing’s watching us, he says.

So either Keith is seeing things that aren’t there, or Lance is just oblivious. Really, it wouldn’t be the first time for either of those options, but given his climbing fever, Keith is willing to admit it’s probably the former.

Keith keeps his eyes on the ground, focused on keeping one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left…

“Hey, look,” Lance says, pointing through the trees. “There’s a clearing up ahead. That’s gotta be where the ygdranite is.”

“Mm,” Keith says, not looking up. He’ll take Lance’s word for it.

They get a little closer, and Keith almost runs smack into Lance when he comes to an abrupt halt.

Lance looks ahead, then down at the pinging geiger counter, then back ahead. “Uhhh, okay, so… we found the Xanorians…”

Keith steps out from behind Lance to get a better look. Ahead of them, the trees open up, replaced by rows and rows of glass coffins erected as far as the eye can see. A shudder rockets down Keith’s spine.

“Apparently, it's this way,” Lance says with a grimace, leading them forward into the graveyard.

The Xanorian corpses all around them are humanoid, each with dark hair and pale skin. They all look the same. Exactly the same. This place, it's almost like…

Keith pauses, gags.

Lance puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Seriously, man. We can take a break,” he says. “The ygdranite can wait a few doboshes.”

“I just want to get out of here,” Keith says, past the point of trying to put up a front. Lance might not know exactly why this place is so horrifying—Keith hasn’t told anyone about the clone facility beyond its existence—but he’s well aware Keith has been on edge since they set foot on the soil.

“Fair enough,” Lance says. “Just let me know if you need to stop.”

They walk past row after row until a towering stone statue comes into view, a scaled up version of the bodies in the coffins. The geiger counter leads them right to the base of the statue.

“Coran said the stuff would be pink, right?” Lance asks.

“Yeah.” Keith’s head spins as he looks around them. The only pink around is a magenta stone embedded in the crown atop the statue’s head, glittering from the centre spoke.

“So I guess we’re, like, grave robbers now?” Lance says.

“Not like they’re getting much use out of it,” Keith says.

“True.” Lance looks up and down the statue. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling up to pulling your super ninja moves to go get that crown.”

Keith frowns. “My what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance says. “I got this.”

Keith takes a seat and rests his back against the base of the colossal statue while Lance circles around, muttering to himself as he surveys it from different angles. Keith’s teeth chatter. He’s freezing. He hugs his knees in against his chest in a feeble attempt to warm himself, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't fall asleep, but he must get halfway there because he startles out of something when Lance calls his name. His eyes snap open, and the sight of the rows of glass coffins hits him all over again. He struggles to fight back a wave of nausea.

“We’re good to go,” Lance says, waving the glittering, baseball sized gemstone in his face. He frowns as he takes a closer look at Keith. “You really don’t look good, man. We can see if someone can come get us. They might be able to land a bit closer than we did.”

Keith shakes his head. “They have other things to focus on. I’ll be fine.”

Lance purses his lips. “If you’re sure. Just let me know if you need to stop to rest.”

He helps Keith to his feet, and they head back the way they came, back through the rows of preserved corpses.

Lance prattles on about something or another—probably recounting how he managed to obtain the gemstone—but Keith’s too exhausted and distracted by their surroundings to actually focus on what he’s saying.

It’s slow going, and by the time they’re back in the thick of the jungle, Keith is barely standing. Lance ducks under Keith's arm to bear some of his weight. It helps, but only for so long.

“Lance,” Keith slurs, vision blurring past the point of recognition. “Think I… need a break…”

Lance starts to say something in return, but Keith passes out before he can make sense of the words.

...

“Hello, Keith.”

Glass pods flicker and light up all around him. They cradle cold bodies, all wearing Shiro’s face. Unscarred, dark-haired, two-armed. They’re younger, softer than the Shiro standing before him, the one awaiting Keith’s arrival with a predatory gleam in violet-infested eyes.

Keith’s heart hammers in his chest; he’s been afraid of this moment for two years. Still, he tries to keep his voice steady. “Shiro, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Yes. I know.” Shiro’s voice is wrong, all wrong, sucked dry of any semblance of warmth or kindness.

“We just have to get back to the Castle.”

“We. Are not going. Anywhere !” Shiro snarls, charging forward. Keith barely has time to throw his shield up before he’s slammed into the wall, air knocked from his lungs.

Shiro doesn’t let up. There’s no holding back; he's aiming to kill. His attacks are relentless, lethal strikes that leave rubble in the wake of his fist.

Keith tries to get away, but Shiro comes after him. His Galra arm shifts and forms a pink plasma blade, extending his range. There’s no escaping. Keith has no choice but to fight back.

“I’m not leaving here without you,” Keith vows.

Shiro’s lips twist into something vicious. “Actually,” he says, “neither of us are leaving.”

Something overhead activates, and violet lights turn fuchsia. Shiro falls to his knees, crying out in pain as his Galra arm comes alive. It tears its way up his arm, metal and cracks of pink light devouring the flesh of his shoulder. The new monstrosity forms a laser cannon that obliterates everything in its range, breaking the facility to pieces. Massive chunks of the structure fall around them.

“Keith?” A panicked voice comes from somewhere behind him—Shiro’s voice, muffled by glass. “Keith!” an identical voice says, this time on his left. “Keith, please!” Another joins on his right. “Keith!” And another, and another. Hundreds of voices all around him converge in a desperate chorus.

Keith takes his eyes off the fight for a half-second to glance at one of the pods. The Shiro inside has his hands pressed to the glass, eyes wide. He’s alive, and terrified.

“Keith, please, help!”

A laser blast fires, and on instinct, Keith dives out of the way. The blast hits the pods he was standing in front of instead. The clones inside scream as they’re incinerated.

“No!” Keith cries out. “Please, stop this,” he begs, but his words have no effect. Shiro raises his arm again.

Another blast. More screams. The Shiros around him are crying, pleading, they don’t want to die, but there’s nothing Keith can do. He can’t protect them.

“Keith! Keith!”

Keith just barely manages to avoid the blasts head on. Shiros are killed, left, right, and centre, in his stead. Some are hit directly, some crash to the planet below as the structures supporting them are destroyed. Eventually, every single pod is decimated. “I’m sorry,” Keith gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

Shiro switches weapons, drawing his plasma blade once again. He circles in and lunges. Keith can barely move, but a burst of adrenaline at the very last second gives him enough strength to reach for his blade and parry.

“Shiro, please,” Keith begs. He’s in there. He has to be. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, and he falters for a fraction of a second, but it’s not enough. He pushes down harder, and Keith’s vision goes white as the plasma blade sears his cheek. The scent of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and the pain only gets worse. The blade’s about to melt straight through his face.

It’s hard to focus—everything hurts so much— but he manages to summon the black bayard, forging a sword strong enough to cut through even the strongest of metals. Keith takes a desperate swing. It slices through metal—

—and flesh, and bone. Shiro lets out an agonized scream as blood gushes from where Keith has severed his arm. More pours out from between his ribs, where the sword’s trajectory continued deep into his side.

“Shiro!” Keith scrambles to his knees and presses his hands to Shiro’s gaping wounds in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. That—that wasn’t supposed to—

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, resting his remaining hand over Keith’s. “You know that won’t do anything. You’ve already killed me.”

“No, just—just hold on—”

Shiro smiles. It’s a touch bitter, mostly sad. “I thought you loved me. But I guess when it comes down to it, you always put yourself first.”

“No, no, Shiro, I— ”

“How many times are you going to let me die?” Shiro asks.

“I-I’ll get you out of here somehow. I’ll find a way to save you, I just—”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

“No, I can’t— Please, don’t leave me—”

The floor gives way. Keith reaches for Shiro, but his blood-slick hand slips out of his grasp.

“No!”

Shiro plummets toward the planet below. Keith dives after him, but he can’t catch up. Everything goes white as they enter the atmosphere and burn, and burn, and burn…

...

Keith wakes with a strangled cry. He’s choking on air—too much, not enough.

He can’t—can’t breathe. He doesn’t know if he’s just gasping for air or full out sobbing, but the animal sounds tearing their way from his throat refuse to be suppressed.

His skin is on fire; he’s being burned alive. The scar running from his jaw toward his eye throbs with remembered pain, and he claws at the wound with desperate, shaking hands.

Something in the distance calls him—no, some one . A familiar voice guides him back with strings of soft words: Shh, Keith. You’re okay, you’re okay.

Gentle hands pry his fingers away from his face— let’s not make that worse —then slide beneath his shoulder blades to pull him up to sit. Dizziness rushes him, but the hands don’t let him fall. One hand holds his upper arm at the junction where pauldron meets rerebrace; the other snakes around his shoulders.

They stay there, just like that, until Keith comes down from his panic enough to form words. “L-Lance?” he rasps, between ragged breaths.

“Hey,” Lance says, tone gentle.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps. “Shiro, he’s… I-I couldn’t…”

“Shiro’s fine,” Lance soothes. “You were having a fever dream, but you’re awake now. Everything’s okay.”

“Just a… just a dream,” Keith says, shakily.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “Is your face okay? You were...” He makes a vague scratching gesture at his own face. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s—it’s fine now,” Keith whispers. “It just comes back sometimes when I… have dreams about…” He shudders, wrapping his arms around himself. Tears lick his cheeks, his scar.

Lance holds him tighter. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here to listen.”

“...Thanks,” Keith utters, voice hoarse.

When it becomes apparent Keith doesn’t have anything further to say—he appreciates the offer, but reliving it is the last thing he wants to do right now—Lance asks, “Hey, do you… want to talk to Shiro?”

Just his name sends a surge of fear through Keith’s veins, but that wasn’t real. It was just a dream. Keith shakes his head. “I-I’m fine.”

Lance’s face is a gentle mix of disbelief and pity before he rearranges it into a smile. “Maybe. But it might be nice to check in with him anyway, yeah?”

Keith grits his teeth. He can’t bother Shiro, not with this . Shiro’s busy, and Keith’s not a little kid anymore. “It was just a… just a dream.” A dream rooted in a very real memory, one branded into his cheek. A memory of a fight that could have ended very differently.

A surge of nausea hits Keith hard. He pushes Lance’s arm away from his shoulders as he leans over and retches.

Lance holds Keith steady as he vomits. The act leaves Keith panting for breath and shaking all over again, but Lance doesn’t let him collapse. He helps Keith back to a seated position, letting him lean against him, and runs a steady hand over his back.

It’s unusual, having someone here with Keith like this, comforting him when he feels downright awful. There’s only one person who had ever done anything like this for him before, back when he’d gotten sick at the Garrison. “Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“I’m gonna call him,” Lance says.

Keith snaps his head up. “N-no, don’t. He has more important things to worry about.”

“More important than you? I don’t think so,” Lance says.

“I—I’m fine. I’m fine .”

Lance tries a different tack. “I’ll just call to let him know where we’re at, alright? Update him on the mission.”

“...Okay,” Keith relents.

Lance flashes him a smile and opens up his wrist console. Soon enough, Shiro’s face appears on the screen. “Lance? What’s going on?”

There’s no trace of malice or pain or despair in Shiro’s voice. There’s no purple in his warm, grey eyes, no Galra arm crawling up his shoulder. He’s alive. Breathing. He’s okay, just like Lance had promised.

Keith lets out a choked sob in relief.

Shiro’s brows furrow in concern. “Keith?” Shiro’s eyes widen as Lance tilts his wrist to fit Keith in the frame. “Keith! What’s wrong?”

“You’re… you’re safe,” Keith breathes, forgetting to answer. Shiro’s safe, in both senses of the word. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Keith’s sick,” Lance explains. “He’s got a pretty high fever.”

“Keith, I...” Shiro pauses to shift the concern in his face to something gentler. “Yeah, I’m safe. You always make sure of that.”

“We got the ygdra-whatever,” Lance says, holding up the pink stone for Shiro to see. “Is anyone available to come get us?”

“I’m on my way,” Shiro says.

Keith shakes his head. “No, I’m—I’m okay. You don’t have to.”

“But I can, and I want to,” Shiro says, calmly.

“But…”

Lance turns to Keith. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” Keith says, quietly. Shiro’s gone out of his way to help him more than anyone should ever have to.

“You will never be a burden, Keith,” Shiro says, with enough conviction it’s impossible not to believe him. The way he says it is so typical of him, so Shiro , that it makes Keith’s heart swell with relief all over again. “Hang in there. I’ll be there soon, alright?”

“Thanks, Shiro,” Lance says. “See you in a bit.”

The video screen closes. Lance gives Keith a gentle nudge and a soft smile. “See? Shiro’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, quietly. He’s no less sick, but he does feel better. He presses his cheek to Lance’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lance.”

“Just rest up,” Lance says, bringing his head to rest against Keith’s crown. “I got you.”

“I know,” Keith murmurs, and lets himself fall back asleep.

[This fic was originally written for @vldwhumpzine! The zine features some brilliant artists and writers, and there are a few extras for sale! Check out their page for more details.]

ETA: Check out @zharpzhooter‘s GORGEOUS art that accompanies this fic!! It’s incredible! I’m so glad we got to work together for this zine! :)

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vldwhumpzine #platonic klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #hurt/comfort #sickfic #nightmare #whump #fic #littlewhitetie writes

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the-digimon-tamer · 5 years

Photo

Chapter 36 - It Followed Us is out now on FanFiction.Net and ArchiveOfOurOwn! Check them out with the links or find it after the break!

Title: The Tamer v2.0 - In HIs Name

Fandom: Digimon

Rating: T

Synopsis: In the next adventure of the Digimon Tamer, the lives of Juri, Rika, and Henry change forever when digimon begin crossing over into the human world. But it’s all just a story, right? Just a book series by an author no one has seen in a long time. Why are they here and can they save their world before something worse follows the digimon?

All three groups - Digidestined, Monster Maker, and Hypnos - waited anxiously atop the Tokyo Metropolitan Building in anticipation of the Ark’s return. And every single one of them was worried about what would come through. A fully armed and equipped security team was on standby - in HAZMAT suits and geiger counters despite Izumi’s insistence that they weren’t necessary.

However, Yamaki didn’t want to chance it. He knew that these things brought radiation with them whenever they came through from their side of the Digital World. The last thing he wanted was to let these kids and their pets wander the city leaking more radiation than an X-Ray machine. He didn’t want to add sky rocketing cancer rates to the list of things his organization had to deal with.

At first there was nothing, just a long silence that made them all uneasy. With how much time they spent waiting, day turned to night and the city’s lights came to life.

Then a loud crack of thunder roared and a dazzling flash of light appeared in front of them as the sky seemed to rip open - letting through the ornate ship he had seen before. The Ark as it were called - or Grani - according to Curly. The ship appeared right on the helipad where it had before - floating perfectly still in the air for a moment too long until it turned around to reveal the open door on the back.

And inside were the kids they’d spent the afternoon trying to rescue: Henry, Xiaochun, Rika, Kazu, Kenta, Juri, and Takato - along with their digimon. Several digimon, actually. Digimon who were most definitely not with them when they left - a weird robot, a floating pink thing, the white bunny thing everyone was making a fuss about, another brown bunny thing and a small imp in the fox’s arms. Yamaki groaned at the realization that they’d actually brought back more of the creatures with them.

It should have been a happy moment. It could have been a happy moment, until Takato hopped out and was greeted by several of the security personnel with their weapons drawn. He threw up his hands immediately and whimpered, “I come in peace! I promise. Please put the guns down! No? Why does everyone feel the need to threaten me with a weapon today?”

“Are you seriously asking that question right now?” another boy asked as he stepped out of the ship Yamaki definitely didn’t recognize him. He expected a lot of things from them while they were in the Digital World. He didn’t expect them to bring back another human, although he probably should’ve at this point.

Once he noticed the others getting jumpy at the guns, Yamaki called out to get their attention and explained, “It’s a standard procedure. They’re not going to hurt you. Just let them make sure you’re safe and not leaking high levels of who knows what kind of radiation into the air.”

The men with the geiger counters approached, holding their devices up to the kids as Henry added, “I was feeling pretty safe until just now. What are they doing anyway? What kind of radiation do you think we have?”

“We don’t really know. Crossing the boundaries between worlds isn’t exactly a clean business. We need to make sure you’re not going to poison anyone around you and give them cancer. Hell, the last thing we need is you getting someone sick with an alien disease. Or some kind of slow acting poison.”

“Poison? Why would we do that?” little Xiaochun asked innocently enough. When one of the HAZMAT crew approached her, she shied away behind her older brother, “You’re scary.”

“Are all humans in this world like this? They’re all quite rude apparently,” the brown bunny stated with a frown. The floating pink thing added, “I don’t know, they seem alright to me. They just seem nervous. Maybe they need hugs!”

“Don’t! They might think you’re going to attack!” Kenta gasped.

“It’ll be alright, kids,” Zhenyu called out to them, trying to give some measure of comfort to his kids. After everyone was scanned, one of the HAZMAT crew called out, “We’re clear - radiation is at normal levels.”

“Finally!” the strange boy declared, pushing his way past the guards towards the nearest exit, “Well, it’s been fun but I’m heading home. I’m several years late on my curfew and I miss my parents.”

“Hold it,” Yamaki moved in front of the boy to keep him from escaping, “You weren’t part of the group when the kids went to the Digital World. Who are you?”

The boy groaned, “Oh you’re going to love this. Have a seat. We’re going to be here a while.”

…

As soon as the all clear was given, the Izumis wasted no time hurrying over to their daughter to hug her. And the poor girl was quickly overwhelmed, trying to push the two grown adults away in annoyance, “Mom! Dad! Get off!”

“And for a moment I thought you looked almost adorable Ruki,” Renamon mused from behind her with delight. Rika rolled her eyes, but smiled in appreciation of her parents. There hadn’t really been a family moment like that in a while. Hell, they hadn’t been together like this in some time - or rather for a few weeks. And it was good to see them getting along. And of Henry and his sister were having their moment with his parents. Kazu seemed to be trying to put up a brave face about the whole thing, with Kenta following his lead. After all, neither of them had told their respective families so there was no reason for them to know. Hell, they were probably worried sick about him. However, Guardromon spoiled the whole thing by pointing out a malfunction in his lacrimal gland - something Kazu didn’t understand, “My what?”

“It means you’re crying,” Miss Kamiya explained, crossing her arms, “Still, we’re glad to see you’re alright.”

“No biggie! So how long were we gone for?” Kazu answered smugly.

“A couple of hours,” Miss Kamiya answered, making his jaw fall to the floor, “Hours? It was weeks for us!”

“Time moves differently between worlds,” she responded.

Then there was the last set of parents: the Matsudas. And they seemed almost disappointed to see only one Takato there. Or rather Tamerkato. She knew where this was going and didn’t want to watch, looking away towards her parents. But both pf her parents seemed aware of what was going on. Her dad frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even know the guy,” she answered sheepishly. That was right, she didn’t know him. So why did it hurt to think about it?

Rika’s eyes went downward band she tried to pretend what was about to happen wasn’t. But it wasn’t just the Takato situation she didn’t want to think about. There was so much to talk the about - the danger in the Digital World, the fact that they may have to go back to prevent it from destroying the Digital and reaching this world, amid all the other things that happened. For now though, all she wanted was to be with her parents. Although she wasn’t about to admit that. Then she remembered Ryo and Juri’s situation.

Ryo just wanted to go home after what had been twenty years of travel in the Digital World. Meanwhile, Juri had to watch her partner die in front of her. Tamerkato shared some responsibility for both. And now he had to answer for the real Takato - to the real Takato’s parents after promising to bring him back. She really didn’t envy him right now.

However, it seemed he didn’t want to answer for it either - instead opting to talk to Yamaki, “Let him go home. He’s had twenty years. Let him see his parents.”

“That’s all the more reason for us to hold him,” Yamaki countered, “Who knows what kind of diseases he’s brought back with him!? He could be sick and we wouldn’t know! We can’t be too careful.”

Tamerkato glanced once at Ryo, “I think he looks fine.”

Yamaki groaned, “I’m going to take the word of a medical professional over you.”

Tamerkato sighed and held up his digivice, “Where do you live?”

“Odaiba,” Ryo answered grimly, staring at him with increasing impatience. Tamerkato nodded, pressing a few buttons on his digivice, “You’ve got maybe a ten minute head start. Move quickly and try not to be seen. And see if you can keep him quiet. Understand?”

Ryo nodded quietly. Monodramon wasn't following and blurted out, “Hey! Why should I be quiet!?”

Yamaki looked between the two boys and asked, “What are you two planning?”

“This,” Takato answered with the biggest grin on his face before pointing his digivice at Ryo, “Good luck. Digiport open!”

Yamaki realized one second too late what was going on and tried to grab a hold of Ryo and Monodramon just before he vanished in a brilliant but dazzling display of light. Ryo was gone, possibly back to his won, world leaving Yamaki to stare at Tamerkato in anger, “What the hell did you do!?”

“I sent him back to his family,” Tamerkato flicked the man’s nose and looked over at the Matsudas. Yamaki grabbed a hold of him and raised him up in anger, “What do you mean you sent him back to his family!?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I was pretty clear,” Tamerkato remarked. Yamaki cursed under his breath and turned to one of his agents, “Get a team to Odaiba now and track that Ryo kid down now. Riley, start looking this kid up - missing child named Ryo. Find his address, family, everything. Tally, get a HAZMAT team ready to intercept him!”

“Sir!” the team of agents said as they disappeared back into the building to carry out their orders. Takato turned to the Matsudas now and his smile disappeared as he made his way over to them. Rika could only imagine what was going through his head. Tamerkato would have to tell their parents the truth about their son. And she didn’t want to imagine how they were going to take that news. Her dad tried to move her so that she wouldn’t see, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so, “Ruki, you don’t have to deal with-”

“I know,” she heard herself say.

“Honey, shut up,” her mom squeezed his shoulder to silence him. If he didn’t understand the message then, he certainly did when a loud slap rang out. Rika closed her eyes, took a deep breath and finally looked back at the Matsudas to see Tamerkato on the ground with a red mark on his cheek. What she thought was a slap was actually a fist from Mister Matsuda, he was only held back from giving another one by his wife. Tamerkato’s expression was empty - not sad or hurt. Just empty. Guilmon, on the other hand, was in front of him and growling at Mister Matsuda for laying a hand on him. Tamerkato however, didn’t even try to look at them. He didn’t smile his stupid smile or frown or anything. He rubbed the sore spot on his cheek and looked away, “I’m sorry.”

“You better be!” Mister Matsuda snapped angrily. Tamerkato still didn’t look at him, quietly wrapping his hands around his digivice before murmuring, “Digiport Open!”

There was a bright flash and he was gone. Yamaki was mad now, stamping his foot on the roof, “Dammit, now we’re missing two of them.”

“Good riddance,” Mister Matsuda grumbled while his wife turned him around, “Honey! Don’t say that!”

“Our son is dead because of him!”

“We don’t know that!” she reasoned, “We don’t what happened over on the other side!”

“We know our son went missing and then he showed up shortly after!” Mister Matsuda practically screamed back, cooling when he saw his wife flinch back. He took a minute to breath deep before looking back towards her, “You, um...Rika? What happened over there!? What happened to our son?”

“Don’t involve our daughter in this,” her mom stepped in front of her, “She had nothing to do with whatever bullshit Tamer is pulling!”

“Mom!” Rika gasped in surprise at her mother’s sudden use of vulgar language. She didn’t even know her mother had it in her but there it was plain as day. Mister Matsuda pointed at her angrily and shouted, “Your daughter went with him to the Digital World. I want to know what he did. I want to know what you found out! What happened to Takato!?”

Rika cursed under her breath, unaware that Tamerkato would leave her to have to deal with explaining the truth to the Matsudas. She should’ve known this would happen. Still, she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him. And after the temper tantrum he threw in the Digital World, she was unsure of how much anger he’d be letting loose now. Which was another terrifying thought when she dwelled on it. What would she do if Megidramon suddenly let loose in the middle of Tokyo? It wasn’t like they had the ability to deal with that! They needed Azulongmon last time. And it wasn’t like they could just pull an all powerful dragon to the human world without scaring a whole lot of people.

”Hey!” Mister Matsuda snapped his fingers to get attention.

“Don’t talk to my daughter like that!” her dad snapped back.

“All of you calm down!” Miss Kamiya cried out at the top of her lungs, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. She threw her hands up in frustration, “In case you’ve all forgotten, we’ve got a situation on our hands. Rika, What thee hell happened in the Digital World and is everything alright?”

“That’s a long story and I don’t think there’s enough time in the day,” Rika finally managed to find her voice, “The good news is we’re back. The bad news is we may not be back for long.”

“What!? You have to go back!?” her mom gasped, covering her mouth in terror as her eyes widened in fear, “Well not without us you’re not!”

Rika didn’t want to be the one to break that news to them, and could only wonder what was going to happen to them now. Thankfully, Renamon was able to spare her having to answer the rest of the questions, “We know now why the Devas were after Calumon and why they were so intent on coming to this world. Our world, the Digital World, is in danger from an old threat. One that scares even the Digimon Tamer. Without us, the Digital World will certainly be destroyed. Then it’s only a matter of time before it comes to this world.”

“Why is it always the end of the world with this stuff!?” Davis complained angrily.

“Well, there’s one bit of good news. We found your partners and we know they’re safe,” Henry added hopefully. This earned the attention of everyone present, “You did!? Where are they!? Are they okay? How do we get to them!?”

“They’re alright and they miss you guys,” Henry answered happily, “They wanted to see you guys and come with us, but Takeru and Tamer said it wasn’t time. Without you guys there too digivolve then, they’d be more of a liability than a help.”

“TK!? He’s alive too?” Matt jumped up at the sound of his brother’s name, his shoulders slumping as all the tension left him.

“We should’ve known. Where else was he going to go?” Ken mused at the revelation. Despite the relatively good news they had to offer, Mister Matsuda cleared his throat again, “I hate to ruin this parade but what the hell about our son!? What happened to Takato!?”

The mood soured again. Rika glanced towards Juri, “We don’t really know. The only one who would know is Juri since she’s the one who found out first. Tamer wouldn't repeat what he told her and Juri’s...not been great ever since-”

She paused again, realizing that she might have just brought up a very painful memory for Juri. However, the girl hardly seemed to notice anything was said at all. In fact, she just stood there staring ever since they first returned from the Digital World. The poor girl must’ve been shellshocked - traumatized first from finding out that Takato was dead and again from witnessing Leomon die. She didn’t know what to say to her and could only place a hand and on her shoulder, “Hey, it’ll be alright.”

“You poor girl, I’m so sorry,” her mother said, going to hug the poor girl. Juri didn’t react, continuing to stare off into space. It was unnerving. Rika has to look away because of how terrifying she looked like this. As she scanned the other adults, she realized something, “Hey, where’re her parents?”

“They didn’t come, remember?” Doctor Kido remarked, making his way to the girl and resting a hand on her head, “It’s a shame. It seems like she could use her family right about now.”

It was obvious that Mister Matsuda was still steaming though and was about to snap when Doctor Kido apologetically told him, “She’s in no condition to talk to anyone right now. We can ask her tomorrow. For now, she should be with her family.”

“Her? What about my family!? What happened to my son!?” Mister Matsuda roared with increasing anger. Doctor Kido crossed his arms and stepped up to him, “You need to relax. I understand you’re upset but would knowing actually make you feel any better or would it just make you angrier? I think what you should do is take a deep breath and take a walk to clear your head.”

Mister Matsuda paused for a second, his wife still trying to hold him back before he let loose in a flurry of anger. That moment of lucidity appeared to finally calm him down, until he lashed out in anger at the doctor by striking him across the face. It seemed that moment of lucidity didn’t last as long as it needed to. Doctor Kido fell backwards onto the roof while Mister Matsuda massaged his hand, “When you lose your only child, then you can talk to me about calming down.”

He turned to leave, kicking everything he could find in a fit of anger. His wife trailed behind for a second, hesitating to follow him - perhaps even unsure of what she should do next. After all, did it matter? She’d just been told her only son was dead and not coming back. And who wanted to hear that news? Rika looked to the digidestined present - wondering if any of them would have anything to say about it. Between the eleven of them - they’d lost parents, siblings, but never kids. Even if any of them could relate, she doubted either Matsuda would appreciate the sympathy.

“I think it’d be best if we all head home tonight and cleared our heads,” Henry’s dad finally said, “The kids had a long trip and I’m sure they all want to go home and have a good night’s rest for the first time in a long time.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Kazu agreed, putting his hands behind his head. Yamaki waved to get their attention, “I can arrange for transport to get you kids and your digimon home discreetly.”

“What about-” Kenta whispered quietly, gesturing at Juri who continue to just stare off into space. Calumon whimpered, “It’s not Juri. It’s not. Please, something’s happened to her!”

“Calm down, Calumon,” Kazu said with a scolding voice. Unfortunately that tone seemed to be it for Calumon who ran for the edge of the roof, “No. I don’t like it. She’s scaring me!”

Henry and Xiaochun tried to chase him to the edge but their dad stopped them before they could get close. Several of the guards tried to secure him but he was too small and fast for them to catch. Before anyone could stop it, Calumon’s ears grew in size and he used them like wings to glide away off the edge of the roof.

Everyone cursed the luck of Calumon getting away like that but nothing could be done about it. Kenta groaned, “Man, and we went through all that trouble just to get him.”

“Never mind. It’s not like the Devas are coming to take him again. As long as he’s here, he’s safe,” Renamon assured him, “Besides, we have other things to worry about.”

She gestured to Juri; Rika’s mom has pulled away from the hug and was trying to talk to her but she didn’t seem to respond to anything.

Yamaki adjusted his shades, “We can have an agent escort her home. It’d probably be for the best.”

“I can do it,” Kari volunteered with a raised hand, going over to her student. Yamaki nodded, “Alright. We can figure out the rest of this tomorrow. It’s been a long day.”

Rika was glad that at least her teacher was willing to be with her. She was ready to leave when she noticed Renamon hanging back, “What’s wrong, Renamon?”

Her partner gestured at the small imp laying unconscious in her arms, “What about Impmon?”

“What about him?” Kazu answered coldly. Rika understood where her partner was going with this - they couldn’t just leave him here to the Hypnos Program. Especially with what those guys did to digimon. On the other hand, helping him was a tough sell after what he did to Leomon. After what he did to the rest of them. Then again, whatever Tamerkato did to him was definitely punishment enough. The poor guy had been screaming forever, before he was knocked unconscious.

She took a moment to consider but couldn’t reach a decision. Her partner put her faith in her that she would help save the Digital World. Why not return the favor? She sighed, “Do whatever you think is right.”

“Thank you,” Renamon nodded her head and adjusted the little digimon in her arms so that she was cradling him like an infant, “I’ll meet you back in your house. Good night.”

She vanished after that. Yamaki sighed as he massaged his head, “Great, more digimon getting loose in the city. Why am I still surprised at this point? This’ll be a fun report to the Minister.”

…

Kari tried to think of what to say to her student - a poor girl who had been through as much trauma in the Digital World as she had in her time as a digidestined. Between Myotismon’s attack, her brother’s disappearance, the Dark Masters, and everything else - her brother may come in and out of her life...but she’d never lost a partner like that. Hell, she didn’t even know what she’d do if Gatomon were to die and not come back. Although she had worried about her partner for the longest time. She at least knew her partner was safe.

But Juri?

All she could do was hold the girl’s hand as she walked her home. They reached the train station and bought some tickets for the two of them, the whole time trying to think of what to say her. The fact that she didn’t talk at all wasn’t helping. She’d bought her a soda and some crackers so she could at least have a snack but the girl didn’t even seem to notice. But she hardly registered that she was holding either the drink or the packet of crackers. It was just silent staring off into space, barely reacting or acknowledging the world around her.

It didn’t get any better when they got on the train and she sat silently, staring straight ahead without saying a word with the crackers and drink in hand. Kari made sure to take a car that no one else was using in the hopes that she’d feel more comfortable with privacy. But it didn’t seem to matter. In fact, she barely even moved when the train lurched forward. It was like she was a doll - a mannequin in the shape of Juri. Kari did the only thing she could think of, “I’m sorry about what happened in the Digital World, Juri. I wish you didn’t have to go through that.”

No response.

“I understand that you’re hurt. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about it. I’m not just your homeroom teacher, y’know. I’m also one of you. A digidestined,” Kari offered. Still no response. This wasn’t going to work. She needed to change her approach. But what else could she do? She couldn’t force Juri to talk to her. All she could do was try to be there for her, be someone that Juri could feel at ease with.

“Nutritional Facts. Serving Size: One Can. One Hundred Forty Calories per serving. Zero percent daily value of total fat. Two percent daily value of sodium. Roughly forty-five milligrams. Fourteen percent daily value of Total carbohydrates. Roughly thirty-nine grams. Seventy eight percent daily value of sugars. Zero percent daily value of proteins. Not a significant source of saturated fat, transfat, cholesterol, fiber, vitamin D, calcium, iron, and potassium. Ingredients. Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, caramel color, phosphoric acid, natural flavors, caffeine.”

“Juri?” Kari blinked as her student continued to read the side of the can of soda she’d been given. It seemed her whole world had become reading the side of the soda can. And once she finished, she started reading the side bag of crackers. Kari snapped her fingers to get her attention, but Juri was laser focused on her reading more than anything. Maybe this was a coping mechanism? She knew her student would use a sock puppet to communicate with others if she felt overwhelmed and had something she had a hard time saying. But this, this was something else entirely. It was madness.

Then the lights of the train started to flicker - flashing on and off. She was beginning to rethink her concerns about being alone in an empty car and grabbed a hold of her student defensively, “Hang on.”

The lights flickered repeated until finally stopping, shrouding the car in darkness. This had to be a trap. A portal to the Digital World? A digimon appearing? It had to be something. Then there was a bright flash of light that briefly blinded them. When she could open her eyes again, the lights were back on and Tamer was lying on the ground, “Damn. I hate trying to land on moving targets. Are you okay Guilmon?”

“I’m fine. My head feels heavy,” the red dinosaur said from the ground beside him, upside down in his seat. Tamer helped the poor dinosaur and adjusted himself, “That’s because you were upside down. That happens when I try to land on a moving target since it’s hard to match the momentum when I have to consider the rotation of the universe around us. Earth is spinning at hundreds of miles an hour, rotating around another star going thousands of miles an hour, while also falling through...never mind.”

“Is that a food?” Guilmon asked.

“TAMER!” Kari gasped in surprise, quietly moving Juri behind her. In Juri’s current state, she was sure he was the last person she wanted to talk to. Tamer adjusted himself, massaging his head, “Hi Kari.”

“Where’d you go?” seemed like the wrong question to ask. There were a hundred questions running through her head. And none of them sounded appropriate. Takato or Tamer or Tamerkato or whatever he was going by now shook his head, “I figured that everyone would want nothing more than me to not be there. All the punches I’ve been getting lately got that message across.”

“Punches? Tamer...I mean...no, what are you doing here?” Kari finally managed to get out. Once he finished straightening himself out, he approached the two of them and separated them, “Here to talk. Not to you, Kari. But we can talk later if you’d like. I’m here to talk to you. Where’s Juri?”

He was pointing at Juri. Kari was beginning to think he’d finally lost it. No, when did he ever have it? This was insane. He said again, “Look, I know you’re not Juri. It’s not just the behavior, which is completely off. And the dead eyes stare is wrong too. The smells not doing you any favors either. No, what gave it away was the sock puppet. Juri always uses the sock puppet when she has a hard time saying what’s on her mind. She’d be distressed over what’s been going on lately. But she hasn’t used her sock puppet once. So who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

“If you knew, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Juri replied, her eyes moving up and down over Tamer curiously. The way the two of them were looking at each other, she was certain they were going to start throwing fists. However, Tamer indulged her, “I was waiting to see what you would do. You’re in our world now. What do you want?”

“Information. The nemesis is strong in power. A tactical withdrawal was necessary. There were complications, unexpected hurdles. The tactical withdrawal has turned into an advance. A two front sat,” Juri replied monotonously, “New subjects were encountered. At this time, there is insufficient information to properly process them. More information is needed. This world may contain the key to victory.”

“Victory against what?”

“The nemesis.”

“We’re getting off topic. Where’s Juri?” Tamer demanded angrily. Juri cocker her head to the side and smiled wickedly, “The subject designated Juri is here. Surrendering control of the face.”

Juri’s face twisted from one of passive indifference to pure terror as she shrieked, “AH! WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHERE AM I!? WHY CAN’T I MOVE? TAKATO!? HELP ME! FOR THE LOVE OF-”

Her face switched back to a passively indifferent expression and her voice became monotonous, “-control of the face reacquired.”

Tamer froze, “You’re in her body.”

Something like a smile twisted on to her face: a big wide toothy grin spread wider than it should be, “Of course. She invited it. She allowed it.”

“Invited it? She’s a ten year old girl who was emotionally devastated from the death of her partner! She wasn’t in a mental state to allow anything!” Tamer snapped.

“She wanted it,” Juri answered cheerily. Something about that shook her and she growled, “What the hell!? What have you done to my student.”

“Relieved her of her suffering. Of her guilt. Of her anger and her frustration,” Juri replied. Whatever was inside Juri, was controlling her body, said it with such sickening glee that Kari wanted nothing more than to hurt it. But how? She wasn’t even sure how it was inside her body. And hurting this thing would just hurt Juri.

“Who are you?” Tamer demanded angrily. The thing that was inside Juri looked at her with an even bigger smile, “I’ve been given many designations over the time of my existence. Destroyer. Devourer. Death. The Beast. However, these designations are just words use to ascribed to some meaning to my existence in an ill conceived attempt by lesser beings to comprehend me.”

“Big words and a lot of talk, but not a lot of answers,” Tamer tapped his foot impatiently, “Who. Are. You?”

It cackled, “I am your reckoning. My existence is to purge the dangerous. The powerful. To balance the scale and give the smaller life forms a fighting chance. Until they grow too strong. The scales must be balanced. The world must understand its natural order. All life will die. All endings lead to new beginnings. I am the-”

“Bored now,” Tamer interrupted. Juri’s twisted smile disappeared and turned to one of twisted anger, “Your callous disregard for the common etiquette and shift in attitude indicates a level of cockiness or confidence not shared by your peers. Your confidence could be due to an immeasurable level of stupidity because you don’t quite grasp the situation you’re in. But we both know that’s wrong. So it must come from a level of confidence in your own ability of strength to feel unthreatened by me. And I can assure you that you should be very afraid - because my purpose is to destroy people like you.”

“You’re the computer program the others made to manage the Digital World,” Tamer concluded. Kari looked from Juri to Tamer, unsure what was going to happen next. But this was not a safe place to be. This train and everyone on it was in great danger. Juri’s creepy smile returned, “The Digital World fears me. This world will fear me too!”

“But that’s not possible. You’re a data life form! A data life form can’t just merge with organic life form. That’s...that’s not possible,” he stammered in disbelief. Juri cocker her head to the side, “It is possible. It’s happened before. It can happen again.”

“Bioemerging,” Tamer gasped, “You biomerged. You tried to anyway but you...oh...no...”

“The scales must be balanced. You are a clear and present danger to those around you,” Juri said, reaching out towards Tamer with her hands. Tamer’s eyes widen in terror at that statement and he stepped back towards Kari, “Hang on to me. Digiport Open!”

He held his digivice up in the air. Kari latched onto him as there was another bright flash of light. She closed her eyes, familiar with the sensation of falling until it went away and was replaced with the cold chill of the night air. She opened her eyes and found herself on top of a building beside Tamer and Guilmon. He dusted himself off and apologized, “Are you alright Kari?”

“I’m fine. What the hell was that?” she said, trying to gain her bearings. They were on a rooftop now, somewhere in the city. On closer inspection, they were not too far from where they’d gotten on the train. They were in Shinjuku, not too far from the Metropolitan Building. Tamer readjusted his clothes, “A bad situation. A very bad problem. The thing terrorizing the Digital World, that made the Sovereigns and the Devas freak out, that started this whole thing...it’s here. In Tokyo. And I think I’m the reason it got loose in this world.”

“What do you mean?” Kari’s voice shook, quavering with an anger for Tamer she didn’t know she’d had before. He held up his hand to calm her down and tried to massage her head, “Sorry, I need a moment to think.”

Kari was about to snap. She considered her words carefully before speaking, making sure to watch her tone so that she didn’t explode on him, “Tamer, I’ve been nothing but patient and giving you moments. Ever since you first showed up in my apartment when I was a kid. Ever since your disappeared out of my life. Three times. Talk to me! Keep me in the loop! What is going on!? What the hell was that and why is it here?”

Tamer massaged his temples, “I noticed something was wrong with Juri after Leomon died but didn’t want to cause more problems so I didn’t say anything. And I needed to be sure that whatever was pretending to be her wasn’t a threat. But I definitely screwed that up and now there’s a crazy monster that kills everything it sees and eats everything it kills running around Tokyo in the shape of a ten year old girl. And I...oh shit.”

He stopped and stared off into space without saying a word. He fell quiet and Kari felt her frustration bubbling. She cursed, “Oh shit? Tamer, tell me you’ve got some kind of a plan. Tell me you know how to beat this. Tell me it’s all under control.”

No response. She was getting really tired of that. She snapped, “TAMER!?”

Tamer turned her head with his hand to see what he was seeing. And she knew why he’d fallen silent. She wasn’t sure what to do. There was a great big red gelatinous mass in the center of the city that hadn’t been there before. In fact, now that she thought about it, that was right where the train had been a moment ago. That was where their train was a second ago. It was a lot to process how much danger they were in, “Oh shit.”

#The Tamer v2 In His Name #Digimon Tamers #Fanfiction #archive of our own #Chapter 36

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starlightwrites · 6 years

Note

Okay what about 47 and 73 for that prompt mashup?

Hi @becausestories! Sorry it took me a bit to finish this!

For the Fanfiction Trope Mash-up!

Not A Date

It was a perfectday—sun shining, cool breezes rolling lazily through the parks, and the sky wasa perfect, spotless blue, so bright it almost didn’t look real. The whole nineyards, like something out of a postcard. They were walking side-by-side throughthe wastes, on their way to check out a territory east of Fizztop when thethought struck her and forced a laugh.

They were on adate.

Not aparticularly good date, but they were hitting the benchmarks, so far as shecould tell.

(Continued after the cut!)

Sunny skies?Check.

Quiet stroll?Check.

Picnic lunch?Check, if cram and tinned apples counted.

All she neededwas a dress and some pearls and they could have been headed for the town parkto sit side-by-side in front of a duck pond. Just laughing away, sitting on thecommunity green amidst moms and their strollers, kids and their soccer balls,old men feeding geese. Gage on a proper date. Ha.

She snorted and theman in question glanced over out the corner of his eye. If he knew what she wasthinking, he’d snap at her that this wasn’t a date. Grumble something about allthe work they had to do or swear about the Disciples or something like that.His brow would furrow and his good eye would narrow. Gage didn’t seem to likeher goofy distractions, and he certainly wouldn’t tolerate that one.

So, of course,she had to needle him.

“You know,Gage,” she said. “I was reading this article in Live and Love about pre-war outings.”

“Yeah?”

“In particular,there was this one ritual where people would go out on nice days and eat mealstogether. They called it a date.”

If both eyescould have rolled, they’d have rolled right the hell out of his head. Adjustinghis pack on his shoulder and speeding up a bit, he groused “don’t you havebetter things to do?”

“Right now? Whilewe’re on a date?”

“We ain’t on adate.”

“I dunno, Gage.Seems a bit like we’re on a date.”

“We ain’t on adate, Princess.”

“Whatever yousay, dear.” She skipped up closer and looped her arm through his with a heartysmile. When he shrugged her off, she could have sworn she saw an answering grintug at the corner of his mouth.

She was halfwayto formulating a snappy response when the Geiger counter on her Pip clicked tolife. Gage stopped mid-step and glanced back. She pulled up the screen, butultimately, all she really needed to do was look straight up at the quilt ofthick dark clouds settling overhead so fast it was like night had fallen all atonce.

And just likethat, the perfect weather was gone.

Radstorms werestill new. She was getting used to most things, but something about the airturning green was just plain unnatural. The way the gusts were sharp, almostviolent, and she half-expected some upstart girl and her little dog to park afarmhouse on her head. As if she’d ever had a doubt she wasn’t in Kansasanymore.

A hand wrappedaround her arm and jerked her back down to earth and towards a hazy shape inthe gathering murk. It was one of those old rusted-red trucks that peoplebragged about using to move mattresses. The kind that always seemed to looklike it was on death’s door, even back before the apocalypse. With the radstormgearing up, however, it would have to do. She pried open the door and clamberedin as Gage thrust her forward. He practically crushed her when he followed and slammedthe door behind them. Crank window. It was hard not to giggle, watching himfrantically roll the window up to keep out the dust.

Gage collapsed,his armor propping him forward at a weird angle. Corinne shifted her ruck ontothe floor and adjusted herself on the bench seat.

“This isn’tgoing to do much, Boss.”

“It’s betterthan being out there.”

Cori glanced outthe windshield to where the wind pounded down on the ground, crashing into thedust like a wave breaking on the shore. At least all the windows in the oldtruck were still in one piece.

Gage shifted andthen finally tried to fight his chest piece off over his head. Problem was, hewas tall enough that his head was already brushing the roof of the car as itwas. Cori let him struggle for a second before he stopped and made eye-contact,glaring.

“A little help?”

“You seem to bedoing great on your own.”

“Corinne.”

His arms weretrapped in the metal cage he’d seen fit to wear over his ratty tank tops andthere was nothing funnier than watching her big scary bodyguard trapped withinthe confines of his own armor. Sure, she could unlatch it. But there wassomething deeply satisfying about “always-thinks-ahead” Gage having forgottenthat cars have roofs.

“Listen,” hegrumbled, probably realizing that she wasn’t in a hurry to assist. “Ifsomething comes along and has the same thought we did about hiding in thisfuckin’ thing, you’ll want me to be able to use my arms.”

She looked backout at the storm and decided that was fair. Her fingers worked at the metallatches on the side of his armor she could reach and, once his arms were free,he finished the job, dumped his armor onto the floor, and leaned back againstthe seat.

Well. They hadtime. Corinne unpacked the two cans of cram and a tin of apples and set them onthe dash so she could root around for forks.

“Fuckin’ radstorm.Hope it passes before I start puking.”

“With our luck,we’ll have to finish out our date in this car.”

If he could havejumped out of the truck without irradiating himself beyond saving, he wouldhave left her there. She laughed and curled up with her boots braced on eitherside of the steering wheel and a spoon in-hand. Close enough.

“Picnic lunch?”She offered the can his way after taking a scoop for herself. Cram wasninety-percent salt and one percent processed ham, but it was better thannothing. Gage made a face but accepted regardless.

“Still not adate, Boss.”

“I don’t knowabout that.” She reached over and took another bite, almost elbowing him in theprocess. “Seems pretty cozy.”

“You’ve got somelow standards, then.”

“Got me there.”

They finisheddinner and even picked at the apples, but the storm didn’t seem to be lettingup. Gage rolled his head back and cracked his knuckles.

“Think we’ll bestuck here till morning?”

It had beenmidday when they set out, but in her experience, Radstorms lasted anywhere froma few minutes to a few hours, and if it got dark…well. She wasn’t big on theidea of stumbling around at night if she could avoid it.

“Who knows?”

“You’re probablyright,” he sighed as he stretched out, hands behind his head.

Cori opened thedoor for a split second to dump the tins out so they weren’t just sitting inthe cabin. It was silly; not like she was hell-bent on keeping this busted oldtruck neat and tidy, but still, she’d rather not sleep on trash if she couldavoid it. Gage made a face but didn’t offer reproach.

“Well,” shesaid, locking the door firmly. “This will be one of the longest dates I’ve everbeen on.”

“Still not adate.”

“And overnight,too. What kind of woman must you think I am?”

“The kind with abig fuckin’ mouth.”

She curled herlegs up to her chest so she could swivel in the small space. Her knee hit thehorn and nearly startled both of them out of their skin, but she squirmed untilshe could lay down, feet propped up on the window and head on Gage’s lap. He adjusted,sitting up so straight she could have used his spine like a ruler. One hand bracedon the seat next to him and then jumped up like he’d just realized her hair waspoisonous and he shouldn’t be anywhere near it. But then, when he couldn’t setit back on his lap, he seemed at a loss. He scratched his chest thoughtfullyand then set his hand back on the seat, right back where he’d started. Shecould have turned her head and kissed his forearm, and oh boy, if this freaked him out, that would sendhim scrambling.

“Well. You’vedone it, Gage. You’ve bored your date to sleep.” Her eyes trained up on hisface, the sharp jut of his chin, the shadow of his stubble, the planes of hischest. All sharp edges—Gage was one-hundred-percent sharp edges, with some scruffthrown in for looks. She’d cuddled herself up against the sheer rock face of anindomitable cliff, and wasn’t it just like her to wrap up in arms that wouldn’thug back. Funny.

That thought wasbitter coffee on the back of her tongue, and it wasn’t even fair. She hadbetter things to be bitter about anyways, so she stuffed it down and grinned.

“Look at you. Sostiff! Well, stay up if you want, but I’m going to get some shut-eye. Wake meif you want to swap out for watch.”

Corinne rolledonto her side, her head still cushioned on his thigh. She was starting to driftwhen she felt a light tough, a hand brushing over the point of her elbow andlanding on her forearm, a warm weight against her skin. Overhead, Gage relaxedback into his seat. He squeezed her forearm and she felt him exhale, tautness inhis stomach easing.

Not a date. Nota bad way to spend the afternoon, either.

#asked and answered #Fallout 4 #Porter Gage #Porter Gage/Female Sole Survivor #Sole Survivor Cori Hart #Tropes Galore!#Thank you for asking; I really love this prompt!#<3 <3 <3 <3

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