#god damnit god damn it why is it always about GRIEF | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crusty-chronicles · 1 year ago

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The Moon and Sun (Big Sib Reader x Gon/Killua)

Ch 13: Reap What You Sow

Synopsis: Grief drives people to many things. Some anger, some sadness. But for Y/n, it drives them away from the ones they care about most.

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Survive.

That was the only thought fueling your body to keep going. What was making you run as fast as you were. All the miles and kilometers you'd first trekked past going by in seconds. Your nen working it's damn hardest to get you out of here. Away from the NGL and whatever the hell that monster was.

Pushing against the rain that started beating down. The slick terrain making it harder to run, so you ditched your other shoe in favor of having a better grip. The two bodies you were carrying were almost nonexistent to you with your current objective.

Almost.

You were almost there.

The pain in your side intensified. You were wounded. And badly by the feel of it. Adrenaline finally starting to wear off, though it must've been less than ten minutes since you fled.

It was fine.

It had to be.

The trees of the NGL border were in sight. Just a little further. You were in the home stretch now. You could make it. You could-!

FLOP!

You let out a hiss of pain as you tripped. Angling the boys in a way that wouldn't hurt their heads. But in doing so, you'd fallen on your side.

You reached down to apply pressure.

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!"

It hurt.

It hurt so fucking bad.

Like thousands of little needles piercing your skin. A warm, sticky liquid coating your hand as you kept it there. Your shirt was soaked through.

You were bleeding.

The thought making your stomach churn.

'Get up.'

'You don't matter right now. Get up and run. Leave and don't look back.'

Your inner thoughts taking on a voice you hadn't heard in a very long time. And he was right.

You sucked in a deep breath before pushing yourself up. Had the world always been this dizzy? You brushed it off and went to pick up Gon first.

He was a lot heavier than you remembered.

You almost doubled over when you picked up Killua next. It was getting harder to support their weight. You don't recall ever having trouble picking them up before.

What was happening to you?

You couldn't run full force like you had been. Instead, almost jogging the rest of the way there. Still fast enough to skip through all the security and out the other tree.

You were about ready to collapse. But there was still one more thing you had to do. Your night wasn't over yet. You made your way sluggishly towards a sturdy tree. Big enough to provide cover from the rain.

You placed the boys down as best you could. And after doing a quick once over for any injuries, you allowed yourself to slump against the other side of the tree. Sitting and curling into yourself.

Your en working with the radius of about 10 meters now. But it would be enough. Just in case something else decided to sneak up on you.

Daylight would break in about five hours.

You could last five hours.

------------

The light was almost blinding when Killua woke up. Exactly how long had he been out for? The last thing he remembered was...

The Cat Chimera Ant.

The one that had appeared out of nowhere. Aura so intense and scary it paralyzed him. He remembered Gon getting angry. Unbelievably angry.

But why?

He took a second to look around his surroundings. The entrance to the NGL was a good distance away. There was a soft snoring to his left, which he recognized as Gon.

You must've carried both of them here.

Wait.

He remembered now.

That damn ant had slashed your side. And when you felt Gon's aura spike, you tossed both of them over your shoulders and escaped. But Kite hadn't followed behind you.

You were injured.

Which begs the question, where were you?

"Y/n!" He called out, but there was no response.

You wouldn't have just left them here. He was certain of that. You never strayed far from where they were, so after the third time he called for you with no answer, he began to worry.

Killua got up on shaky legs, still reeling from the terror of last night. He needed to find you. Even if it took all day. Luckily, he didn't have to search for very long.

You were just on the other side from where he and Gon had been resting. You were sitting up, breathing eerily slow.

"Hey! How come you didn't say anything!"

His tone was angry because truthfully, you had worried him. Didn't you hear how scared he was? Didn't you sense it too? But his frustration disappeared when you still didn't say anything.

Your head was hanging between your knees with your arms wrapped loosely around them. Your breathing still slow and quiet. He gave a small grumble before moving towards you.

"Of all times you chose to sleep, you chose now? Get up you dummy, we have to-" But the words died in his throat as he stepped in something.

He looked down and saw red seeping into the fabric of his shoe. A thin trail that led back to you in a murky puddle.

"Y/n?" It was questioning this time. Like he was in disbelief. Then it turned into a frantic cry.

"Y/N!"

He rushed over to your side, shaking you in the hopes that this wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Y/N! WAKE UP! WAKE UP GODDAMNIT! PLEASE!"

"I am awake... You're being too loud...Head hurts." Your words came out almost slurred. Head lifting slightly up to meet his eye.

But upon seeing you, Killua could only cry harder. You were pale. All the pigment to your skin practically gone. And your eyes, they'd never looked so tired and empty. The light from them no longer there.

To put it simply, you looked like a husk of yourself. Your shirt being the only indication of color. Soaked with so much blood it turned a dark red.

You needed help. A hospital. Anything.

"Please, please don't die!"

There was so much anguish with his plea. Unable to stop himself from sobbing as he laid you down to see exactly what that thing did to you.

Your hand weakly pushed him away.

"M' fine...As long as you two are okay... Don't mind dying."

"I MIND! YOU CAN'T DIE! YOU CAN'T! YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE US!"

Lifting up your shirt to expose your wound made Killua want to pass out. This had to be a nightmare. A horrible dream that wasn't real.

But the three slash marks on your torso begged to differ. So incredibly deep that blood was still oozing from them. He'd seen worse. He'd dealt much worse, but this wasn't just another target. This wasn't some stranger.

This was you.

You hadn't made a move to stop the bleeding yourself. Had you just sat here the whole night suffering? Dying.

"YOU-YOU IDIOT! WHY DIDN'T YOU GET HELP! WHY THE HELL DID YOU LET YOURSELF BLEED OUT LIKE THIS!?!? WHY!?! WHY DIDN'T YOU-!?!"

But once again, you'd stopped him. Your voice the weakest he's ever heard it.

"It's going to be okay, Killua.... Don't cry over me...M' not worth it..."

As they processed, more tears started falling freely from his face. He was mad yes, but not at you. Never at you. He was mad at himself for not being able to protect you. You may have been the older one, but all three of you promised to look after each other.

And he failed.

He shouldn't be yelling at you. Shouldn't be letting out his frustrations on you. He should be the one reassuring you. The one telling you things would be okay.

Gon would probably hate him for treating you this way. For letting you die.

He already lost one friend here, he was not going to lose another. He was not going to lose you.

He tugged off his shirt and bunched it at your wound, applying as much pressure as he could without hurting you. Though you wouldn't have felt it anyways.

With his free hand, he pulled out his phone from his pocket. It was a miracle he'd managed to sneak it in, and now it would serve its purpose. He quickly dialed the number Kite's team had given, making sure his voice was steady before speaking.

"Hey, what's up?" Spin's voice greeted, unaware of the bombshell he was about to drop.

"... We're at the entrance of the NGL. Something attacked us last night. Something with an indescribable power." Killua hesitated a bit before continuing.

He'd want to know if something happened to you if he was in their position.

"It was too strong for any of us to handle...So Kite stayed behind to give us time to escape."

"What!?! You left Kite behind!?! Why would you do that!?!?"

Spin's anger was very much justified, but Killua's attention was focused solely on you right now. Watching your eyes start to droop closed. The little bit of color they still had fading away.

"What happened out there!?! You explain yourself this instant!!!"

"I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do. Y/n got injured really badly and I-I- don't know what to do. Please, you have to come here or at least send someone. They might-" he just couldn't finish that sentence.

If he did, he would break down even worse than he already was. Your blood had already begun to seep through his shirt. You'd lost so much.

He flinched slightly at the sound of a different voice.

"I understand. Just wait there for the time being." It was Mon. He must've wrangled the phone away from Spin.

"We're all headed your way right now, so it won't be long. And we're bringing reinforcements."

Killua allowed himself to take a deep breath. He needed to calm down. The amateur hunters were already on their way. You'd be fine.

But as your quiet breathing turned ragged, his panic increased once more. He used both hands to continue applying pressure to your side.

"You hear that? Help's coming, so just hang on a little longer." He tried to sound hopeful, to give you a little reassurance.

Your eyes didn't look up at him this time, and that was what caused him to break.

"Please don't die."

He was an assassin. Trained to deal with every outcome, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He didn't remember ever crying this much over anything. No amount of training or his mother's punishments had gotten a reaction this visceral from him.

So why.

Why was he blubbering like a baby over you?

Over what would happen to you if help didn't come in time.

Maybe he did know... But that was what scared him the most.

"I know I give you a lot of trouble sometimes, but that's not enough for you to just give up, right?"

He didn't know what to do besides talk and hope he would get a reaction. Desperation full force as he grabbed one of your limp hands.

You were cold.

Please

You couldn't give up yet. You just couldn't.

"I promise I won't mess with you anymore if you get better. I won't ever ask for anything ever again if you just hold on a little longer."

But what if you wanted to die? What if they both had been unbearable to you all along and you just wanted to be left alone? Maybe you secretly hated them for disturbing the life you had on Greed Island.

Maybe you just hated him.

"If-If you don't want to get better for me, then do it for Gon. He really loves you, you know?" And so do I.

"If that's not enough incentive then I don't know what is."

The sound of an engine revving had stopped his blabbering. Looking away from you, he saw a familiar jeep in the distance. He composed himself as best he could. Nobody could see him like this. Weak and vulnerable.

He tugged you closer as two unfamiliar men exited the jeep first. They didn't appear hostile, but they weren't exactly friendly either. His glare wavered as the third stepped out.

It was Netero.

"What the hell is this? They're just kids." The bulkier man said.

At the sound of his voice, Killua felt you weakly squeeze his hand. Your fragile demeanor had tensed up.

If you thought this guy was a threat, then he wouldn't let him anywhere near you.

"You got burned real bad because you thought this was gonna be a game. Just hurry on home before it's too late." He scolded.

Killua's aura quickly became protective.

"Game?" He couldn't hide his hostility when he spoke.

Your life wasn't a game. Kite's life wasn't a game. Last night hadn't been just some fun game he and Gon were playing.

"Stop it, Mr. Morel. That isn't very nice." The other man spoke up, sensing Killua's rising anger.

"As you said yourself, they are only children. And the injured one over there is quite young themselves." The better dressed man gestured towards you.

It was at that moment Netero walked forward, his eyes filling with recognition as they landed on you. He crouched down in front of you and Killua with a smile.

"Y/n Mizaki, long time no see. You've grown quite a bit since I saw you last. We thought you had gone and died somewhere."

Your eyes moved in their sockets to look up at the old man.

"Gramps?"

Killua's hold tightened on you, unbelieving of what he was witnessing. There was no way. You hated hunters.

The old man's gaze wandered from your face to Killua's blood-soaked shirt pressed on your side.

"My, my, you Mizaki's are stubborn ones. These boys would have been fine five minutes without you, but I suppose your pride wouldn't have allowed for that."

Your empty eyes had gained some fire back.

"Go to...hell...you old geezer." You rasped out.

Netero only laughed at your insult.

"So much energy for someone on the verge of death, but I understand why you're so protective of these boys. Let's get you fixed up and send you on your way."

You flinched away as Netero placed his hand over the gashes on your abdomen. A small coating of nen before the skin seemed to stitch itself back together. Three ugly scars left in their wake.

Killua gave a worried glance as you thrashed for a bit before completely knocking out.

"Rest easy knowing you kept these boys safe."

The small assassin didn't like this. Didn't like how friendly Netero treated you. You were not a hunter and yet...he addressed you like you were old pals.

The name attached to the end of yours was also something he didn't like. You didn't have a last name. Maybe he mistook you for someone else.

But then why did you seem to recognize him too?

"Mizaki?" The name of felt foreign on his tongue. If that really was your last name, then why hadn't you told either of them? Did you not trust them? Or was it something else?

"Oh yes. You didn't know? Y/n is apart of a very special clan of hunters...Or they were. I don't remember all the details. Maybe you should ask them about it when they wake up."

The first thought that crossed Killua's mind was he was lying. The second was that you were. A clan of hunters but you weren't one? Something didn't add up.

Then again, you never liked to talk about anything from before Greed Island. And maybe the pieces did start to finally fall into place. Like why you were so practiced in nen.

But he shook the thought from his head for now. Choosing to focus on the one bright side. The bleeding had finally stopped. You would get better with lots of rest. A few days at least and a few weeks at most.

"You certainly seem to be down in the dumps. They won't die, so try not to worry yourself." Netero assured.

But it did little to soothe his nerves. Especially with what was said next.

"If the enemy was able to subdue Y/n, then they must've been formidable."

Killua gripped your limp hand, trying to find a comfort from the memories of last night as he recalled them.

"One of them could use nen. Of all the aura I've ever encountered, this one was the worst."

So incredibly strong it made yours look like nothing.

"Now that I've learned nen myself, I can tell. You guys are unbelievably strong, and still, I don't think even you could take him."

Even you couldn't outrun that thing. The only reason you were able to get away was thanks to Kite. He really should have been nicer to him.

"People overrate things that they can't understand. And that is a perfectly natural response." The nicely dressed man lectured.

What Killua wouldn't give for you to wake up and tear him a new one. To wipe that condescending look off his face for telling him he was overreacting.

"Unfortunately, you're in a state of extreme panic right now. We'll take it from here. You just go to bed and get some rest like your friend."

You would've hated this guy and his now laughing partner. And maybe he didn't like them either. He didn't know he could feel so small without you.

"Look kid, the minute you start calculating the odds of winning in nen combat, well it just shows you're missing the whole point," the one with sunglasses started lecturing before giving a huge speech on nen combat.

But Killua simply didn't care. He didn't need to be told how to fight or the proper etiquette in combat. He didn't need to be treated like a child who knew nothing by someone he didn't know.

This guy wasn't you, therefore he had no obligation to listen to him. To give a damn about his lecture on aura when you could actually see it. You were more than in your right to judge when an enemy was too strong to handle.

And while he couldn't give a damn about what this guy thought, what he said next crossed a line that was never to be stepped over.

"No matter what, always fight like you know you're gonna win. That's what it means to have the spirit of a nen user. Your friend was disqualified the second they got scared of their opponent's nen and ran. They're worse than a loser."

"Morel, that's enough." His friend tried to scold, but it was too late.

Killua unleashed his own furious aura, one that rivaled Gon's from last night.

"DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT THEM LIKE THAT! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THEM SO SHUT UP!"

The spike of nen had caught all three men off guard.

They didn't know you. They didn't know how you pushed yourself to follow, even when you reached your breaking point. They didn't know how quick you were to protect him and Gon when something went wrong. They didn't know how you pushed Kite out of the way to take a hit that was meant from him.

Worse than a loser?

After practically dying to stay here and watch over him?

This guy simply had no right to ever call you that, and he was not about to get away with it.

"Y/N ISN'T A FIGHTER! THEY ONLY CAME ALONG THE KEEP US SAFE! YOUR STUPID RULES DON'T AND WILL NEVER APPLY TO THEM! I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY ABOUT ME, BUT DON'T YOU DARE INSULT SOMEONE WHO'S NOT EVEN CONSCIOUS TO DEFEND THEMSELF!"

There was an angry resolve in his eyes. One that told them Killua would lash out if he was pushed any further. Seems you meant an awful lot to this boy.

But as always, the old man wasn't the least bit fazed by his outburst. Opting instead to direct his attention towards an unconscious Gon.

"Is Gon sound asleep there?"

The question had temporarily quelled Killua's anger. Not enough for it to be gone, but enough for him to answer instead of snap back.

"No, he's not. He tried to attack, but Y/n tossed us over their shoulders before he could. Then the intensity from their aura accidentally knocked us out. I don't know how long it'll be until he wakes up."

The sound of laughter had him tensing up again.

"Sounds like that kid's got a lot more of a future." The one with sunglasses said before his friend once again scolded him.

Killua would ignore that one. Getting upset wouldn't make you better. Starting a fight wouldn't help you get better. No matter how infuriated he was becoming. His attention drifted back to Netero once more.

-----------------------

Lugging Gon into the back of the jeep was easy. Even with the eyes burning into his back as he did so. Now trying to lift you was another story. He wasn't tall enough to prevent you from dragging against the ground. And the last thing he wanted was to put you through anymore strain.

He would have to ask for help.

Unfortunately, he wasn't on the best of terms with Kite's team. He was lucky they were even willing to come here at all. Especially after he told them about Kite. Nevertheless, you and Gon needed a safe place to recover. So begrudgingly, he tapped on the car door.

"I need some help."

"Why?" The ice in Spin's tone was expected.

He understood why she was mad. Why they all were. But there was nothing he could do about that. At least, not right now. His first priority was getting you and Gon out of here.

"I can't lift up Y/n. Not by myself."

And before Spin could give a retort, Mon got up from his seat. Sending a sympathetic glance towards the small assassin.

"I got it. You should rest up, too. The nearest city isn't for another 30 minutes."

Killua nodded and let out a small sigh of relief. You weren't in the clear yet, but it was a start. He watched as the bear-like man hoisted you up like nothing. Your body hanging limply from his grasp. Killua once again felt eyes on him and met Spin's scornful glare.

"I still can't believe you left-!" The fight seemed to leave her as she finally caught sight of you.

If it weren't for the slight rise and fall of your chest, she would've mistaken you for a corpse. And as you laid besides Gon, the idea only further cemented. Were you even going to make it?

It was clear now that the three of you hadn't gotten away unscathed. She couldn't be completely upset when the boys were in the same boat as the amateur hunters.

A mentor wounded or gone.

Whatever happened back there, it must've been a terrible ordeal to experience.

------------------

Gon found himself on a soft surface when he woke up. A stark contrast to the rocky terrain of the NGL. It must've been a bed. He didn't remember falling asleep on one of those.

Or falling asleep at all.

Where was he?

A feeling of dread soon encompassed him.

The ant. All four of you had been ambushed by that ant. Then you'd been injured, unable to fully escape from its clutches. And then? And then.....

He was mad. Angry at that thing daring to hurt you. Then-

Then nothing.

He shot up from the bed. His first instinct was to call for you and Killua. To make sure both of you were okay. So that's exactly what he did.

"Y/n! Killua!"

It wasn't long until he heard fast footsteps rush towards the door. It practically swung open on its hinges, revealing a very relieved Killua.

"You're awake! I was starting to worry!"

He noticed how his best friend's eyes were slightly red and puffy. Had he been crying? He decided he wouldn't bring it up, at least not yet.

"Are you okay?" He asked as Killua approached.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? If anything I should be the one asking you that. You've been asleep for a whole day."

"A day!?!? What happened!?!?"

Now he really was worried. So much could've happened in a day. At his frantic tone, however, Killua let out a small smile.

"Nothing big, just the Chairman stopping by."

"The Chairman!?!?"

Gon watched curiously as the small assassin produced two broken game pieces from his pocket. Listening intently as he explained what they were for.

A month. A whole month to train and steal the other pieces from Morel's students. A month to get stronger and head back into the NGL. A month to save Kite.

When Killua finished explaining, Gon gave a final look around his surroundings. Something was missing. No, someone.

You.

You weren't here.

"Where's Y/n?" It had been something he was dreading to ask.

If you weren't here then... No, he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe you were just asleep? However, Killua's expression completely dropped.

"I don't think you wanna see them right now."

Gon's face scrunched up in confusion at his response. Killua's distressed tone only worsened his growing nerves.

"Why wouldn't I want to see them?"

"They dont- they don't look like themselves."

Killua was actively avoiding his gaze now. Like he was ashamed. Surely he knew Gon would never blame your condition on him.

"I still want to see them. No matter how bad they look. I wanna make sure they're okay too, you know?"

"Are you sure you'll be able to handle it? It's not... It's not easy to see them like this."

He didn't understand why Killua was giving him so much pushback. You were his big sibling too. If you were hurt, then they would both take care of you.

He placed a hand on the small assassin's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm sure, and you shouldn't have to deal with taking care of Y/n by yourself. It's our burden to share, okay?"

Killua nodded before helping Gon up. Finally giving in and leading him to the room where you were resting. His hand hesitated over the knob for a second. Mentally psyching himself up before pushing it open.

The first thing that hit Gon was a strong metallic scent. What it could be was unmistakable. Looking in the corner of the room, he saw a pile of bloodied clothes.

The ones you'd gotten from the NGL.

"Y/n doesn't like blood, so I didn't want them to be covered in it when they woke up," Killua explained as he made his way towards you.

The boy in green followed suit, stopping when he reached the side of your bed. He frowned as he took in your state.

Your breathing was far too slow for his liking. A few heartbeats would pass before each rise and fall of your chest. It might've been the only indication that you were still alive because the rest of you...It wasn't good.

All the blood you lost made you pale. The familiar circles under your eyes looked the worst they ever had. No longer a bruising purple, but a sickly gray. Even your face had sunken in a little.

He reached a hand forward and pressed it against your forehead. Something Mito had done whenever he wasn't feeling well. You were cold, but despite that you were still sweating.

"The ant did this to them?" There was something accusing in his tone.

And whereas Killua had completely broken down seeing you, Gon couldn't help but get mad. This shouldn't have happened to you. You shouldn't be laying there like that. You shouldn't be the one suffering while the two of them hadn't gotten a single scratch.

"I won't ever forgive that thing for this."

He barley registered Killua's voice from next to him.

"Me neither, but we have to help them get better first before we do anything else. It's still a gamble if they'll live. Netero only stopped the bleeding. They might've lost too much to come back from. And if that's the case..."

"They'll pull through. Y/n isn't weak. They'll get better, and then we can focus on saving Kite."

There was a familiar fire in his eyes that resembled yours. An unbreakable resolve. That monster may have hurt you, but it wouldn't take your life. You would never allow something like that to happen.

At the thought, his expression finally softened.

"Knowing Y/n, they'll probably be out for a week. We can take turns watching over them, or...."

"Or?"

"We both wait until they wake up. I'm sure they'll start to panic if one of us is missing. Netero's game will just have to wait until then."

You meant more than Netero's whim.

And just like back at the drug factory, Killua believed him without a second thought.

If Gon believed you would wake up, then you would.

If he believed that Kite was still out there alive, then he was.

For now, all both of them could do was sit and wait.

---------------------

You were still out cold the next day. Your condition hadn't improved, per say. The only thing that changed was your breathing. It was more audible now, which might have been an improvement.

Then again, you were always silent when you slept.

It was Gon's idea to put a warm towel on your forehead to keep your growing fever at bay. It was Killua's to set up their beds next to yours, just in case.

The room was silent except for your faint breathing. Both boys opting to concentrate on making their aura stronger while you slept. It was one of the few things they could do without disturbing you or leaving you by yourself.

Hours ticked by as the daylight once again dwindled down. It was debated if they should just take you to a hospital or give you a little more time to recover.

And as they went back and forth on it, a rustling noise was heard. Snapping their heads in the direction of the noise, they were given their answer.

You had turned on your side in your sleep.

"A few more days it is then," Gon confirmed.

Both of their expressions softening at the sight. Killua got up from his place on the ground to re-tuck you in.

"A few more days," he agreed.

-----------------------

You felt cold. Like it was the middle of winter and you were exposed to the elements. Your head also hurt like hell. In fact, you just felt like shit in general. You grasped something soft and fuzzy, pulling it closer in the hopes to take its warmth.

Soft and fuzzy.

You don't remember ever owning something like that. Or ever falling asleep on something like it.

Your eyelids might as well have been made of lead the way you were struggling to open them. When you finally managed to get them a sliver of a crack open, you immediately closed them again.

It was too bright.

You tried to turn yourself over on your back instead. But even that proved to be difficult. You willed yourself to move, forcing your arms to push with everything they had. You felt yourself lift a few inches before your body gave out.

Why were you so weak?

What could've taken all your strength from you?

You tried to speak next, but there was a stinging pain in the back of your throat. As if you'd swallowed a thousand razor blades.

God what the hell happened to you?

You rested for five more minutes before trying to turn over again. You succeeded this time, letting a small 'oof' leave your lips from all your efforts. Another five minutes of rest. Then you slowly opened your eyes. Letting another noise of discomfort leave you from the burning light.

A ceiling?

You don't remember one of those either.

Where where you?

You faintly registered the sound of snoring before it stopped all together. There was a yawn followed by a few footsteps that made their way towards you. You shifted your gaze to the side.

"Y/n?!?! You're awake!!!" It was Gon, and from his surprised shout Killua woke up.

That was when everything finally hit you.

You were such a fuckup.

You should have sensed that thing sooner. You should have been fast enough to avoid getting hit. You should have stayed behind, not him.

In fact, you should have died. You should be somewhere in hell, not here with Gon and Killua. And to make matters worse, that stupid old man had said too much.

He goes and spills your secret only to further humiliate you by healing your wounds.

It would have been better if you died. At least then you wouldn't have to face the consequences of your actions. You'd lost complete control twice now.

It was a miracle you hadn't been found yet.

God, how the hell were you going to explain to Kite's team you left him behind to save your own skin. That you were a coward whose only instinct was to survive like a cockroach.

If the boys hadn't been right in front of you, you probably would have left them too.

Your thoughts were cut off by something being removed from your forehead. Only for it to be replaced by a warm hand.

"Looks like your fever's gone down a little. Hey, Killua. Could you grab a cup of water real quick?" Gom addressed to his left.

Killua nodded, giving you a final once over before moving.

"Right."

You heard his footsteps fade into the distance, trying to shift your eyes in their sockets to follow him. You eventually gave up and returned your sights to the other boy.

"Can you move?"

You tried, but your body just wouldn't cooperate. The only thing you could do was stare in a deafening silence.

"How about this. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Can you do that?"

You blinked once.

Relief immediately washed over him. You were hurt, but not to the point where you weren't aware of your surroundings.

"Do you want to sit up?"

Once.

"Okay, let's get you up."

You almost felt like a baby as your torso was hoisted up. So incredibly weak and frail that you couldn't even move by yourself. You winced at the sharp pain in your side. That cat bitch was officially on your list.

It was only a second after you were situated that Killua came in. Maybe some water would soothe the pain in your throat?

"How bad are they?" He asked.

"Okay mentally, but physically not good. They can't really move." Gon answered.

The cup was placed to your lips. How pathetic were you that you couldn't even drink water? You opened your mouth to greedily take in as much of the cool liquid as you could. The pain dulled down to an ache in your throat. It was better than nothing.

It was enough.

"I might feel better with some pain killers." Your voice came out raspy. It still stung when you spoke, but not as bad as it had been.

You had a pretty good idea why it felt like that. You probably shredded your vocal cords when you screamed. You supposed things could have been worse. You could have lost it all together.

The sound of your voice made the duo jump. Neither were expecting you to talk so soon. Hell they weren't expecting you to wake up for another two days. It was a miracle you were so functional in such little time. But both got over their initial shock quickly.

"We might have those in the bathroom. Let me check." Gon disappeared from your side, only to be replaced by Killua.

You tried, key word tried, to focus your eyes, but your ability could only give you a faint reading. Too weak to even use nen. Every hint of an emotion coming out as a blurry blob.

The three of you sat in silence as you gulped down two pills. Which didn't kick in until 10 minutes later. At the first sign of numbing, you angled your head to look down at yourself.

"Why the fuck is this shirt so big? I look like a wannabe rapper." It was unfiltered and loopy, but unmistakably you.

You were immediately engulfed in a hug by both boys. Slowly, you did your best to wrap your arms around them. Noticing the front of your shirt start to become wet.

Were they really that worried about you?

"Well I didn't know your size, and it's not like I had the time to check. You should be grateful." Killua retorted, but it sounded more nasally than usual.

"It smells."

Your light jest finally putting both of them at ease. You could feel the relief and overwhelming happiness from both. Good, your ability was gaining a little bit of strength back. (As were you.)

"Because you stink, ever thought about that, smelly?"

Killua quickly pulled away from you, eyes as wide as dinner plates. Remembering his earlier promise to your unconscious form.

"I'm sorry."

You'd never seen his look so guilty. Something was clearly wrong. You were sure he had nothing to apologize for.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything."

"For being mean to you. I didn't-I never really mean it."

Oh.

Was that what he was upset about?

You tugged him back into you. You weren't the best with comfort, but you would try. Both of them looked like they needed it right now.

"Don't be sorry, okay? I really don't mind. I get under your skin the same way you get under mine, which you don't by the way. So don't worry about it, okay?"

A few sniffles before the grip around you tightened. A nod against your shoulder as he curled into you. Then you heard it again. Those same two words, but from Gon this time.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. If I'd lost control back there, I would have gotten in the way. And if I had, all four of us would have died!" It was a sob against you.

Because now that he knew you really were okay, he allowed himself to finally break.

"It's all my fault you got hurt! I wasn't strong enough to protect you!"

And like Killua, you tugged him a little closer.

"It's not your fault. Never blame yourself for things that are out of your control. The fact is, we were caught off guard. There was nothing you could have done."

He pushed away from you to meet your eye.

"But I could've-!"

You squeezed his cheeks to stop him.

"You could've what? Seen it? Fought it? You can't see aura and you don't have a strong enough en. If me and Kite felt it was too strong, then what chance do you think you have? There was nothing you could have done. And look at me, really look at me when I tell you this next part."

Honey colored eyes tearfully stared back into your tired ones.

"My injury was not your fault. Your reaction was impulsive, but not your fault. You got angry, so what? As long as both of you are okay, then nothing else matters. There's no need for an apology, okay?"

He nodded against your palm before practically tackling you into another hug. They both stayed there, content to bask in your presence.

The one that was lively instead of comatose.

"Hey, Y/n. About what Netero said..." Killua asked after a while.

You cursed that old geezer to the grave and back. He just had to run his mouth. He just had to ruin the life you were starting to build. You don't remember exactly what he said, but you remember hearing that damn name.

"What did he say?"

Killua hesitated, not sure if he should push. Maybe you were giving him an out. He decided to take it. Strain wouldn't be good for you right now.

"Nevermind...Oh, I have something for you!"

He completely parted from you, walking to the other room to get what he was looking for. He came back with his hands behind his back.

"We did our best to clean it for you, so sorry if there's still some, uh, well let's not worry about that right now."

Something plopped down on your lap. The three of you looking at it in silence. A part of you wished you dropped it back there. At least then the weight of your actions wouldn't have been as heavy.

In your lap sat a very familiar hat.

Kite's blue hat.

The one he gave you moments before everything went to shit.

Like Killua warned, there were specs of red littered on the brim. No doubt from when you shoved it in your pocket after you collapsed against the tree. Considering how much blood you lost, the cleanup wasn't bad.

You stared at it, and it seemed to stare right back. Almost taunting you, knowing its original owner was probably dead. Silently telling you it was all your fault. That it was the only part of him that made it out of there.

You wanted to throw it away. Toss it out a window. Anything that would get it away before the guilt completely consumed you. Before you could think about the consequences of your actions. Of abandoning him.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Gon gave your arm a squeeze. Deciding to comfort you the way you had been comforting them.

"Kite is still alive. He would never be beaten, not by something like that."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe the man you'd fallen for was still out there. But there was something telling you that wasn't the case. An overwhelming feeling of dread that said otherwise.

"But he might've been injured. And if that's the case, then trying to move might be hard on him, so he's probably hiding. He's waiting for us to come back." Gon continued.

You looked at him this time, watching determination swirl in those honey colored eyes. He really believed with his whole heart Kite was okay. Maybe you could fool yourself too. Pretend that everything would turn out okay.

"So now, me and Killua get strong and we find him. We're gonna go save Kite."

He looked so much like her. You almost couldn't stand the sight. He had the same optimism, too. A little ray of sunshine in a world that was far too dark for it to last.

"Yeah? Well I'm counting on you goobers to do all the heavy lifting anyways." You gave a tired smile and at last picked up Kite's hat.

You'd have to keep it somewhere safe.

There was still one more elephant in the room. You pushed with everything you had to stand up. Both boys fussing as you did so.

"You're not strong enough to stand yet!"

"Hey! You're going to hurt yourself doing that!"

You brushed off their attempts to get you back into bed. You couldn't rest until you did this first. You wouldn't deserve it until you did.

"I have to do something important."

But neither of them were having it.

"It can wait!" Killua lectured.

"Your recovery is more important right now!" Gon agreed.

They were too stubborn for their own good. Then again, so were you.

"Twenty minutes. Give me twenty minutes, and if I'm not back by then come get me. Please, I need to do this." You stood up as straight as you could.

Your legs felt like Jello and every muscle in your body was screaming at you to lay back down. Push through the pain. You just had to push.

"Not by yourself."

"You must think we're crazy to let you go out by yourself like this."

You patted the tops of their heads.

"By myself. I promise I'll be okay."

A few more unhappy grumbles and you were on your way. Your nen wasn't at full strength yet, but it was manageable. You closed your eyes and tried to sense who you were looking for. You found a faint trail from a few days ago.

They were probably the ones that dropped off the boys.

You followed it on shaky legs until you reached a building. Five minutes left. God you'd never been this slow in your life. At least you made it.

You knocked on the door and waited. A million thoughts were going through your head as you stood there. You had no real idea of what to say. You were never good with these things. You tensed up as the door finally opened.

Six familiar faces appeared behind it. All of which you could call by name. They looked at you curiously. (Mostly because they just couldn't believe you'd made it after all.)

"I know that I'm the last person you want to see at the moment." Your voice was still raspy as you addressed the amateur hunters.

You bowed your head down. You couldn't exactly kneel like you were used to doing. You probably wouldn't have been able to get back up if you did.

"But I am truly sorry. I know there's nothing I could do that would even begin to make up for what I've done."

You came all this way in that condition just to apologize. Struggling to stand, struggling to speak, and struggling to keep your eyes open. Coming from who knows where just to say you were sorry.

It was baffling to most of them. How someone could force themselves up after almost dying. Why you came here instead of recovering.

But to one of them, it had earned her respect.

Kite really did pick someone special. The last thing he would have wanted was for them to be mad at you. You were just looking out for your own, the same way he looked after them.

For now, it was easier to pretend he was still out there. Still alive and doing his best to get back to them.

"You should get some rest and come see us when you're feeling better." Spin suggested.

No, how could she be mad at you when the shock on your face said it all. It was almost like you couldn't believe none of them were lashing out at you. That they weren't gonna hold a grudge. You put too much pressure on your shoulders.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I should just-"

You collapsed before you could finish. The weight of everything finally took much for you to carry. You could only hope you'd be a little stronger when you awoke.

---------------------------

Safe to say, the boys weren't too happy with you when they went to pick you up. It started with a feeling of worry. Then a call from Spin. Then full blown panic because what the hell were you thinking!?!?

You were in no shape to be walking around, nevertheless three miles to who knows where!?!? But, they couldn't be that upset with you when they learned the reason why.

As Mon was once again carrying you into the jeep, Spin couldn't help but overhear the two of them.

"I just don't understand why they came all the way here. They're just so reckless" Killua complained.

"They came here to apologize for what happened with Kite." She explained.

And it clicked for them. What you said earlier about doing something important. This was important to you. Making sure you apologized for what you felt was your fault. Saying sorry to a friend was more important than recovering.

"Take care of them, okay?"

It went without saying that they would.

They made sure you were tucked in again when they got back. A bottle of water and a few painkillers next to your bed. Another warm towel on your forehead because your fever started to flare up.

You slept the rest of the day and halfway into the next. There was some color in your cheeks now. You were still cold, but you didn't look like a corpse anymore. Little by little, you seemed to be getting better.

When you woke up in the evening, there was a pleasant smell in the air. One that made your stomach growl. How long had it been since you ate? Four, maybe five days. You'd probably get some strength back if you had a proper meal.

You cracked your eyes open and stretched. Quickly catching the attention of the small assassin who sat a few feet away from you.

"Did you have a good sleep?" He questioned, though it sounded a little upset.

"How long was I out?" You rubbed the sleep away from your eyes. Seems you could move by yourself now.

"Another day and a half."

"Oh."

"Oh? Don't you 'oh' me young lady/man! First you go out by yourself and then you end up collapsing over there! You should've asked for help if you were going over to apologize!"

You winced at his angry tone. Maybe you should've waited until you were a little better. But your conscience wouldn't have allowed you. If you were awake, you were okay to get up and do what you had to. Still, it was your responsibility either way. Not theirs.

"I'm not a-" you shook off your initial response. You wouldn't go into that right now.

"It's not something for either of you to worry about. It's my responsibility to make things right. Sometimes that means putting my needs last. I'm not proud of knocking out, but I don't regret going over there."

He frowned at your words, still not fully understanding why you did it by yourself. He chalked it up to your pride not wanting to rely on kids. One day it would kill you.

He gave a defeated sigh before changing the subject.

"Gon's in the Kitchen making dinner. A recipe he learned from his aunt. You wanna go eat?"

A loud rumble erupted from your stomach.

"You didn't hear that, but yes. I'm feeling a little hungry."

"A little?" There was something teasing in his tone, causing you to cross your arms.

"I said what I said, gremlin."

You tossed the blanket off of you and planted your feet on the floor. A count of three and you stood up. You felt sluggish, but not as weak as you were. You'd be able to get around fine now.

You followed behind Killua as he led you to the kitchen. Getting a proper look at the small house. It felt cozy for what it was. Then again, who were you to judge? You hadn't been in a house in over a decade.

The delicious scent got stronger as you made your way into the open area. In the middle, a table with four chairs. To the left was Gon, a small pot on the stove simmering.

"Whatcha got cooking, chef?"

At the sound of your voice, he turned around and beamed.

"Y/n! You finally woke up. Good thing I made extra today." He gave the pot a stir before giving you his attention again.

He wasn't as upset at Killua, that is, if he even had been at all.

"Yeah? Hunter's intuition finally coming in?" You teased.

"He's lying. We always made extra just in case you wake up," Killua whispered.

You gave him a nudge, telling him to go set the table before he rained on the other one's parade. He gave a few words of protest, but did so nonetheless.

"It's soup, by the way," Gon called out.

Ah yes, soup. The potion of the sick. You'd eat good tonight. And by the looks of it, you were on dish duty, too. Not that you minded.

"It's ready!"

You and Killua cheered as you were served. The latter having removed the fourth chair from the table. Perhaps one day it would be filled by a certain silver haired hunter. You watched as steam rose from the bowl. The scent of the broth wafting tantalizing into your face.

"Y/n?"

You gave your attention to the small assassin who had clasped his hand with Gon's. Both reaching for yours, much to your confusion.

"We're gonna say grace now. I didn't get it at first either, so don't worry if you accidently ate already."

You gave a small laugh.

"I know what it is, I just haven't done it since I was a kid. Here," you extended your hands towards them.

You bowed your head down. The silence lasting no longer than a second before it was interrupted.

"Thank you for the food!" They said in unison.

You mumbled in your thanks as well. The table once again fell silent.

It felt peaceful.

A tranquility you hadn't had in a while. Being surrounded by the ones you loved without having to worry. It was enough to make your heart swell. You wished it could've been like this all the time.

But you knew the longer you stayed here, the more at risk they'd be.

You wanted to believe you'd keep yourself in check, but twice now you'd failed. It was only a matter of time before....

They were not safe with you and you were not strong enough to protect them. You'd grown soft and weak. It wasn't until you felt truly helpless in the Cat Chimera Ant's presence, did you finally realize it.

You knew what you had to do. What must be done in order to keep them safe. That didn't make it any easier.

They'd be okay for a month without you. You had no doubt they'd get strong enough to take those game pieces. And if you were gone longer.... It's best not to think about that possibility.

While you were there, you could look for Kite. Maybe, just maybe he was alive after all. And if anyone could find him, it was you.

Right now, you'd enjoy these moments. Make them the best you could and treasure them. Let yourself just be happy, if only for a few more hours.

"Let's dig in!" Killua announced before chugging down the whole bowl.

"Careful or you'll choke," you scolded.

He gave a playful glare before downing another one.

You directed your attention to Gon who was eating just as ravenously.

"You two eat like you're starved," you mumbled as you took a first bite.

Immediately your eyes lit up. And just like the boys, you quickly devoured your first bowl. Could it be due to the fact that you hadn't eaten in days, or the soup was just that good, you'd never know.

"This is your aunt's recipe? Mito, right?" You questioned.

"Yup," he responded, looking quite proud of himself.

"I'm going to run away with her and we're gonna get married on some Galapagos Island and live happily ever after just so I can eat this every day."

Killua choked on his soup from next to you.

"Sorry, Aunt Mito has standards." Gon retorted.

You gasped in feign horror.

"I am the epitome of standards, I'll have you know. And if she won't marry me, then at least tell me what it's made of."

"It's a family recipe. But the secret ingredient is love."

"The secret ingredient is lies. I know there's some secret spice you're not telling me about. Is it basil? I bet it's basil."

"Basil isn't a spice, you dummy," Killua thumped the back of your head.

"See! This is exactly why I'm going to marry Mito. She wouldn't steer me wrong."

All three of you started laughing. Clutching full stomachs and wheezing. You almost felt like a-

Like a family.

You made up your mind

You'd leave tonight.

-------------------------

"So you two have just been sleeping on the floor this whole time?" You asked, gesturing towards the pile of blankets next to your bed.

"We didn't wanna leave you by yourself until we were sure you were okay." Gon answered.

"Plus you looked terrible. It didn't feel right leaving you alone," Killua added.

Your expression softened. They really were worried about you. They should've been training to beat that Morel guy's students, not cooped up all day taking care of you. But they went and did so anyways.

"Thank you for watching over me. I don't think I would have been able to recover as quickly as I am without you two."

You hulled up the pile of blankets, noticing the way their auras swelled with affection. With pride.

"Unfortunately, the sleepover's over. You two are gonna sleep on your actual beds from now on. What is it that you're supposed to say to kids before they sleep?"

You paused your movements to think.

"Take a bath and brush your teeth? Don't forget to floss? Something something bed bugs? Eh, it'll come to me."

You continued on to the other room with both boys following suit. Giggling at your attempts of recollection.

"I thought you said you weren't our parent?" Killua said before dodging the pillow you threw at him.

"I'm not. It's called being a responsible adult. Now go and do one of those first things while I set up the bed. I know for a fact there's a 99% chance you'll throw down with the fitted sheet if you do it."

Before Killua could give another retort, Gon was pulling him away.

"Come on, let's do what they ask before they decide to throw another pillow at you. And I don't think they'll miss this time."

You listened as their footsteps faded. You were dreading the night. The sun already begining to set. You wished there was more time in the day.

You were waiting expectantly by the time they finished. Having the cover pulled down to tuck them in. The sky already dark with stars.

"Alright, get in. You've got a long day tomorrow."

"You're gonna cover us? We're not babies, Y/n," Killua complained. Yet he still went to lay down.

"We're not babies mimimimimi, just let me tuck you in. And for the record, you are babies. You're my babies."

You waited for Gon to get on the other side before tossing the blanket over them. Smoothing it out before tucking one side. Then reaching over to do the next. You took a step back and admired your handy work. It'd been a while since you did this. Although back then it was way sloppier.

You went to turn off the light, but were stopped by Gon's voice.

"Wait, you're not gonna give us a goodnight kiss?"

Your face scrunched up in confusion.

"I mean, it's just something Aunt Mito always does and I...well nevermind. Forget I said anything."

You could feel his aura shift into something bashful.

They really weren't making this easy on you.

You leaned over and gave his forehead a smooch.

"Goodnight, Gon."

He relaxed and snuggled into the covers.

"Goodnight, big sib."

You looked over at Killua, who when he caught your gaze, quickly turned away in embarrassment. You playfully rolled your eyes and moved over to give him a kiss on his forehead too.

"Goodnight, Killua."

There was a muffled 'night big sib' from under the covers he hid away in. You made your way to the light switch and flipped it off. Casting one last look behind you before shutting the door.

You sat on your own bed and waited. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt something wet sliding down your cheek. You knew you had no right to be upset. Especially since you were the one going through with this.

You'd convinced yourself this was for their own good. That this was the only way for you to safely get stronger without exposing them to-

You'd never truly escaped them, had you? Physically yes, but mentally? Even in spirit they were governing your actions.

No, you were making the right choice.

But for the boys or you, you couldn't tell.

You waited about four hours before getting up. Changing back into the NGL appropriate clothes. It was a miracle they weren't as stained as you thought they'd be. If you squinted, you couldn't even tell there was blood. You grabbed Kite's hat.

If you did find him, you'd give it back. Maybe say something stupid like how he really was a princess being a damsel in distress. Maybe get mad at him for not following behind you. Maybe kiss him.

You exited your room and made silent steps towards the front door. Hand almost touching the knob before a familiar voice stopped you.

"Y/n? What're you doing up?" A sleepy Gon questioned. Rubbing at his eyes to wake up more.

"I was gonna go for a walk. I couldn't sleep and I wanted to clear my head. What are you doing up, munchkin?" It was a small fib. But better that than the truth.

"I couldn't sleep either. My gut was telling me something bad was gonna happen."

Those damn hunter instincts.

"You wanna talk about it?" You offered.

He nodded. You made your way to your room and emerged with a comforter. Plopping down in front of a window with it draped over your shoulders. You extended your arm out, as if spreading a wing.

"Come here and tell me what's wrong."

And he did just that. Sitting on your lap as you covered the two of you with the comforter. Both looking up at the night sky. Something about it immediately put Gon at ease. It was almost enough to make him fall asleep. The warmth along with your presence.

"What happened?" You asked.

He gave a yawn before answering.

"I had a bad feeling, is all. Like something was gonna happen to one of us. It's going away now."

You hugged him a little closer. Silently reassuring him.

It felt all too similar to when you and her would stay up watching the stars. Trading secrets in the dark as you waited for the sun to rise. You almost felt inclined to do that now. Your resolve wavering.

But you truly were a terrible person.

So instead you asked something that had been weighing on your mind.

"Why did you get so upset when the ant injured me?"

What you remembered most that night was the dark swirl in his aura exposing itself in full. It was what snapped you out of your panic. You didn't like it.

"Because," he stopped to let out another yawn.

"Nobody has the right to hurt you."

It was a shock to your system. Your body never once having heard those words. It was so baffling you gave pushback.

"And why is that? I'm nothing special, you know?"

But Gon didn't hesitate. In fact, he sounded more sure of himself.

"You are special, to me and Killua at least."

Your next words came out impulsively. Tumbling out before you could stop them. Mind refusing to believe that.

"And what if I told you I use to kill people for fun. Would I still be as special." As important.

It was almost a habit at this point. Not thinking you deserved this much kindness. The sweet words. People who actually cared about you. Wanting to find any excuse as to why you didn't deserve happiness.

"...I already told you I don't care."

Hand reaching for yours as he continued.

"If you really were as horrible as you say, you wouldn't have warned us about Binolt. You wouldn't have protected me from Razor. You wouldn't have pushed Kite out of the way. And you wouldn't have almost died to keep us safe.

"We may not know a lot about your life before Greed Island, but we know you as a person. So I don't care about what you say about yourself. I know you, so stop trying to scare me away."

You truly couldn't say anything. Your heart hurt as you processed each and every word. Here this kid was singing your praises when you were about to abandon him. It was almost enough to make you give up on your plan and stay.

God, why was this so difficult.

You were the scum of the earth.

"Yeah? You love me no matter what, huh?"

You felt him nod, curling further into you.

"Love you, too. Now try to get back to sleep. You're gonna need it for tomorrow."

But neither of you made a move to get up. Him because he felt comfortable in your grasp, and you because you didn't want to startle him.

So you sat for a good five minutes before an idea struck you. It might've been a cheap trick, but it was sure to knock him out. Something you'd only done for her.

You started humming an old tune. One of your favorites from when you were little. Or should you say, one of her favorites. You may not have remembered all the words, but you knew the tune from heart.

Gon relaxed further into you. Your soft humming lulling him to sleep. You had a nice voice. It had an almost old-timey sound to it. He leaned his full weight on you, on the verge of falling asleep.

"See you in the morning, Y/n," he mumbled. His aura flickering before going out completely.

You waited another five minutes before gently picking him up and carrying him back to his room. Laying him beside Killua once more as you tucked him in.

"I'll see you when I see you, my little sunspot." You whispered. You looked over at Killua who was dead asleep.

"You two, my precious moon star."

You closed the door quietly behind you. Sticking a note on the front door before leaving completely.

"I hope I'll be enough when I get back. Someone deserving of all your kindness and love. Until then... Goodbye."

--------------------------

Fun fact #14: Y/n was humming this.

MASTERLIST

Tags: @fandomhoe101 @justxiao @bekataylorgriggs

-------------------

An: this has been 👇

Gon: Y/n, let me see what you have?"

Y/n: Unhealthy coping mechanisms!"

Killua: NO!"

Next two updates will be our backstory chapter and alternate chapter. The backstory chapter will be skipable because I know not everybody likes to read those, but it'll add some context to our insert's actions. The alternate chapter is exactly what it sounds like. An alternate chapter for Decisions where Y/n stays behind.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #gon x reader #killua x reader #mayhaps a kite x reader???#big sib reader #older reader #found family #x reader #platonic

94 notes · View notes

ireallymisscoffee · 2 years ago

Text

so, without them actually talking about it, he couldn't be sure he was getting this right, because .. he was not good at reading signs like this, but then again - he'd assume that kissing someone meant you liked them, right? yeah. so, he thought he'd responded quite well - trying to be as clear as possible about it. he could've just kissed him back, but that might've been interpreted as a heat of the moment thing, which ..this wasn't. joel had thought about it, thoroughly & he'd come to the conclusion that he didn't care what anybody else might think, all that mattered was them.

he'd always been so focused on meeting expectations & he'd always failed, miserably. he was working so many hours before the outbreak that sarah - his own daughter had to take care of him & herself. with ellie, he'd hidden the truth for far too long, afraid of her reaction, but even before that she'd proven that with jackson behind her, she didn't need him anymore. if anything, he was an annoyance to her now & tommy had needed him, in the past, but now? nah, all joel was to him was a reminder of his own failures. he'd tried to keep them all safe, even if it meant giving up himself in the process, but never had he taken anything for himself. not willingly.

this, right here. he didn't know why - he'd never imagined himself feeling for another man, but damnit if he wasn't crushing on darius with the intensity of his very first crush on a beautiful girl named veronica in high school. he was fucking fifty-six, but his heart had yet to recognize that.

so yeah, he wanted this. for himself. even if it meant he had to learn how to love again, he was here for it. with how darius beamed at him, joel assumed they were in the same boat. he didn't want to make the same mistake again like he did with tess. he knew he hadn't been fair, he knew he did everything wrong with her, but he didn't know better at the time. his grief still cut too deeply. it still did, he was a mess, but he was determined not to let it dictate his life again - not with d.

he'd do this right. which started with this, a first step in the right direction - for both of them apparently, cause darius was into this like woah. arms around d's neck tightened, one hand angled perfectly to brush through the other's hair. which was new, short hair. soft to the touch, different than the long hair of a woman. not at all bad though, he liked that he could push his fingers into the short mass on the back of his head & slide them up to gently pull at the longer hair on top of his head. yep, definitely enjoyable.

the kiss was different this time, almost like darius was no longer holding back & joel leaned into it as much as his body would allow for the time being. sharp breaths through the nose, because they both seemed unwilling to part, so when they did, they were both breathing hard & joel still couldn't get that damn smile off his face. "i just said i ain't gonna leave, so.. stop worryin' that i do." he was in this for the long run, apparently, cause the thought alone of waking up without d by his side made his heart throb.

though, like this, he wasn't going to be able to keep up for much longer. his leg was starting to protest, loudly, so he brought up all the strength he had left after months of not really doing a whole lot of anything & pulled himself up. d was nudged until joel could plant himself in his lap, making sure his leg could stretch & god, sweet relief. "that's better. pain was startin' to get t'me." he felt an explanation was due. leaning against d's chest with his side, part of his back - he was .. comfortable, honestly. well, apparently he was going to learn something new about himself every day now. "still waitin' on that coffee you stole. maybe another kiss if you're askin' nicely." glad he wasn't looking at him, because oh god he felt so awkward teasing like this. "....then pt. i got the feelin' i'm gonna need it."

He was half expecting Joel to get up and leave, with his help, anyway. Push him away, hit him, yell at him, something - anything. He hadn't expected the man to rest his forehead against his chest like an adorable fucking puppy dog. Nor did he expect him to ask Darius to do it again. The air in his lungs escaped him in a rush, his shoulders relaxing after what felt like a century of waiting to gauge his response. He really was full of surprises, wasn't he?

The look in his eye had Darius fighting back a groan. So. Fucking. Perfect. Fifty Six acting Sixteen, like it was his first kiss. God damn if that didn't make him need to do it again. Joel's arms around his neck like he could hold him in place forever, freezing them in this moment. He wanted so desperately to tell him how he felt, how much he loved him. How much he needed him... instead, he did as was requested.

Not wanting to overwhelm Joel with too much all at once.

His hand never left Joel's face, holding him just as firmly as the other, he captured his lips again. Kissing him deeper than before, using his actions over words to convey all that had remained unspoken between them. His entire body reacting, like there were fireworks running rampant through his core. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself this pleasure, allowed his heart to open itself to another.

He'd never known true love before now; had thought he'd found it when he was younger but anything he'd known had paled in comparison to Joel fucking Miller. The man who looked at him like the sun and the stars existing in his eyes. He kissed him like there'd never be another chance to. Wanting so desperately to drag Joel on top of him and stay like that for the day, the night, and ever moment that came after it. When he finally broke the connection, it was to look into those eyes. His voice so hoarse, he could barely speak.

"God, Joel... don't ever leave. You're my whole world, you know that?"

#sinfulneverlcnd \ 001

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rowyn-writes · 4 years ago

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A Mother's Love Part Two

Warnings: Pregnancy, fluff, major angst, implications of depression

Pairings: Dean x Wife!Reader

Characters: Dean, Jack, Sam, Reader, Cas (Mentioned only)

Word count: 3k

You sat on the couch of your childhood home, staring blankly at the T.V. Your knees were pulled up to your chin as you had your arms wrapped around your legs. It had been three weeks since you left the bunker, and you felt empty inside.

Your mother sat beside you, a cup of tea and honey in her hand and a concerned look on her face. "Darling, you have to eat something. I know you haven't been feeling well, but you still need to stay healthy." You didn't respond to her as she set the cup of tea in your hands.

Everything felt numb. It was like you didn't feel any emotions at all. The world felt dull. Like all color had been stripped and it left you in darkness.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" She asked softly. Even though you had been with your parents for almost a month now, you had never fully discussed what happened with Dean.

"Mom, please-"

"No, Y/N." She put her foot down. "You call me one day, clearly upset saying that you and Jack were going to stay here for a while. You get here and you don't look like the daughter that I knew. You've changed."

You scoffed at your mother's words. "I'm getting a divorce, of course I've changed."

She sucked in a breath of air. "Y/N. What happened?" You gave your mother a brief rundown of what happened with you, Dean and Jack. "Oh, honey." She sympathized. "I am so sorry. You know that you and Jack are welcomed to stay as long as you like. I know your father is excited to have a grandchild."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up to your mother. "What?"

"Jack, of course." She explained. "Look at them. Your dad's so happy. It's about time you give us a grandson."

"Lord knows you couldn't count on Chris for that." You rolled your eyes. "He can't keep a girl to save his life." Your smile began to fade slightly as your stomach did flips. Your mom noticed your green complexion and ran to grab a trash can. It was nearly too late as you felt your dinner from last night coming back up. She held your hair back as you did so, calling for your dad to get a wet washcloth.

You felt a cold cloth across your forehead, cooling your body. "Mom!" Jack said worriedly. "Are you okay?.

"She's okay, kiddo." Your dad assured him. "She's just not feeling too well." He mumbled skeptically.

You sat back against the couch, holding the rag to your head. "Jack," Your mom called. "Why don't you and I go make some cookies?"

Jack smiled at the idea, looking to you for approval. "You don't have to ask me, sweetheart. Go have fun."

You mother dipped down to whisper something unintelligible in your dad's ear before going to the kitchen.

"Y/N," He shook his head. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Because I don't want it to be real." You muttered. "I don't want to think about the last thing that Dean said to me or the look on his face. I want to wake up and for this whole thing to be a dream. But I know it's not. I won't wake up next to him tomorrow and I don't get to tell him how much I love him." You chocked on a sob, covering you mouth with your hand so Jack wouldn't hear.

"Oh, my sweet girl." Your dad said softly, pulling you into his side. "I am so sorry, my darlin'." You rested your head on his shoulder as tears slipped down your cheeks. "That's not it, though. Is it? There's something else."

"Papa, I think I'm pregnant." You confessed. "I'm late and I've been sick all week."

"Have you taken a test yet?" He asked. You shook your head. "Okay, I'll tell you what. I'll go by the drug store and get a couple of tests, just to be sure, and I'll grab you some food on the way home. How does that sound?"

"Great." You said with a small smile. He kissed the top of your head before grabbing the keys and heading out of the house.

---

Five.

Five tests that had come back positive. Each one that you looked at made your heart sink more and more. "Oh god." You whimpered. "Damnit."

"What does it say, sweetie?" Your mother questioned from the other side of the door. You slowly opened it up and showed her the positive pregnancy test.

"Are they all positive?" You nodded.

"What am I gonna do?"

"I think you should call Dean-"

"No." You said firmly. "I'm not calling Dean. He made it very obvious that he didn't want anything to do with me anymore."

"Y/N," Your mother spoke firmly. "I'm not justifying what Dean said or did in the moment, however, he was just as hurt as you were because you were leaving with Jack and you didn't know how long you would be gone. I really think you should call him. I think he would want to know you're pregnant with his baby."

You sighed at her words. You knew she had a point. She was your mother, she's always right. "What if he doesn't care?" You whispered. "What if he hears my voice and hands up on me?"

"Then that's his loss, honey." She cooed. "The least you can do is try."

---

MEANWHILE, AT THE BUNKER;

"Dean." Sam shook his brother. "Dean. C'mon dude, wake up."

Dean groaned as his eyes peeled open. "What?" He grumbled.

"You've been sleeping in here all night." Sam said, crossing his arms. "You should probably get some rest in your own bed, or at the very least, the couch. And charge your phone while you're at it, it's dead."

Dean stretched add he looked at the empty whiskey bottle set on the table and the picture of your wedding day beside it. It had been a rough few weeks since you had left. "You know I can't go sleep in that damn bed." He growled.

"Dean, I offered to switch rooms with you-"

"I don't want to switch rooms!" He snapped. "I want my wife back."

Sam frowned as he looked at his brother. He looked awful. He hasn't shaven in weeks, his hair's a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Why don't you call her, Dean?"

"Because, after what I said, she'll never take me back. I was too harsh on her. Plus my phone is broken."

"One, you have ten phones, and two, yeah, you were a complete ass." Sam agreed. "You should have seen her when she left here. I had never seen anyone so. . . Broken before. You know they sparkle she had in her eyes?" Dean nodded. "It was gone. Her entire face seemed dull, almost like she had aged ten years."

Dean put his head in his hands, feeling defeated. "What have I done?"

"I don't know, but you had better make it right."

---

"Still no answer?" Your father asked. You had called Dean three times now and still no answer.

"Nope. Not a sound."

"I'm sorry honey," Your mother sympathized, rubbing your back. It's that anything we can do?"

"Yeah," You nodded. "I need space. I need to spend more time with Jack before the baby comes. I just want to know what it's like to be a mother."

"Of course." Your dad agreed. "Take the keys to the cabin in Colorado. I know that's a lot of good memories there and no pesky neighbors to worry about "

"Thanks, dad." You smiled. "We'll be outta here soon."

"You don't have to leave in a rush, kiddo. You know that we love having you here."

"I know."

---

"Why are we going to your parents cabin in Colorado?" Jack asked curiously as he peered out the window.

"Uh," You bit your lip as you tried to come up with a suitable lie to tell Jack. You hated how much you were lying to Jack lately, but you knew that he wouldn't understand the things that you were going through. "I just wanted to show you the place and stay up there for a little while. It's nice and quiet, you'll love it. It's cold up there and it's snowy in the winter. I used to go sledding all the time when I was younger and then my parents would call me in for hot chocolate and a movie. We can do that together. How does that sound, Jack?"

"It sounds great, Mom!" He smiled goofily. Every time he called you 'Mom,' your heart melted. You loved that Jack felt so comfortable around you to call you his mother. You knew that you would never be able to replace Kelly, and you would never want to, but you did want to make him feel safe and loved. You wanted Jack to know what a mother's love feels like. Jack blamed himself for the death of his mother, and you understood his grief, but you had told him time and time again that it wasn't his fault. Kelly wanted to go through with the pregnancy and refused to listen to anyone else's opinions on the matter. You just wished he understood that.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, quickly wiping it away. "What's wrong, Mom?" Jack questioned. "Is it about Dean?"

You glanced over at Jack in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, Sam and Dean aren't here, and Dean hasn't called you to check up on you since we left. I know that whenever you go on a hunt by yourself, Dean calls you everyday to make sure you're okay."

You sighed heavily as you looked at the road in front of you. "Dean and I are. . . Going through a tough time right now. That's why I wanted to get away for a while. And I didn't want to go by myself, so that's why I wanted you to come with me."

"Are we ever going back to the bunker?"

"I don't know. . . It's a difficult situation, Jack. Right now, I don't think that I will be going back home anytime soon. But if you want to go back, I'll take you back. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do."

"I want to stay with you." He said firmly. "But I also want you to be happy. You don't look happy anymore. You don't smile or laugh the way you used to. You sit on the couch watching reruns of Friends, and I've heard you crying at night. Sometimes I think you forget that I don't sleep very much."

You said nothing in response, knowing that Jack was right. You wanted to call Dean one more time, but you knew it was fruitless. He wasn't going to answer. But you did have Sam. When you finally arrived at the cabin, you sent Jack to unpack while you dialed Sam's number. After three rings, he finally picked up.

"Hello, Y/N? Are you okay? How's Jack?" He asked in one breath.

"Hey, Sammy. I'm fine, and so is Jack. I just wanted to call and make sure that you haven't gotten killed by anything."

"Nope, we're still alive." He gave a small chuckle. "How are you, Y/N, really? Don't lie to me, because I know when you're lying."

"I miss him." You sniffed. "Being away from him hurts me." Your voice cracked, forcing you to clear your throat. "We've been married for five years. And I know that to the average person that doesn't seem like a long time, but we're hunters, Sam. You know how hard it is to stay in a relationship in our line of work. I've been in love with him for half my life, and now, for us to be in this situation, it sucks, Sam. I can't think of any other word to describe it. It really fucking sucks."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he listened to you cry. "I'm sorry this is happening, Y/N. I never thought that this would happen to you and Dean. But I've known Dean my whole life, and I've known you since we were twenty, so I think that I'm entitled to make a judgement on this." You let out a small laugh. "You two have been in love longer than you've been together, but both of you have been to dumb to realize it. You argue like cats and dogs because you're so certain about what you believe in. You're both so passionate about things that you never let up. And now that you're finally together, you have been so happy. Dean has never felt this way about anyone that he's been with, male or female. He loves you so much, Y/N, that it kills him. You have both come too far to for things to end like this. I'm going to tell you the exact same thing I told Dean; fix this."

"I want to, Sammy, I just don't know how."

"Stop hiding, for one. You can't fix something when you're hundreds of miles away." You groaned as you felt a wave of nausea was over you. "Y/N?" You quickly made your way to the bathroom. "Y/N? What's going on? Are you okay?"

You leaned against the wall once you were done throwing up. "Yeah, yeah, Sam, I'm okay."

"What was that about, then?" Sam questioned. When you didn't answer, he began putting the pieces together himself. "You're pregnant."

"SHH!" You hissed. "Don't say that!"

"Why not? Because you don't want Dean to know?" He spoke coldly.

"Sam, please, don't say anything."

"How long have you known, Y/N? And how long do you plan on keeping this from Dean?"

You sighed as you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I've known for a couple of days, okay? And I don't know when or how I'm going to tell Dean. He made it very clear that he didn't want anything to do with me the last time we talked. Besides, I tried to call him and he didn't answer my calls, so don't try to pin me off as the bad guy here."

"When did you try to call him?" The hard edge in Sam's voice disappeared.

"Three days ago, when I found out I was pregnant."

You could hear Sam let out a small laugh. "Three days ago I came in the kitchen to find Dean passed out on the table, hung over as hell and holding on to the picture of your wedding day. And beside him was his broken phone. His main phone, which I'm assuming is the one that you called?"

"Yeah. . ." You said meekly.

"Hang up and call his second phone. Please, will you do that for me?"

"Yes," You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you.

"I love you, Y/N/N."

"I love you too, Sammy." You sighed as you hung up the phone. You were terrified to call Dean. You hadn't spoken to him since that night all those weeks ago. You were still hurt, and you knew that Dean was hurting as well, and all you wanted was to hear his voice. You took a deep breath as you dialed his second phone number.

It rang five times before going to voicemail, making your heart sink. Not a minute later, the number called back. "Hello?"

"Y/N." Dean's voice said gruffly. "Sam told me you were going to call."

"Did. . . Did he tell you anything else?" You asked.

"Just that I needed to talk to you. What's going on?"

"I miss you," You confessed. You needed to tell Dean everything, and that included telling him how you felt. "I hate the way things ended between us, and I know that it wasn't solely on you or me. But I love you, Dean, and I will never stop loving you. And I know it's unfair I left and this is how I'm trying to get you back; over the phone. I would much rather be doing this in person. But I love you, Dean, and I always will. No matter what you say or do, I love you."

You could hear Dean struggling to breathe correctly. "Where are you?"

"My parents cabin, wh-"

"I'll be tomorrow morning." And with that, he hung up.

---

You paced back and forth in the living room, biting your nails. Dean didn't say what time he was going to be here, but he just said that he would be here in the morning. You had stayed up all night thinking about him. About the way his hair fell into his face after a shower, and how he always smelled like whiskey and firewood. The way his eyes would crinkle at the edges whenever he laughed, really laughed. But your favorite thing was when you had just finished a hunt, and you would go to lie down in bed, Dean would pull you close to him and whisper how much he loves you.

A sharp knock at the door snapped you out of your trance. "Who is it, Mom?" Jack asked, peering around the corner.

"Why don't you come see, kiddo." You wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans before opening the door to reveal Sam and Dean. "Hi," You smiled. Sam was the first to come inside and hug you. He grinned as he pulled away, ruffling your hair.

"Why don't I take Jack into town for a little bit while you guys work this out?" He suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. Jack, go put on your shoes, you're going into town with Sam for a little while." Jack beamed at your works, hurriedly putting his shoes on a following Sam out the door.

"Hi," You said once more after Sam and Jack were gone. Dean didn't say a word as he hugged you tightly. You melted into his touch, feeling comfort in his embrace. The familiar smell of whiskey and firewood filled your nostrils. You closed your eyes to savor this moment. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

taglist:

@vicariouslythruspn @mimaria420 @fofisstilinski @daphnen21 @katwed @anunstablefangirl @desimarie12 @alderpine @rebeccaitsnotwhatyouthink @akshi8278

Also, yes, there will be a part 3

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #Sam Winchester #jack kline imagine #Jack Kline #jack imagine #supernatural #Supernatual #Supernatural angst #supernatural imagine #supernatural fluff #supernatural x reader

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dizzydancingdreamer · 4 years ago

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Persephone’s Symphony | Day One | Hades

Hey lovelies— here is the next part! I wanted to pause here and add a little note: the word tiny is thrown around here. I don’t want this to hinder anyone of you to not read this because you think the word doesn’t apply to you. I want to make a couple things clear. 1) All shapes and sizes are beautiful and I, myself, am a wonderfully plump lady. 2) I don’t use the word as a physical description in a way meant to limit a ‘reader insert’ type of fiction— I use it because Bucky Barnes is a super soldier and anyone would be small to him. Thus I hope you can enjoy it the same way I can— because sometimes we all just need to feel like a super soldier could rip us in half. Stay safe my lovelies and please do enjoy!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: some angsty moments but overall no warnings

Word count: 4.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She’s tiny. That’s the only thing he can think for the first couple hours. She is so damn tiny and fragile and soft and he doesn’t know how to be around a human that tiny and fragile and soft. Maybe it’s worse because he has to keep this tiny human alive. He hasn’t had to do that before— all the other tiny people in his life have been perfectly capable of keeping themselves alive. Even Steve all those years ago, when he only came up to his shoulder—barely— would have fought tooth and nail to stay alive. Even then it always felt like Bucky was just there in case. Maybe that was just Steve though.

He blinks— he doesn’t want to think about the man right now. He can’t afford to get lost in his head. Gods only know if he starts thinking about those days— the ‘good’ old days— he won’t stop. Maybe not for days. Maybe because they’ll remind him that he’s not supposed to be here— that he isn’t made to keep tiny, gentle, grilled cheese cooking, question asking things alive. Usually he’s the one hindering people from being alive— hindering life itself. Usually it doesn’t bug him this much but he can’t help but equate the girl in the Caltech hoodie with life—

“Is what they say about New York pizza true?”

— And himself with death.

“S’alright— Chicago is better.”

He watches as she flips through a book that she had picked up off the coffee table a few minutes ago. The Big Book of Dogs. Is he supposed to laugh at that? She is— giggling and flipping through pages upon pages of puppies. It isn’t aimed at him, her musical, soft sounds. She isn’t laughing at him. It only feels like she is. He’s learned to separate the difference these days— it’s just in his head. Still, he has to turn away from her, using the guise— his job— of being a bodyguard to keep his gaze moving.

From the corner of his eye he watches as she lowers the book, peaking over at him from behind a peppy looking Alaskan Malamute— yes, he knows his dogs. He is one, after all.

“You know, I think there are quite a few people who disagree with you on that one.”

Bucky pretends to ignore the way she quirks a brow at him, her eyes drifting back to the page. He also ignores the way his heart spikes at the little movement. Snap out of it, Barnes. He stands, stalking to the living room window and pulling back the heavy green curtain. Nobody is out there— he didn’t expect there would be someone, he just needed to move. How many more hours?

“Thought you were asking me.” He quips, staring out towards the bayou where the water has turned grey and choppy.

He watches as the rain pours down the window pane, tap tap tapping in front of his nose as the sunlight surrenders to the misty storm clouds. As much as he hates to admit it, Wilson was right— the rainy season’s rolling in on the dot. Even he is starting to feel the effects, his bones beginning to leaden.

As if on cue, she yawns, setting down The Big Book of Dogs and curling her legs into her chest, hiding them beneath the mountain of fabric she wears. “I was gauging. Consider it a test.”

Bucky huffs— not sure if he’s annoyed because of her questioning or because of how, despite the tension still laced through his shoulder blades like sailors knots, he isn’t that bothered by it. Annoyed because he isn’t annoyed— that’s a first. He lets the curtain drop again and turns to the TV where Netflix lays open but unused, blocking out one mind numbing haze for another. What would they even watch together?

“Oh yeah? Did I pass?”

Maybe some cheesy sit-com. That feels harmless enough and he’s been catching up on a few of them. Some of them even make him laugh. Maybe that’s in poor taste though. He’s never had to deal with someone else’s grief before— he rarely deals with his own as is.

“Maybe it would be better to just not ask that.”

He doesn’t think before he says it— he doesn’t have time to, it slips out before he can grab it and shove it back in his stupid, sentimental mouth. “You sound like Steve.”

Fuck. Her head pokes up, her doe eyes somehow managing to meet his gaze despite how hard he tries to force his neck to turn in the other direction. How does one person look so soft? He can see the question in her eyes, the way they spark with intrigue. He watches in slow motion as her lips— not glossy like they had been in the picture but still just as pink— peel apart.

“Who’s Steve?” Her voice is too sweet— too sincere. Like she actually doesn’t know. Then again, maybe she doesn’t— they never really used his name.

Bucky can’t answer. It’s too early and Steve is too long of a story. One hundred years worth of story, to be precise. How is he supposed to fit all of that into one answer? He can’t. He can’t answer but he can’t not answer either— not when she’s looking at him like she wants to know every little thing about him.

Bucky can’t answer so he doesn’t answer. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

She sinks back against the leather cushions, pulling her hands into her sweater. He almost curses when she curls her knees closer to her body. He can’t really see them from under her hoodie but he can see the movement— the way she wraps her arms around her legs so that she looks like a tiny blob of fabric and a head. His chest squeezes at the sight of her pulling away from him. Can he ever say anything right?

He told Wilson— he told him that he wouldn’t be a good fit for the job. What, a man like him? Man, dog, wolf, asshole. What’s the difference? He was right, that’s all that matters. It’s been all of five hours and he’s already making her uncomfortable all because he can’t—

“You’re the one who brought it up.” She grumbles, her soft— less sweet— voice pulling him from his unintentional staring contest with her forehead. His neck flushes with heat. Shit.

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s just— it’s a long story, doll.”

Again, it just slips out. Instead of wanting to push the word back into his lips this time, though, he wants to punch himself in the mouth. Doll? Really? He watches as her eyes blow wide, his stomach sinking when her pink lips peel apart again, her jaw going slack but none of her honeyed words coming out this time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Immediately he begins running through apologies in his head. Of course none of them are actually worth their weight— not in gold or anything else. Not even in the energy it would take to say them. What’s he supposed to say? Sorry the last time I spoke to a woman was eighty years ago. That would be even more explaining. Damnit, Bucky!

He tries not to groan out loud, clenching his jaw, still staring into her eyes. Look away, you idiot! He can’t. He’s about to say something— or maybe he’s about to literally throw himself out the window, he isn’t exactly sure which is going to play out just yet— but before he can do either the delicate girl in the Caltech sweater speaks first.

“I— erm—” she squirms in her seat but her eyes stay latched on him the entire time— maybe she’s a fighter after all— “we have time?”

For a moment he just stares at her, lost in the way her nose scrunches, her lips pressing together like she’s the one who said something out of line. Like she, too, is contemplating punching herself in the face. That’s when he caves. It’s to save her from a broken nose. He repeats it like a mantra. He isn’t giving in because he’s weak, he’s giving in because it’s his job to make sure she’s safe— even from herself.

He takes a step forward, only now realizing he’s been standing in the middle of the room the entire time. Has he always been this fucking awkward? Nodding his chin towards the floor, the space in front of where she’s perched, he shoots her a look he can only hope resonates as something along the lines of ‘can I sit?’. She nods and he lowers himself to the ground in front of her, leaning against the side of the couch as gently as the super soldier can muster. Despite his efforts he still lands with a thud, the couch shifting backwards a couple inches. It’s not terrible— she only slightly flinches this time and he only kind of wants to bury himself alive.

“Not that much time—” he watches as her face drops, the way her her cheek twitches like she's sinking her teeth into it, and he hurries the rest of his sentence— “but if you ask—” he tries for a smile that feels more like the right side of his face seizing than anything— “then I’ll answer.”

He waits for a beat, his gaze locked on her hands which she pulls from her sleeves only to twist together again. He has to stop himself from looking down at his own hands— from thinking again about how fragile and delicate she is. He doesn’t have to look to know that both of her hands could fit in one of his. Especially his special hand. She hasn’t asked about it. A few times he’s caught her peeking at it, no doubt a million questions swirling behind those wide eyes of hers, but those are questions she has kept to herself. He wouldn’t blame her if she did ask, though— or if she was terrified.

“Alright,” his eyes flick back to her face, meeting her determined stare and avoiding the way his chest lightens, “deal.”

He nods.

“But—”

Oh no.

“You have to ask me things too. It’s only fair— that way we both know things about each other.”

It’s only fair. He doesn’t know what to say. Again. It seems that every time he feels like he’s beginning to figure her out he gets shoved on his ass. Literally— he is quite literally on his ass right now. All because of what? A little girl? A little girl with small hands and a stare worse than his?

A little girl who thinks he of all people deserves fair. He knew life was cruel but this is worse— this is evil.

“Ask away.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Wait, wait, wait— you can’t be serious!”

Her giggles sound more like music than laughter to him. Usually he hates music— the newer stuff at least, maybe Wilson was right; maybe he is an old man— but this is bearable. This is mesmerizing.

He glances up at her from over his shoulder, fighting the same smile that’s been threatening his lips for the better part of two hours now. He isn’t sure why exactly he does it. Maybe because he knows it would be nothing compared to hers. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t deserve to be compared to hers. He isn’t a religious man but it feels blasphemous to even suggest he could exist with a margin of the sanctity she exudes. He’s committed many sins— that he can say with certainty— but to propose that he is the same as her would be the worst one of all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from soaking up every pious laugh into his wicked skull— he isn’t a perfect man, after all.

“Deadly serious. Steve was pissed at me for weeks. How was I supposed to know she had a husband?” He is rewarded with more giggles, ones that set his chest on fire.

Is that what happens when demons spend too much time around angels— they start to burn?

She pulls the blanket she acquired around an hour ago over her face, muffling her laughter much to his dismay. “You could have asked her!”

Bucky lifts a shoulder before letting it flop back down again. “You’re right.”

This is how it has gone since he proposed she ask him questions. She asks him her question— usually something light and easy— favourite color, favorite food, what was the last thing he bought. That one threw him for a loop but he answered anyway— Chinese food. She had giggled at that. You don’t seem like a Chinese food kind of guy. She’s not wrong. That is usually what she does after the questions, though— giggles. Giggles and teases him. Tortures him. Same thing. He doesn’t even think she knows what she’s doing.

Then, of course, he asks her questions of his own. They’re pretty much the same— favorite animal, middle name, what Passadena is like. Warm and busy. That was her answer— he’s never been to SoCal so who’s to say whether or not she was telling the truth. He really doesn’t care. He was more paying attention to the timbre of her voice— the way she makes normal words sound important. He didn’t know he could be so enthralled listening to someone talk about a cat named mittens.

For the first hour or so it was questions like that. The easy, no commitment kind. He wouldn’t have minded if they had stayed like that but, as he kept answering, she had grown more and more confident. Honestly, he didn’t mind that either. It was interesting to watch as she became comfortable around him. Well, more comfortable than before— more comfortable than he would have thought she could be around a guy like him. Her knees eventually pushed out of that hoodie and she relaxed into the couch. It was strange— completely and utterly strange.

By the second hour she had braved the first of many hard questions. It wasn’t what he thought it would be— still nothing about his arm— it was nothing close to that, actually.

It was about his mother.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hard question but it was, unexpectedly so. His mother. He hasn’t thought about his mother in years. Longer. Decades. He wasn’t expecting to feel so guilty about it but there he was, feeling like his throat was being crushed, while describing to the tiny, lovely girl— who has just lost her own mother— his mother’s lily of the valley perfume. He assumed that’s why she asked— because she misses her mother. He doesn’t blame her. He just never thought that he would miss his mother, too, today.

The rest weren’t as bad as that one. They still made his jaw ache, sure, but not like that. The ones about Steve were the only ones remotely comparable. How did you meet him? What was he like? What’s your favourite story with him in it? That was the last question— the one that made her giggle herself into a half hanging, half sprawling position over the arm of the couch— the position she is currently in right now.

He doctored the answers a little bit— he figured now isn’t the right time to tell her he’s pushing a hundred and ten— but he kept the good parts. Like how Steve and he had run through the streets of Brooklyn that night— Steve without a shirt and him in nothing but a pair of boxers that he is pretty sure to this day had belonged to her husband— being chased by the New York police. Good times.

“What, erm, what was her name?” Her voice is extra gentle— airy.

She’s nervous or maybe out of breath. He can’t quite tell, she’s too flopped over to get a proper look. She’s breathtaking either way.

All of a sudden it’s extra hard to fight back his smile. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

Sitting up, she pools back into her seat. She scrunches her nose at him but doesn’t object. He can see that she wants to, though. Her eyes hide nothing. Then again he’s been trained to read people— to see the minute tick of her jaw and the invisible pulsing of her pupils. Invisible to anyone but him. Invisible to anyone who isn’t a monster— the big, bad wolf. His borderline smile dies quickly and he can’t bring himself to search for it again. This is how it should be.

Bucky clears his throat, mulling over what to ask her next. His eyes drift over the tan hoodie, the frays on the cuffs and the fact that there are no strings, and, like that, he has an idea.

“What’s the deal with that hoodie?” He tries to make it casual but he really does want to know— it’s like four sizes too big, there has to be a story.

He tries to make it casual but she still sobers. Like her hands receding once more into the cuffs of her sweater, the last remnants of the giggly girl fade from his line of sight. He chases it as far as he can, watching as her fingers disappear completely and lingering just in case it’s only a fluke. But no, they don’t come back, and he wishes he could disappear with them.

“It was—” her tongue pokes out, swiping against her pink lip and making it shine— “it was my dad’s. He, uh, he went to Caltech too. Was part of their alumni.”

The super soldier nods, pulling his legs up as well, hoping that by copying her she’ll see it as a signal to keep going. He doesn’t want to speak over her and accidentally derail her thoughts. He wants to know about her dad— her whole family actually. Whatever is important to her, like the hoodie.

“We used to go to these big alumni dinners and he would talk at them. Families like us were invited I guess— like a thank you of sorts.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, still latched on his but glassy and distant, no longer actually seeing him. It’s a look he understands too well. “One time he pulled me on stage with him. I think maybe I was thirteen? He said—” she stops, swallowing so hard her throat bobs, and he has to shove his hand under his leg to keep from reaching out— “ah, I’m sorry. He said ‘this girl right here— this is my daughter! If you think I’m good at what I do then you should see her. She’s something I tell you— Gonna be the best this school has ever seen!’”

His chest tightens— not necessarily from her story but from the way her voice cracks, her soft tone becoming scratchy. She swallows again and he hates it. He hates that he can see tears ready to fall and he hates that she’s even here with him under these circumstances.

He hates that he’s still grateful to be here anyway, being the person who she tells her story to.

“Was he right?” He knows it isn’t his question but he has to say something— anything— to make this better. He has no idea if this is it but it’s worth a shot.

Her brows push together, her head tilting slightly to the side, much too elegantly to be normal— are all women this pretty or is it just her? She blinks, clearing some of the mist, eyes drawing over his face. She traces across his brows, down his nose, stopping on his lips for a pulse— like tracing out the rhythm to a song only she can discern. Everything she does is like music. It must just be her.

“What?” She doesn’t say it rudely; she says it like she didn’t hear him— like she was too far lost in the wonderland of her memory to hear anything— and his chest tightens even further.

“You said your father told everyone you were going to be the best— were you?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of her, slowing his words and waiting for the recognition to creep in. It takes a moment but it does, the last of the glass evaporating into something else.

“I, uhm, I don’t know—”

“You do.” He presses— he can hear the edge of that something in her tone. The downplay is scribed over her feature— lowered eyes, flat mouth, trembling fingers— she wants to say something.

“What do you even know?”

About anything going on in my head— yeah, that’s not familiar at all.

Bucky doesn’t flinch when she hisses the words at him— partly because, despite the clear ice in her words, he doubts they came out as hard as she was hoping they would. Her voice isn’t made to sound wretched. He knows she could tell him the filthiest things— tear him down to the last peg, spit his name out like a curse— and she would still sound like an angel. That makes her dangerous— or at least it would if she didn’t already have tears welling up in those big eyes of hers again.

He flicks a brow, letting one corner of his mouth tick up, telling himself that it’s only for her peace of mind— to let her know that he isn’t angry at her. That he gets it. That sometimes he feels so fucking confused and hurt and scared that he, too, wants to hiss at people because at least then they leave him alone. Yeah, it’s only for her peace of mind.

“Try slamming the ‘you’ harder next time—” he draws the word out, exaggerating the motion while keeping his features a mixture of schooled and relaxed— “usually works out better.”

Her hands— which have been tangling over the collar of her hoodie— drop into her lap with a thunk, her eyes rolling. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome— but you never answered.”

She shoots him a deadpan stare— well, sort of. She never actually stopped looking at him so her face just morphes from vexed to blank. So far it’s his least favourite expression— he would rather she just got angry. He’d rather see fire— or ice— than nothing.

“I thought it was my turn?” Doesn’t she know that the more she avoids the question, the more he wants to know the answer?

Bucky doesn’t let up— he will if she actually tells him to drop it but she hasn’t and he doubts she will— she’s too determined to win. “Consider it payment for your extra questions.”

He holds her gaze still, waiting for the moment she folds. It takes longer than he expects it would, sitting in silence with her eyes on him for almost three minutes. He almost breaks around two and a half minutes. The girl has a way of looking at him like she can see right into his head. Still, he holds, waiting, waiting, waiting until finally— there it is!

Light a light shining in the darkness, her mouth pulls into a merciful smile— well, if mercy means the coy glint in her eye, that is. “I was the best.”

The super soldier nods, finally letting his gaze drop. He doesn’t say anything— he doesn’t have to. His point has already been made. He never wanted to be right. He just wanted her to say it. Not for him but for herself. He doesn’t let himself mull over what that says about him. Nothing good. That’s the only answer. It says nothing good about him, the lengths he’s already willing to go to keep this soft, icy girl safe. Him, a monster. It only tells him that he’s selfish— but he already knew that. Those are thoughts for another time.

“Your turn.” He reminds her, leaning back against the arm of the couch, all but aware of the foot of space between his head and her hand which is scratching over the leather behind him.

There is no pause this time— no beat, moment, or minute. Just like that she’s back, moving on to the next topic, almost as though she has had the question queued for ages now, dying to know the answer. He supposes it’s only fair— she let him ask his questions.

“What was her name?”

Her voice lacks the airy note it had held the last time she asked, clearly over waiting, and he has to turn to the window to hide the way he finally cracks, his lips sloping up in a grin that’s both too alien and too familiar. It tastes too much like the old days— like peach schnapps and movie theatre popcorn. She’s not ready for that. He knows because he isn’t.

“Delores.”

_______________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky (if i missed anyone I am so sorry please shoot me a message and I’ll fix it)

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #Persephone's Symphony

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lifebeginsbyleaving · 5 years ago

Text

You Gotta Fight... For Your Right...

TO PAAAAAAATAAAYYY

Stiles was about to take the three hundred year old tome, that Deaton told them to be extra cautious with, and lob it right at Derek's little furry werewolf balls.

"I don't see why this is such a big deal Stiles!" Derek's eyebrows twitched with annoyance.

Stiles gaped and threw his arms out. "Oh, of course. Of course you wouldn't see the importance of being invited to a super cool exclusive party. Not you mister I have sex in my really cool car with my hot ass leather jacket on and could probably seduce anyone living with an eyebrow raise! Sorry some of us are lame and need to pander at Danny's feet just to get laid!"

All of the earlier annoyance dropped from his face and a cold blank one appeared. "I wasn't aware that was the situation."

Stiles scoffed and started pacing as the pack shot each other unsure looks. "Well, yeah man. In case you're just tuning into the Stiles show, I'm undesired as hell! So, I am absolutely going to this party. Summer heat wave and unpredictable omega passing through be damned."

Stiles started to walk away like he got the last word, but Derek grabbed his arm. "You have to stay to protect the pack."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "What, you don't think you guys can handle one weak omega? Are you slipping? Unless you need protection from the heat, in which case you'll have to deal. No matter how useless you all think I am, I have more self respect than to fan you all with palm branches and bring you iced drinks in a toga." Stiles yanked his arm back and gave Derek a sharp look before storming towards the door.

Derek growled lowly at him.

Stiles turned back and sneered right in his face. "Oh you know what sourwolf, eat me! I barely ask you all for anything. And after months of nonstop threats, multiple abductions, and getting an accumulative five hours of sleep a week because of research I think I deserve a break! One party. Marcus's weekend long bashes have been legendary since freshman year and a year after school this is the first year I'm invited to it. I'm going! End of story. And you-" Stiles jabbed his finger into Derek's chest. "Can fucking deal, or find a new fragile human."

That shocked Derek enough that Stiles had enough time to storm away and slam the loft door. Even him cursing as the force nearly dislocated his shoulder didn't snap him out of it. Derek only slammed his palm into the wall once his Jeep door closed.

He turned and the pack all had shocked looks. He took a moment to calm down. "There's a rouge omega out there and he's thinking with his dick!"

Lydia hopped of the counter with a huff. "He'll be fine, Derek. He could handle one omega with his hands tied."

"What about stupidly drunk too fucking busy with some preppy asshole?!"

She shook her head. "He's resourceful and perceptive, so probably. If you're worried about him being drunk though, Marcus makes sure everyone is safe. You have to hand over keys and phones at the door. Marcus has someone to drive if someone wants to leave."

He raised a judgemental eyebrow at her. "Him not being able to contact us is supposed to make me feel better?"

Erica hopped into the conversation, "There's a landline. He'll call if he needs us. Chill. Unless there's another reason he shouldn't go to a party with a bunch of drunk, attractive, and popular people?"

Derek turned away, but could still see her smirk.

Lydia had to put the final nail in the coffin. "Besides, Danny will be there. He'll take care of him. Really well."

Derek closed his eyes so they wouldn't see the red glow reflect off the window he was staring out. "Fine. Leave. Pack meeting over. Stiles can do whatever the hell he wants."

Derek would never understand why they all seemed so enamored by him. The entire pack loved him. It made Derek's skin crawl. Even when the sheriff met him mid supernatural fight and Danny took a moment to introduce himself he immediately loved him. He exclaimed about how there was finally a teenager with manners. Derek couldn't figure out if it was the hawaiian charm or what, but everyone on God's green earth that met Danny Mahealani seemed to frickin adore him. And somehow Derek's rare disapproval got out. Mrs. Thurnbury took him aside in the supermarket and patted his arm and said, "That Danny boy is a good egg. He helped me with my groceries. Be a dear and don't murder him with your eyebrows of discontentment." She winked and left and all he could think was he helped her with her groceries first god damnit!

They started to trickle out.

Peter stood up. "Oh, nephew mine?"

Derek sighed.

"Would your objections have anything to do with the Mahealani boy rejecting your offer to join the pack? Or maybe the corrupting and subsequent poisoning of the token human's liver that you find fault with. Or maybe the pounding that Stiles could get fro-"

Derek's fangs joined his threatening growl.

"From that rouge omega. Only if it were to show up to that party. Small chance though, as we said." Peter smirked. "So nothing to worry about really."

"Get out before I show you out. The third story window."

Peter gave him a consoling look as he passed. "No need to get so worked up over the boys rejection. He simply wants to stay out of supernatural matters as much as possible. Besides, I think he's got all that he wants from this pack." He dropped his voice lower even though it was unnecessary. "I would suggest figuring out if you do before it is no longer available. Or rather, he isn't." Peter looked smug as he sauntered out.

Derek looked up with relief to see that only Scott was left in the loft. Scott sent him a consoling look. "Don't take it so hard dude. It's just a party."

Derek felt frustration bubbling up. "Exactly Scott. It's just a party. And he goes and acts like that." Derek shoved his hands towards the door he had slammed like he was still waiting behind it. "He challenged our decision and the advice of the pack over a stupid party."

Scott smiled. "I've known him since I was four, alphas or not it was not our decision. It was his."

"He could get hurt. We were worried and he did that!"

"Did what Derek?"

Derek roared back, "He said he'd leave the pack! He said it like it was nothing! He said it because of that boyslut that makes him think he's not good enough! I'll never get why he-"

"Why he what Derek, wants to have fun? Blow off some steam?" Scott nodded pointedly to Derek's clawed and balled fists.

Derek unclenched them, realizing how out of control he was getting.

Scott went over to the table to sit down and Derek followed.

"Why do you think Stiles became friends with Danny?"

Derek deadpanned, "To get laid."

Scott gave him a crooked grin. "Besides that?"

Derek shared none of his humor, but offered silence.

Scott was undeterred and used to it. "Because he's fun. Danny has this way of putting people at ease. Like no matter what, if you're with him, you're going to be alright. He's fun and easy."

Derek snorted and nodded.

"He shows people how to be carefree and enjoy themselves."

Derek grew irritated. "Why are you here then."

Scott looked sad. "Derek, why do you think Stiles became friends with Danny? I think it's because maybe he needs that. He needs fun and carefree. He needs blackout drunk and mistakes you won't remember in the morning. It's a way he can lose control without risking anyone's safety except his own. Dancing to music till it's light outside might still end with your muscles burning in the morning, but it comes with less trauma than running for your life in the woods." Scott looked devastated. "He just wants something fun Derek. My best friend just wants to be a normal teenager for a few nights. I think he just wants to remember what it's like to be okay. To be carefree. And I don't know about you Derek, but I can't find it in me to fault him for it. Not after everything he's been through."

Everything wiped off Derek's face except bare grief and guilt.

"Do I still worry about him getting home, and if he'll watch his drinks enough, and what if he's too drunk and someone is too insistent yes I do. But at the end of the day he deserves a break. From the craziness, the supernatural, the constant looking over his shoulder, the responsibility, the hurt, and yes ultimately also the pack. He's earned it. With all the research, the sleepless nights, the-"

Derek closed his eyes. "I know how much he's sacrificed for the pack. I'm sorry I didn't realize."

Scott shrugged. "I'm not the one you have to apologise to. But then again if I know him, you don't have to apologise to him either." The heaviness was gone from his face, just that lightness that Scott's unending hope brought. "Couldn't hurt though, right? He'll spend the weekend worrying about worrying you."

*** Derek had procrastinated until the very last moment. He knew Danny would pick him up soon, but Derek couldn't leave the Camaro and walk the last final blocks for some reason. He heard a car coming up the street and his eyes snapped to his mirror expecting to see Danny. He huffed and swung open the car door.

Derek opened the window silently and stepped in without a sound. He inched closer to Stiles' turned back.

He froze as Stiles started to speak out loud. "Should I pack an extra shirt sourwolf?"

Derek was silent.

Stiles turned. "No opinion?"

Derek softly mumbled, "It's always good to be prepared."

Stiles smirked. "Oh I bet you looked adorable with your eyebrows and sash asking old ladies if they needed help to get your community badge."

"What?" Derek asked confused.

"Don't worry, I won't ask Cora for pictures in your little uniform. Scout's honor. " He held up the Vulcan salute.

"Pack the extra shirt Stiles. And a sweatshirt. In case it's cold."

Stiles' face melted to a smile. "Aww it's almost like you care." He turned back to his bag. "But it is summer. Ya know, hot as balls out?"

"You get cold easily. A slight draft and you're shivering like you're naked."

"Considering the limited amount of activities I do while naked, I'm usually very hot when I'm naked."

Derek scoffed, but turned away from Stiles to keep from taking off his clothes in his mind to picture him with a slight heated blush like the one Derek had right then.

"I do hope you didn't come here to argue or try to stop me."

Derek shook his head, but then spoke, "No."

Stiles zipped his bag and turned. "Well, that clears everything up. Is it the omega?" He was still playful, but a hint of worry worked it's way in.

Derek turned quickly. "No. If we have to, we'll deal with that. I-I just came to wish you a good weekend." Derek attempt a small smile.

Stiles raised an eyebrow and put what was in his hands down. "Are you alright? Do you smell toast? What's that thing you're doing on your face? Do I need to call Deaton? I'm sure he's got like a magical milkbone that could fix whatever's wrong with your face."

Derek's face changed to a genuine smile and Stiles' eyes gleamed as the corners of his mouth also lifted.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles turned back away. Derek would take that as a bad sign, but he knew how well Stiles knew him. He knew Derek wasn't good with apologizing. He was giving him space. "It's okay sourwolf. I'm sorry too."

"For what?" Derek looked at the hands nervously folding and unfolding a flannel.

"You know what for. I should never have said that. I knew how it would effect you. You know I would always fight to be a part of the pack."

"And you know you would never have to. We know and appreciate how much you do. Even if we forget to show it."

Stiles turned back with earnestness in his eyes. "Thank you sourwolf. It means a lot."

Derek forced himself to look back into his wide brown eyes. "You mean a lot. To the pack. For all that you do."

"I would do anything, for the pack." His lips stretched into a lazy smile. "I have to finish packing." He made no effort to move away.

"I should head back." He hesitated slightly before heading to the window.

It was a few moments after Stiles heard him jump down, but he knew he would hear him. "Thank you Derek. Have a good weekend."

***

Derek was not having a good weekend.

He didn't even want to talk about yesterday and today wasn't going much better.

He sat on his couch reading a book and listening to music. After he flipped each page he'd check the time in his phone. Normally he'd be busy with something, but he had already made supper, did a long workout, and showered. Usually he enjoyed his down time, but it was too quiet. He flicked on the TV and turned his page just to turn it back to actually read what was on the page this time.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face after having to reread the first paragraph for the third time. He laid his head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

The door flung open and a loudly laughing Erica walked in and Derek had enough.

"Just for one night can I have some peace! You haven't let me focus all day! How can three people be so loud!"

He finally looked over and his harshness faded seeing their shocked faces and arms filled with bags.

Isaac meekly spoke, "Uh Derek, we've been at the mall all day."

Derek closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered being home alone all day. "Right. Sorry."

Erica recovered the fastest. "Okay grumpy pants what's got your tail in a twist?" She shoved the bags onto a chair and plopped down beside him.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right. And yelling at three pups who have done absolutely nothing wrong all day qualifies as okay? Maybe a couple years back, but not now. Spill the kibble."

He raised an eyebrow back at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay moderately nothing wrong. Stop deflecting."

"The omega still isn't dealt with and S-"

"Stiles is at a party?" She looked amused.

"No. And Scott's approach of giving them the benefit of the doubt and allowing them to pass through isn't exactly comforting."

"Right, sure. I completely agree that is what's wrong with you." She got up. "Boyd, come and have a conversation with mister ignore the real problem till it goes away."

Isaac piped up, "He'll do it when he's ready guys."

He dutifully walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder from the other side of the couch. "Go and see if he's okay if that's what you have to do." He walked away.

Derek hated his betas some days. Erica because she was so smug, Boyd because he was so correct, and Isaac because he was so supportingly encouraging.

He mostly hated Erica though.

***

It was another twenty minutes and they had all settled in. Erica had put on new pjs and commendered the TV. Isaac had turned off his music and Boyd had asked him about his book and he just tossed it over. He couldn't even remember the title.

He heard them before they slid the door open and didn't bother to move. As soon as he saw their expression though, he stood quickly. "What happened?" His heart was thundering already.

"The sheriff found a body. He wants us to check it out. Before he rules it an animal attack." Scott gave him a concerned look.

Allison spoke up next from where she was linked to Scott's arm. "The sheriff will probably call you soon."

Derek calmed slightly. "Take them with you. You and Allison can check out the body, see if you can figure out what happened, then if you can find a trail. The betas will fan out from the crime scene and see if they can find anything else."

Scott nodded. "And what are you going to do?"

Derek's phone started to ring and he eagerly checked the screen. "If you were an out of control omega and were lost in the woods, what would you be attracted to?" He answered the call and headed to his room to get changed. "Hello sheriff."

Scott muttered mostly to himself. "The loud party in the middle of the preserve with a bunch of drunk people."

Scott and Allison waited for the three of them to get changed, but Derek was grabbing his jacket on the way out before they were ready.

Derek was reaching for the door when Scott put a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine. We'll call with any information."

*** Despite Scott's reassurance he broke every speed limit on the way there. He had been searching the mass of sweaty dancing bodies for several minutes, unable to make his way upstairs yet in case of what he might interrupt. The bright flashing lights were already making him nauseous.

He got a phone call and made a break for the kitchen. He still had trouble hearing the call over the booming music, but he managed to gleam that Allison identified the body as a hunter. One with a tentative understanding of the code at best. They figured the omega was being tracked by the hunter and it was self defense. Scott called the betas and asked them to check and make sure the omega was okay, but they were no longer looking at a bloodthirsty killer and just a scared omega.

He ended the call with some relief, till he realized he had no reason to be here anymore. No reason to take Stiles back.

He took a cup from the kitchen, and despite knowing it wouldn't do anything chugged it.

If he was here he might as well check in on Stiles and let him know what happened.

He shoved his way back into the main dancing area knowing that was the best place to find him. He was near a corner when someone approached him from the side and grabbed his arm. He tensed and turned ready to strike, but not obviously.

It was Danny and somehow that made him bristle further.

Danny shouted into his ear, "Are you looking for Stiles?"

Derek clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Is it serious?"

Derek shook his head.

Danny's face morphed to a flirtatious smile. "Then stay awhile." His hand started to tighten slightly around his bicep. "Wanna dance? Or not dance?" He looked towards a dark hallway that made Derek finally grateful to not be able to hear.

Derek yanked his arm back. "I don't know if Stiles would like that." He paired it with the most murderous brows he had.

Danny's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't think you guys were-"

"We're not. You are."

Danny laughed. "Yeah, we messed around in the beginning. Now we both decided we're better as just friends."

Derek still remained cold. "I have to find Stiles."

"Are you sure, because he looks a little busy." Danny pointed to a spastic drunk yelling and surrounded by laughing preppy vultures. One particular asshole was practically stuck to Stiles' back as they writhed to the music. He was very handsy and Stiles didn't even seem to notice. Danny spoke again, but Derek didn't turn. "We could be busy too. I'll even let you keep up the bad boy gruff act, I like it a little rough big bad alpha."

At that Derek turned back and took threatening steps forward till Danny pressed himself against the wall with a smirk. Derek flashed his eyes and bared his fangs. Danny's smirk fell and fear flashed across his face. "It's not an act. Thanks for the offer." Derek stalked to the other side of the room careful to avoid catching Stiles' attention.

"Whooooo! Body shotssssss!" Stiles' missing shirt and already sticky collarbones told Derek this was probably not anyone's first shot. A girl with messy red hair started pouring liquor into the divots above Stiles' collarbone. The crowd around them started chanting the word shots. The redhead moved to one side and handsy asshole moved to the other. As soon as they started to lick out the alcohol the crowd cheered. They both started to kiss up the sides of Stiles' neck and as Stiles relaxed his shoulders a few droplets rained down just like the blood from Derek's palms. They were clenched so hard his claws dug into them as he watched the two strangers lay claim to Stiles' neck.

Handsy asshole started to move down Stiles' body to a stray drop that was making its way towards Stiles' nipple. Derek was across the room before he even realized it.

Stiles' look of enjoyment and pure glee faded to one of confusion. "Derek? What are you doing here?"

Stiles pushed both people back to allow them room to talk and put his shirt back on. Derek instantly shoved into the space handsy asshole had previously filled. "I have to talk to you."

Stiles sobered. "Is it about the pack?"

Derek looked at those around them and handsy asshole trying to worm his way back over. "Not here."

Derek looked down and saw Stiles intertwining their hands. "We went through the crowd to get a beer three hours ago and I haven't seen Danny since. You can hold my hand for like two minutes sourwolf."

Derek nodded and just as they turned to leave handsy asshole grabbed Stiles' other arm. "Heyyyy where ya goin? We're havin fuuuun."

"I'll be back." Derek couldn't help narrowing his eyes at those words.

"What iv I wanna nother shot?" He threw in a look that supposedly was seductive. Derek thought it looked like he was taking a shit while looking directly at the sun.

Stiles let go of Derek's hand. He smiled at the man and kissed him. The man was so enthusiastic and fond of ass groping Derek looked away in disgust. "Then find Hannah till I get back."

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand again and started to pull away, but the man nearly yanked him out of Derek's grip. "But I want you Mickyyyy!"

Derek pulled Stiles behind himself and growled right in his face, "That is NOT his name!"

The man just scoffed and looked towards Stiles. "This your boytoy Micky? Hes rude, and wrong." His voice went to a stage whisper. "He doesn't even know your real name. How imporant can he be? Staaayyy!"

Derek turned with a sharp look towards Stiles. "You told him your name?! Him!?"

Stiles looked to be searching the air around him. "To be fair I got here around ten and they greeted me at the door with three shots of vodka. I don't remember the hours between twelve and two yesterday. If someone asked I probably would've told them my social security number. Today is strictly beer and a slight buzz day."

Derek held firmly to Stiles' hand as they moved away and handsy asshole started to object, "You said you'd blow me upstairs you shit!"

Derek put his hand flat on the front of his face and shoved him back with enough force that the high top table they had been using as a bar wobbled and the glass bottles on it clinked together when he made contact. Derek growled threateningly and flashed his eyes and teeth.

Derek got a small amount of pleasure from the scent of fear coming off the man. He was yanked towards the stairs by a hand that was gripping his tightly. Stiles finally found an empty room and shoved both of them in it. "What, the absolute hell, was that!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Oh I'm sorry for taking offense for you, since you obviously didn't care."

"Of course I care! And of course what he said was totally gross, but he was drunk! What's your excuse for wolfing out like that huh!?"

Derek looked away. "Damn it Stiles! He shouldn't have treated you like you were just a fuck!" Derek once again flashed his eyes and snapped his fangs, but Stiles just growled back and snapped his human teeth back at him.

Stiles huffed out a short laugh. "That's kinda the point Derek."

Derek turned to him with squinted eyes.

"Here I want to be just a fuck. I want to be dancing in the lights and have someone desire me. Maybe I want to feel like, no matter anything else, someone wants me."

Derek objected, "You have people that want you. You don't have to do this, the pack-"

Stiles shook his head and interrupted while pacing away from him, "Not like that and you know it. I don't care if all he wants from me is a fuck. That's all I want from him, so it'd be pretty hypocritical of me. Why should you care?"

Derek gave him judgemental eyebrows. "Well sorry for hoping you had self respect. Next time I won't get in the way of you getting dick."

Stiles went stock still and turned towards him with rage in his eyes. "Derek. Are you slut shaming me right now?!"

"Well if th-"

Stiles steamrolled right over him. "Because I don't give a god damn fuck who you think you are, you do not get to tell me what I do with my body! My relationships are my business! Who or how many I have sex with is my business! And alpha or not you don't get to make those choices for me! Because last time I checked you're not my fucking boyfriend! Last time I checked you hardly ever pretend to even like me! So back the fuck off and learn what place you have in my life before you lose it!" Stiles was fuming and yelling right in his face by the end of it.

All of his need to argue flooded out of him and Derek put his hands up. He tried to put his hand on Stiles' arm, but he pulled away and stalked to the other side of the room with his arms crossed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you were a slut."

Stiles squinted at him with malice.

"Okay, maybe I implied you were a slut, but I was mad and didn't mean it. I am sorry. I am pro slut power. Seriously, I raised my eyebrow at Laura sneaking back in come morning time and she yelled at me for two hours. Then she made me wear a shirt that said slut power for a week."

Stiles snorted and sat on the bed. Derek slowly approached and sat beside him. "You're pack. I want you to have someone that cares about you, but if that's not what you want I have to respect that and I'm sorry I didn't. I'll stop trying to stop you from going out with Danny."

Stiles nodded and was quiet for a moment.

"Derek? Why do you hate Danny?"

"Well Stiles, I believe you yourself said it was because of my complete lack of ability and hatred for doing anything fun."

"Be serious."

"Maybe for the way he makes you feel. Like you aren't good enough and you should be grateful just to fall at his feet."

Stiles hummed. "I don't think that's Danny. I do it with you too, I do it with everyone. I think that's just my own insecurities that I need to work on. I need to stop comparing myself to others. It's just hard you know? I'm a human in a pack of werewolves and badasses, it's hard not to feel inadequate. My best friend is a true alpha, and two of the people I have in my life are Danny Hawaiian god Mahealani and Derek Greek god Hale, so there's my self image shot." Stiles played it off with a laugh, but Derek frowned.

"Stiles. You aren't a human in a pack of werewolves and badasses. You're one of the badasses. I have seen you bash in a werewolves skull with a wolfsbane laced baseball bat. I mean sure you did throw up after..."

Stiles knocked their shoulders together with a chuckle.

"But it was badass. And about the god thing. I think you're-" Derek started to hesitate. His resolve firmed. "If anyone is a Greek god it's you. They say Aphrodite appeared both male and female."

Stiles gaped at him and Derek looked away.

"You couldn't be more wrong! I'm totally-"

Derek's embarassment turned to determination at Stiles' persistent doubt. "No. You really are-"

"Athena." Stiles insisted.

"Beautiful." Derek muttered breathlessly.

"Oh." Stiles cheeks colored.

Derek tried to deflect. "What were we even taking about?"

"Why you really don't like Danny."

"I don't want to talk about that."

Stiles squinted. "Implying that we didn't already, and that there's a different reason."

"No."

Stiles was silent still and Derek sighed. "I don't know. I think I just do for the way he exists."

Stiles snorted. "Harsh dude."

"Don't call me dude. And I just mean everything he does just seems so easy. He exists like it isn't hard, like he wakes up everyday knowing everything will be okay." Derek considered for a second. "He's like Scott like that."

Stiles shook his head. "No. Scott doesn't wake up every morning knowing it's going to be okay. He hopes it will be. Scott has seen and knows bad things can and will happen, he just eternally hopes they don't."

Derek nodded. "Yeah I guess so. And with Danny I think he's just never had anything touch him. He had a popular best friend, he was popular, attractive, likeable, good family, he gets nice things. He just goes through life like it's the easiest thing and nothing is hard. He lives like it's easy."

Stiles put his hand on top of Derek's. "And you envy that. So do I. I think that's what attracted me to him. We're both so used to having to fight so fucking hard just to have one good thing, and he just seems like that's all he has." Stiles laughed. "You know how we ended up kissing for the first time?"

Derek's hand twitched under Stiles. "How?"

"I was looking into his eyes and I just blurted out how much I wanted to kiss him. And he just looked at me, smiled, and then kissed me like that was the only logical thing to do. Like it was that easy. But Derek, sometimes it is just that easy. Sometimes we get a nice thing if we just tell ourselves there is more to life than pain and we deserve it. We deserve to go to parties and kiss people that we won't remember in the morning. We deserve to love people and be loved by people. Just because we can handle pain doesn't mean that is all we deserve." Derek turned to him and Stiles looked right into his eyes. "We can have easy and happy things too."

Derek's eyes started to go a bit shiny and he felt the urge to pull away, but he didn't. Stiles smiled at him and Derek's eyes tracked the stretch of his lips and before he could think of all the ways it was supposed to be difficult, he just leaned forward and kissed him.

There were a terrifying few seconds that Stiles didn't respond, but then Stiles' hands went into his hair and Derek tasted beer and something sweet. Derek put his arms around him and fisted his hands into the material on Stiles' sides. Derek started to think that maybe he could get a buzz from just kissing the beer off Stiles' lips when he moved one hand down to get under Stiles' shirt.

Stiles went still and pulled back with wide eyes. Derek instantly felt a pit in his stomach.

"Why did you do that? Oh God, why did we do that! Fuck Derek this isn't what I meant!" Stiles pushed his arms away from his sides and sprang up from the bed.

Derek felt like the action ripped a piece of him out. "I- I'm sorry. You are drunk and I shouldn't have done that anyway. I just-"

"I am not drunk. My decision making skills are quite intact, and- and I kissed you back. So I did it too. Even though it was a bad idea, I did it anyway. It's okay though."

Derek shook his head and got up and quickly started towards the door. "No it's not."

Stiles eyes went wide and he moved after him. "No. Please. Please Derek! It has to be okay! We have to be okay! Fuck I didn't mean- I didn't mean for this to happen!"

Stiles tried to catch him, but he moved out of the room and made it through the downstairs quick enough he was backing out of the driveway by the time Stiles got to the front door.

***

Derek got home and woke Isaac back up just to lead him to Boyd and Erica's room. He flopped down in the middle of their bed and soon enough they were all curled around him.

"You smell like a frat house and you're still wearing your jeans." Erica said irritably.

"I don't think Stiles and I will ever be friends again and I'd like to sleep so I don't have to think about it."

In the small amount of light she could see her face contort with sympathy before moving to annoyance. "You two are idiots."

"I'll be an idiot in the morning. Now I'm just hurt, and I need you."

Erica smiled softly at him. "I'm so proud of how far you've come. We've always been here for you-" She snuggled into his chest more. "Now I'm just glad you know it."

*** After a summary of the night before Erica once again declared him an idiot, but at least this time it was over breakfast and coffee.

They all moped with him all morning before heading out for some mystery errand. As soon as he heard Roscoe clunking closer he cursed out his betas and gathered some things before he sat on the couch to await his doom.

Stiles nervously paced outside his door for several minutes before cursing and speaking to the hallway, "You can hear me can't you?"

Derek set his mug down. "Come in."

The door swung open and Stiles walked in with wild hair. Like he had been running his fingers through it nonstop. A small part of Derek wished that he'd used the time he had to run his fingers through his hair. Just so he knew what it was like at least once. "I figured you'd want that." He nodded to the mug and pills on the coffee table.

"You are a god amongst men Derek."

Derek smiled, but then it turned bitter. "And I thought you said you didn't drink that much last night."

Stiles looked sheepish as he downed some coffee with the pills. "I hadn't. Not until you left. After that I probably drank half a kegs worth of alcohol. Definitely feeling it this morning though." He let out a weak chuckle.

Derek spoke softly. "Why are you here Stiles?"

Stiles sat down lightly on the couch. "I didn't like how we left it last night."

"Neither did I."

"Look, I didn't mean to give you the impression that that's what I wanted. Because I don't."

Derek tried to not break at that.

He really did try.

"I don't want to have you be a fuck. I don't think I could do that with you."

Derek smiled as genuinely as he could. "It's okay Stiles." He said it even though Stiles kissing him while he thought it was a happy thing they both deserved and Stiles thought it would just be a fuck did not make him feel okay.

"I'm sorry that you wanted that and that I gave the impression that I also wanted you to just be a fuck."

Derek's eyebrows went up marginally as he said that, but he quickly schooled his expression. Maybe they could salvage their relationship if Stiles thought Derek had just wanted sex.

Unfortunately, Stiles' face filled with shock. "Unless you thought it was more than a fuck."

Derek got up from the couch and turned away. Stiles quickly scrambled up as well. "Derek! I-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

Derek shook his head and continued staring away. "It doesn't. Not if I want to be your friend."

"It does. If you want to be more." Stiles pulled on his arm till he turned to face him.

Derek's face looked openly hurt and broken. "It doesn't matter what I want because you don't want me. Stiles we don't get easy." Derek's hand started to lift, but it hesitated infront of Stiles' face. "We don't get happy." He smiled as his eyes held pain.

Stiles grabbed his hand before it could fall and pulled it to his face and Derek's hand instantly cradled it. "It's not that I don't want anything from you, it's that I want everything. I wasn't going to say yes last night not knowing that in the morning we would still be happy. And yes. We do get happy. And you know why sourwolf?" Stiles pulled him into a statement making kiss. He pulled back a little breathless. "Because we deserve it."

Derek looked at him confused and his hand dropped. Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't want to just have sex with you. I want to be and make happy with you. It might not be easy though, but I'm okay with that if you are."

"Are you still drunk?"

Stiles pinched him.

"Ow! Okay I had to make sure."

"You jerk! I just asked you to be my boyfriend, the least you could do is say yes!"

Derek grinned wide. "Fine if I must."

Stiles matched his smile. "You're such an ass."

"Like you aren't annoying too."

"But now you're stuck with me." Stiles stuck out his tongue. "No take backsies."

"Nuh-uh. I'm yours, but you're not mine yet. I haven't asked yet."

Derek just stared at him till he scoffed. "Before I'm dead sourwolf."

Derek's eyes just filled with mirth and a gleam. His hand once again found the side of Stiles' face. His amusement died down and genuineness and love filled it instead. "Mieczysław Stiles Stilinski will you do me the honor of dating me?"

The perfect pronunciation had a lump forming in his throat and tears forming in his eyes. "God when did you even practice that." His voice was choked up as Stiles thought of him practicing his real name over and over till he could say it properly. "And that was so stuffy and proper. Like God what's next are you going to ask my dad if you can court me. Really it's just-"

Derek kissed him sweetly. "I believe the standard response is yes or no."

"We're difficult, remember?" Stiles laid their foreheads against each other.

"Still not an answer." Derek nudged their noses together.

"Do you really need one?" Stiles looked at him with clear love and adoration.

"Do you really not want to give one?" Derek asked smugly.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and held out for ten seconds. "Yes. God yes. I want to have your little sourwolfie babies. I've been in love with you since you slammed me into my wall. Or maybe since I saw your car, or your jacket, or your ass, or your face, or-"

Derek cut him off again. Stiles pulled back blissfully. "Or maybe the moment you did that."

"And I fall in love with you every time you open your mouth, and somehow even more when you shut it."

Stiles pushed him away. "Rude!"

Derek smirked then started to study his face. "I won't mind if you still go to parties with Danny."

Stiles squinted. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'm a one sourwolf kinda man."

Derek's eyebrows looked flat. "No, not for that reason. Just, if you want to go have some fun. To blow off some steam and forget other things, I trust you. I know you would never do that. If you need a break to chill out, I get it."

Stiles smiled softly. "Thanks, but I'm good."

"Stiles yo-"

"Derek do you know the reason why I would go to the parties? Other than to get laid."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. "To have fun. And to be happy while being safe from the supernatural."

Stiles shook his head. "No. I went to forget that I wasn't. I wasn't happy at any of those parties because I was alone. And I wasn't safe there because I was alone. I just didn't have to care there. But here with the pack on movie night? I'm actually happy. Here with you I'm happy. The only thing that made me unhappy was that as soon as I left I felt like I was alone because I didn't have the relationship I wanted with you. Here with you I am and feel safe. There's a difference between being happy and feeling safe and just forgetting that you aren't. You make me actually feel those things."

"I'm notoriously no fun though, I guess you can't have everything."

"Oh I don't know, you can be fun. Sometimes. On occasion."

"Once in a blue moon one could say."

Stiles laughed. "Very rarely."

***

"Stiles come on, the party is inside." Derek pulled his fiance off the picnic table.

"I know, I know. It's just..." Stiles looked at the front of the restored Hale house, and Derek hugged him from behind. "This is my favorite view."

Derek took in the awe and pride in his eyes. "Mine too."

Stiles looked into the eyes already on him and rolled his own. "Could you be anymore sappy and cliche."

"We've got the rest of our lives to figure it out."

Stiles groaned. "Ugggh make it stop." Stiles dragged him towards where their pack was celebrating at the party inside.

Right when they got to the front door Derek pulled him back and into a kiss. "I'm so happy we're here together."

Stiles hugged him tightly. "Me too sourwolf, me too." He pulled back and looked into Derek's teary eyes. "Hey, hey. We deserve this Derek. We do."

Stiles opened their door to a laughing and happy pack celebration.

Of all the parties he's been too, staring into the eyes of the man he loves, Stiles decided this was by far the best one.

A.N. Well I read through this once and did absolutely no editing because these last few weeks can eat me so here's this shit. Dldr. Much love💜💜💜

Carter😊

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uhgoodmoni · 4 years ago

Text

Our Clock is Ticking | KTH

After a post Christmas breakup with his girlfriend Taehyung is celebrating New Years alone in a hotel. The ball drops, yet 2021 doesn’t come.

Warnings: angst and some fluff

Ao3 - Wattpad

(Taehyung POV)

I pull my lips together in a frown, glancing down at the last text I sent.

‘Merry Christmas I guess’

‘Read at 1:34 am’

A deep sigh heaves from my chest. Yeah. Merry fucking Christmas and a Happy New Year. Stuck in an unfamiliar country in an unfamiliar town by my damn self. Guess we picked the perfect time to pick a fight. I bring my eyes to the clock. It’s 5:00 pm on New Year’s Eve. I could be at home with the rest of the boys but nooo. She had to drag me out to see her damn family and then pick a fight with me so I’m stuck spending the holiday alone.

My head falls back against the couch. What the fuck am I going to do now? It’s already passed the new year in Korea, but maybe I’ll call someone. Jimin… Yoongi. I don’t know. What would I even say? Hey, Mara and I broke up yesterday, and now I’m alone on New Years. Tch. Yeah. As much as I’d love to spill my guts out to them I’ve cried so much this week I feel just like shit. At this point, I just want to fly back home.

Luckily I was able to snag a flight back to Seoul for tomorrow. Not that it didn’t cost a lot, but there’s no way I’m spending another day here to wallow in my self-pity.

The phone screen still shines up in my eyes and I look one more time. A tiny circular picture of her sits at the top of our text. Her tongue stuck out to touch the camera when I took the photo. Silly.

When I take that flight tomorrow, will I ever see her again? I grind my teeth together, my thumb pressing against the power button. Despite how much anger is burning inside me, I hope the answer is yes.

‘I’ll be happier if I lived this next year without you.’ She really said that. I roll over onto my side, curling up on the cushions. She’s probably right. I honestly did make everything harder for her. She was always so understanding though. I wonder if she even meant it.

I sniff, wiping at a stray tear I hadn’t noticed. I’d like to think that she didn’t mean it. That she was just angry and it spilled out after all the dumb shit I said. Or what maybe I didn’t say. A shaky breath leaves my body, and my eyes clench shut. Oh, why can't I stop thinking about it?

Maybe she did mean it. I had never seen her say something with more conviction and anger, her body shook as she had screamed it at me. Her face had gone red like the wine we were drinking. I’m sure that fueled our anger too. But there had to be some backing behind her words. Even if this fight had been the last straw there were so many feelings leading up to this. Every night she spent waiting up for me. How could I not see her patience running out? Slowly but surely our clock had been ticking. Every time we greeted each other, said goodbye, kissed. Had her patience been running out then too?

Even I knew we weren’t fine. Fuck. I should have said something. Maybe I didn’t tell her how much she means to me often enough. Probably not. Of course, she cracked for the holidays. But did she really have to be so cruel?

I glance up from the couch, feeling the vibrations of a phone call. Damnit, I was hoping to avoid talking to anyone for the whole night. Should have figured, they are probably missing me. I sigh looking at the contact. Hoba hyung, a facetime. Not even just a voice call. Internally I groan looking myself in the reflection on my screen and making sure I don’t look like the shit I feel like.

After a deep breath, I answer the call. “Heyyy hyung…” I try and push away everything that has happened. If I tell him he’ll just be worried for no reason.

“Taeee, Happy New Year.” I smile lightly looking at him. He looks tired cause he probably stayed up all night.

I grin, trying to hide away the frown that was stuck on my face. “Hobaa why are you awake so early?” He raises an eyebrow and just shakes his head.

“Just am I guess, and knew you’d be awake so I wanted to call you. How’s the holiday with the missus?”

It’s awful. I said something inconsiderate and ruined the whole thing. We were drinking and I took her defensiveness as an attack on me. Maybe it was maybe it wasn’t. Doesn’t matter. We broke up and she said she doesn’t want to spend another year of her life with me. Now I’m sad and alone on New Years’ Eve. Probably won’t even watch the ball drop. Soak up my misery. I still have that bottle of wine I bought.

At least that’s what I wanted to tell him. And I will. Eventually. Just not today.

“She’s with the fam they are cooking in the kitchen.” I grin and he seems satisfied with that. Hobi is always fooled by my lies. Part of me wished that Jimin or Yoongi had called. They’d be able to call out my bullshit…

“Well, I shouldn’t bother you then you better go help…”

“Yeah… well, how was your night last night?” I say, trying to get him to stay on the call a little longer. Damn, I wish I could go home.

“You know… the usual. Jin passed out right after midnight. Me too.” He giggles. “But the others I guess you could say partied. Not really but we had fun.” I smile at this. Wish I had been there with them.

“Wish I had been there.” I sigh, but smile softly to him, hoping to not reveal how I really feel.

“No, you don’t silly. Go have fun!” He winks to me, “You’ll see us in a couple days anyway.”

“You’re right.” I nod not feeling like telling him I’ll actually be on my way back tomorrow. It stays silent for a moment as he smiles up to me.

“Stay safe and tell Mara I say hi!” He waves and I only nod.

“Bye.”

“Bye.” He says and hangs up. Well… I look at the clock seeing it’s only been about ten minutes since I last checked the time. It’s gonna be a long night.

My palms press into my skull. Trying to nullify the ache resonating in the back of my head. Oh shit. I groan, shielding my eyes as I tentatively open them. Trying to bring myself to life I lick my lips, the taste of that wine leftover on my breath. I cringe, taking a deep breath. Did I really end up drinking last night? I thought that wasn’t the plan. I lift my head from my pillow seeing the bottle resting on the counter. Still full. I swear I could remember at least drinking at least a glass though. Except now I no longer taste the wine on my tongue. As if it had never been there in the first place.

I exhale and plop my head back down. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Fuck.

Again I lift my head up, searching for my phone on it’s charger. What time is it? Oh God what if I slept too late and missed my alarm.

2:34 pm. Fuck.

I pull up my ticket on my phone. 4:30 pm. Could I make it in time? Might as well try… I read over the confirmation email.

Thank you for your purchase… Your flight is for 1/1/2021 4:30 pm.

I toss myself from the bed, heading to my suitcase. Should I change? Do I have time? At least I should brush my teeth. I flick through the email, feeling like I’m forgetting something as I shuffle to the bathroom.

Sent at 2:00 pm.

I squint my eyes at this. Specifically remembering that I got this email yesterday and not today. Maybe it’s like a reminder. I shrug and wet my toothbrush.

An alarm sounds from my phone as I set it down making me jump. I scrunch up my face remembering I had a headache, but it’s not really bothering me anymore.

I look at the alarm… a reminder I set for myself. But it was supposed to go off yesterday. It did go off yesterday.

Reminder: flight tomorrow leave by 1:30.

I shake my head, lifting my head to the mirror. I look like shit, but I have this whole week let's be honest. Setting my toothbrush down I pull up my calendar. Did I get it wrong or something? No, my flight confirmation definitely says the first.

I glance at the little red dot on the calendar indicating the date. 12/31/2020. Pressing my lips into each other, I raise an eyebrow staring at the screen for a minute. It has to be wrong. I almost laugh to myself. Am I crazy?

I check the time again on my phone. 2:40 Thursday, December 31.

Have I completely mixed up the dates? I could swear that yesterday was New Years Eve. I push my hair back, looking back into the mirror. Though I didn’t watch the ball drop so maybe I was just mistaken.

Just to be sure, I look up the airport’s number, and give them a call. There’s no chance I’m missing the flight. After a confusing phone call they confirm my suspicions. My flight isn’t until tomorrow. Feeling very confused I finish brushing my teeth and start running the shower. How could I have mistaken yesterday for New Years Eve? I guess it happens. But I so clearly remember the date. Hoseok even called me wishing for me to have a good night. Had I imagined that as well?

After being refreshed from the heat of the shower I check my phone’s history. No call from Hoseok, which means I must have been in a daze of grief. Still, It doesn’t feel right. The call is so fresh in my mind.

I look to the clock after cleaning up my room. It was a mess. I hadn’t picked anything up and would have had to pack last minute in the morning if I left it that way. Despite wishing I was on that plane back to Seoul right now. I feel much better than I did yesterday. I should stay productive, keep my mind off things.

Time has gone by particularly slow today. Even after cleaning up myself and packing for tomorrow. I’ve been avoiding my feelings all day. I resorted to playing on Weverse and messing with Duolingo. Despite wanting to write, I knew that I would just dig myself into a hole.

Maybe this time around I’ll call Hoseok. I don’t want to wake him up though. It’s still early and I know he’ll want to sleep in after the late night last night.

‘You awake?’ I text the group chat. Maybe Jin or I don’t know, anyone to save me from my thoughts will answer. Though, maybe it’s a good idea to talk about it with one of them. Maybe they could tell me what to do. Ugh, it’s so confusing. Even though Mara said she never wants to see me again I doubt that she really meant that. Right? I certainly don’t want that to be the last time we ever see one another. I swallow. She was so angry. So upset. Her hands shook as the tears streamed down her face, and she sniffed trying to hold back the storm behind her eyes. And I just stood there. Like a jackass. A deer in headlights. Didn’t cry. I couldn’t, I didn’t want to react, cause I thought she was overreacting. She shouldn’t have cared so much about what I said. It wasn’t meant to make her so upset.

My face finds the palms of my hands. I’m so dumb. What the fuck possessed me to be such an asshole? All she wanted was for me to care and I didn’t. But I do. I really do. My cheeks form a blush as my face heats from the tears. I press into my temples willing myself not to cry. Stupid.

Feeling the buzzing of my phone, I look down. It’s Hoseok, and I huff before answering.

“Hey Tae bear!” He greets happily in my ear. I try to smile but I just want to be with him and not on this dumb call. Instead of being alone I wish I was home.

My eyes start to water and a horrible feeling starts crawling up my throat. I know that if I try to speak I’ll just…

“Are you there?”

I swallow, trying to push back this feeling. But I can’t, It’s pushing back. Tears prick at my eyes, and I just want Hoseok to be here to hold me. Despite trying so hard to hold the tears in, the feeling overwhelms me and washes over me. I heave out a hard sob. Revealing a feeling I had been holding back all day. My breaths are fast and choppy as the tears roll, and I cling to the phone curling my knees into my abdomen.

“Tae… Are you okay?” He sounds worried. I try to slow my breaths and answer him but I can’t. It just. I squeeze my fists. I hate this feeling.

The stream of tears doesn’t stop as I hug myself closer. “Sorry…” I barely hiccup out.

“Taehyung are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s happening?” I shake my head, pressing my eyes into my knees. The tears soak at my pants and I take a deep breath, sighing out slowly to try and relax.

“I’m sorry Hobi…” I sniffed, should have figured that would have happened. Wiping away at my face with my shirt sleeves, I start to explain. “Mara and I... it’s over.” I bite my cheek to hold my composure.

“Tae what happened?” he asks, sounding confused. Great, I shake my head. I just want to be with him. I don’t want to have to deal with this phone call. “I told her she doesn’t do enough.” I deadpan, taking in my own words myself. “I said that.” My heart twists, causing more tears to wring out from my eyes. Knowing now how it made her feel. Coming from the mouth from someone she loves. I meant it lightheartedly, but that’s no excuse now. I know her better than that. She does more than enough. God I hope she knows that. I hope that’s why she screamed at me. “What do you mean?” He practically shouts, but I can tell he’s trying to remain calm. “What happened? That doesn’t make any sense. When?”

I sigh, “Like a week ago…”

He interrupts before I can continue, “Where are you? Why didn’t you call?”

“I’m fine, I’m at a hotel and I’m flying back tomorrow.”

He sighs, “What happened? You guys…”

“It was dumb. I said something dumb.” I groan, pushing my hair out of my face. “It just spiraled after that cause we were drinking and I thought she was overreacting cause I didn’t mean what I said.” Hobi listens as I go on, “ I could tell that it upset her but I didn’t care, cause I didn’t mean it like that. I should have immediately apologized. No. I shouldn’t have said it at all.”

“Why don’t you call her and tell her this?”

I shake my head knowing he can’t see me. “She said she doesn’t want to be with me another year of her life.” It takes a lot to swallow that down. I really toppled the jenga tower. Instead of fixing the problem all I did was be inconsiderate and ruin everything. I’d like to blame the alcohol but it’s far too late for that. Not that she would believe me but truly it was a joke. My shoulders fall, a misunderstanding that I was too petty to reverse.

“Oh.” He says plainly, leaving both of us in silence. Damn. Now I feel like shit. I should have waited to tell him. Now he’s just gonna worry too much. I could have waited to tell him.

“Sorry, I’m fine really I’ll be coming home tomorrow. I just want to be with you guys again.”

Hoseok sighs, “Tae don’t say you’re fine if you’re not... It’s okay, you’ve been with Mara over two years. You’re definitely not going to be fine.” A hot tear runs down my cheek, and I can tell my face is swollen. “Why don’t you stay on the phone with me and later all of the guys and us will be there for the ball drop.”

“No, no…” I mutter, knowing that they’ll all just worry their heads off. “I’ll wait to talk to the others when I get home. I think I just want to sleep early and get this day over with.” What a hell of a way to start the year, I sigh.

“Do you want to stay on the call?” He asks, and I really contemplate this one for a while.

My breathing is shaky as I agree, “Just till I fall asleep, thanks hyung.”

I slowly open my eyes, crusty, and still swollen from last night. The hotel room is lit up around the curtains. My alarm didn’t go off again? My hand wanders to the nightstand to pick up my phone.

3:00 pm. My eyes widen and my heart jumps up with me in bed. Are you fucking kidding me? How in the hell did I sleep that long? Oh, God. There’s literally no way I’d make the flight. Why didn’t my alarms work? I stare at the time, wishing it would magically change to a couple hours earlier. How is it already the afternoon? Was I really that tired?

Not even bothering to stand I press my cheek into my palm. What the fuck? My teeth grind together. Why? After all of this shit. Why now? Can’t I just have one God damn easy day?

Is it possible to cancel my flight ticket this late? I should at least try. Maybe there will be some open tickets on a later flight. Though I highly doubt it as it’s New Year’s day and everyone is going home. God, I’ll be lucky to find a flight this week at all, I barely found this one.

On my lap my phone pings. I look down expecting maybe Hoseok.

Mara… Can I call you?

Immediately my stomach begins to spin. What could she have to say to me? I try to relax as I stare at the text. She’s already said the worst so it can’t be anything bad? Even if she tried apologizing I just... I fucked up. Would she forgive me?

After a moment I text her back, now anxiously awaiting her call. I hope she wants to talk it over. I hope that I can apologize. I hope she didn’t mean what she said. The phone rings, but I give it a moment before I answer. Stupid. I don’t want to seem desperate, but I am.

“Hey this is so out of nowhere but what day is it?” She says, sounding completely normal. Like we had just been talking not that long ago. Like we had spent Christmas and this entire week together. What day is it? That’s what she's calling for?

I stifle a sigh, glancing at my phone’s calendar, “What do you mean? It’s the fi…” The phone says the same thing it did yesterday. 12/31/20. “No way…”

She gives an exhausted laugh. “I am going crazy over here… I’ve celebrated New Years’ twice, and this morning my dad asks if I’m ready for 2021. Please tell me I’m crazy.”

“Uh that's strange,” I scratch my head. Holy shit does that mean the other day I hadn’t been imagining it? That I really had already been through the 31st. Today is the third New Years’ Eve. “I… I don’t know what to say other…”

“Damn. I’m sorry Tae. I shouldn’t have called. This was dumb and I sound so stupid. I’m sorry I should leave you be…” I shake my head as if she could see, “hey, wait, wait, wait. You didn’t let me finish. Genuinely the same thing has happened to me but I thought I was just mistaken because I went to sleep early.”

She huffs, laughing out of relief, “Ha, I thought I was still drunk from the night before…”

“Sooo, what does this even mean?” I ask knowing she doesn’t know the answer.

“Well, my parents don’t seem to notice so I don’t really know.”

“Hoseok is the same way…” I add, wondering if he’ll call me again today. Shit does this mean I still have a flight tomorrow? If tomorrow ever comes. What the fuck.

“Sorry again, I don’t really know why I called you…” I frown at her words, “I… I guess you’re the only other person I could really ask.” Nothing makes any sense, and my head starts to pound from my thoughts jumbling in my head.

“It’s okay, I… don’t mind.” I cringe, unsure of what else to say. She doesn’t respond right away, probably thinking the same thing. It’s a heavy moment. There’s so much to say but neither of us are speaking. Even though she isn’t saying anything I can only imagine how she looks. She’s probably curled up on the couch in her pj’s, probably making the same face I am. Just sad. Which is dumb, if we’re both sad then obviously the argument shouldn’t have happened.

“Well, if this happens again I guess we are just fucked.” She kind of laughs, making me smile, but my face drops again as she continues, “I’ll leave you be then… Happy New Year’s Tae.”

“Mara…” The buzz of the phone line lets me know she hasn’t hung up. I close my eyes, trying to formulate my thoughts before I open my mouth. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, feeling stupid, “You are more than enough, I…” My words get caught in my throat and I can’t finish my sentence.

“Me too.” She mutters.

I sniff, “Can we talk… like in person.” “I’ll try and tell my parents that talking to you is more important than the ball dropping.” She sighs, and regret washes over me. Her parents probably hate me. They had been in the house during the argument. My eyes fall to the floor. I really just fucked it up. “Where even are you?”

“Oh, this Hilton near a movie theater I think.”

“I shouldn’t have sent you out. I’m really sorry Tae, it’s probably not safe for you to just be in a hotel.”

I almost laugh, at least I know she’s worried about me. “I’m a grown man…”

“Tch I know it’s just… I shouldn’t have let you leave in a city you’ve never been okay.” After another moment, “Well I’ll come later. Just text me your room number yeah?”

I hum in answer and she hangs up. That went a lot better than I expected it to go.

As I step towards the door, I swipe my hands down my pant legs, hoping my hands aren’t sweaty, and hoping I don’t look nervous myself. God that shouldn’t even matter. Clearing my mind, I pull open the door to see Mara standing there awkwardly, with her hands folded together.

“Hey.” I mumble, leaning against the wall to make room for her in the tight entrance, gesturing for her to come in. Her eyes are shielded by her hair as she walks past me, but she wasn’t looking up at me anyway. After closing the door behind us we silently walk over to the couch, each taking a seat. In my lap my hands fumble with each other, and I bite down my lip. I guess it’s a bit more awkward trying to find the right words in person.

I nod a couple times, managing to psych myself up to start the conversation. “I… I’m really sorry Mara.” The words come out breathy as it finally feels right to say them to her.

She lifts her pointed chin to me with a small smile, shaking her head. “I accept your apology, and I’m sorry I took it too seriously.” Her body turns towards mine as she continues, “I’m not even sure why it really got me that mad because it was a dumb joke and it just hurt my feelings.”

“That's all that really matters, I hurt your feelings and that's a good enough reason to apologize.” I finally make eye contact, feeling comfortable talking to her again. Those eyes are just the same as they’ve always been. She’s not cruel. She has a kind heart and her eyes show that. Why am I acting a fool?

“If anyone should apologize…” She sighs looking around the room, “It’s me.” I look down at my hands still thinking. “God.” She sniffs, and I immediately bring my face up to see her crying. “That's such an awful thing to say.” She chokes out, hands covering her face. My mouth drops and I do what I would normally, scooch closer to her and wrap my arm around her. Her head continues to shake in disappointment with herself.

“Listen it’s…”

“No!” She pushes me away, looking at me, her eyes reddening already. “It’s not okay.” Her eyes squeeze shut, tears rolling down her cheek. Even if she did say it, my heart still pangs looking at her like this. “I… I didn’t mean it.” She shakes her head, frantically wiping at her face. “I can’t even believe that those words came out of my mouth.” Her face becomes hidden as she buries it away in her hands.

I turn my head away from her, unsure of what to say. It’s not like I can say I knew she didn’t mean it, because that would be a lie. I still feel like deep down she feels like her life would be easier without me. And honestly it probably would.

“Maybe you’re right though.” I whisper, surprised that the words came out of my mouth. I certainly didn’t mean them to, but they did. They just slipped, like the tears I hadn’t noticed forming in my eyes. I roll my eyes, wiping them away. No use in feeling pitiful. What was I to expect with this lifestyle? Maybe I’m just meant to be alone during this time.

“No… no.” She sniffles, realizing that her words had taken hold. “Oh Tae,” She sobbed, pushing herself into my chest. “I need you in my life. I can’t express how much you mean to me. I really didn’t mean it. I can’t even believe I said that.” Her tears soak through the fabric and I barely hug her back. Even if she wants me back in her life there has to be some backing behind her words. Moments of unhappiness.

“Tae listen to me.” Her fingers grasp at my collar, bringing my attention to her. Her brows were furrowed in anger as she pressed her fists into my chest. “I love you. There’s no one like you. I…”

My eyes roll away from her, doubtful. The tears flowed smoothly now, there was no stopping them. I press my fingers into my eyes, trying to see through the tears. It just doesn’t make any sense why she would say that and not mean it. “T… there has to be a reason.” I hiccup, attempting to push her away from me. “There has to be a reason you said it.” I blubber, hiding my face in my shirt sleeve. Wishing I could stop crying. Wishing I believed her.

I feel her wrapping herself around me, and taking my hands away from my face. Weakly I let them drop to my sides. Letting my lashes stick together by keeping my eyes closed.

“Kim Taehyung.” Her breath is hot on my face, as her soft fingers trace under my eyes. “There’s no reason.” She sniffs, “I love you.” She leans into me, our foreheads touching. “Please don’t keep what I said in your heart.”

My head slides away from her, resting on her collarbone, and taking heavy breaths. How can it not linger? This feeling.

“Please forgive me Tae.” She hugs me closer. Of course I can do that. That isn’t the problem. “I want to go into this year with you… I want to spend all the years of my life with you.” She rambles on, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” I can’t respond, and so she continues, “please we can fix this…”

I sigh, collecting myself, and taking a deep breath against her skin. “Yeah.” It’s all I can muster, still not sure how I feel. It’s not like I don’t want to be with her, it’s just… Does she really want to be with me? I couldn’t live with the fact that she didn’t want to continue this but did anyway. I’m not even sure how I could forget this. I don’t want it to stay on my mind but I don’t think I’ll be able to help it. Though as we sit here, I’m just grateful to be in her arms.

“Hey” I open sticky eyes, to the someone poking my cheek softly. Mara’s swollen but soft eyes are looking into mine, us still glued to each other on the couch. We must have fallen asleep, I blink a few times, stretching my arm out from under her. She has a small smile, one that makes me melt. Speaking softly she pulls her phone around to me. “Look.” With squinted eyes from the bright screen I see that it's 11:58 pm. She sets the phone down, leaning on her hand, “We didn’t miss the ball drop. Do you maybe want to watch it?”

I smile whispering, “I thought you didn’t want to watch it a third time.”

She sits up shrugging, “it’s different this time.” Her eyes find mine, and then she immediately looks away, “Though I doubt this tv gets the right channels.” I shuffle up in my seat as she gets up, rolling her head over her shoulders.

After my mind has adjusted to being awake I stand, following her as she flips the tv on, scanning through the channels, though the time has already turned to 11:59. There's some news channels but they aren't showing the countdown.

“Dangit we are gonna miss it.” She whines, but only looking half upset.

I huff at her pout, quickly pulling up the ball drop on youtube. “See it’s that easy.” 25. 24.

Her teeth show in a smile as she curls around me, watching the ball fall on the tiny little screen. 19. 18. “Can we kiss?” She kinda laughs at herself after asking, her eyes falling to the floor. Though I’m shocked she asked.

“Yeah… of course.” She still seems hesitant, until I set the phone down on the bed, turning my attention completely to her. 10. 9.

She attempts to look in my eyes, but her’s just drag down to my chest once more. “I love you Tae.” 8. 7. My hand finds her chin, pulling it up slightly so our eyes do meet. And the blush forming on her cheeks makes me blush in return. Reminding me of the first time we kissed. 6. 5. I push my forehead onto hers, rubbing circles on her temples. 4. 3.

“I love you too.” 2. 1. And I pull her face into mine, our lips softly clashing. Making me miss her more, and never want to let go. But I do. Breathing softly onto each other’s faces, breaking into smiles.

She looks down to my phone with a grin, pulling it up to my face. “Look! It’s 2021!”

#bts #kim taehyung #kim taehyung is in love #kim taehyung is sad #bts angst #bts fic #bts au #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jeon jungkook #taehyung smut #taehyung soft #taehyung drabble #bts drabble #taehyung oneshot

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swaps55 · 5 years ago

Note

If I'm not too late, can I request "1. Holding their hands when they are shaking", please?

This was also requested by @painterofhorizons and @urrone. Inspiration came from @mallaidhsomo, who wanted to know more about the psychological effects of the war on Kaidan, and @ziegenkind094, whose gorgeous art I haven’t been able to get out of my head.

Just remember this is all y’all’s fault. :)

Trigger warnings ahead for PTSD and panic attacks. Using a readmore for your filtering needs. It ends fluffy, I promise. These are “I love you” prompts, after all!!

Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”

1. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Shepard runs a curry comb in circles over Echo’s neck while she picks at the fresh hay in the corner feeder. The extra flake more than makes up for his oh-dark-thirty intrusion into her stall; she stands quiet save for the steady munching and occasional swish of her tail. Dust motes catch in the overhead light as he presses the rubber teeth of the comb deeper into her red coat. She’d taken a dirt bath out in the field that afternoon, and now Shepard’s face is full of it.

“You’re a mess,” he informs her. She crunches a mouthful of hay in reply instead of pointing out the obvious, which is she’s not the one who’s grooming a horse in the middle of the night instead of staying tucked in bed with his arms around the love of his life.

“Your judgement is not appreciated.”

She stomps a foot to shake off a fly.

He sighs, working the comb along her back to her hindquarters. Turns out brushing a horse has been as good for his mind as sitting on one had been for his body. The rhythmic, soothing circles combined with the soft woosh through her hairs creates a kind of white noise that empties his head.

Some nights he at least tries to sleep. Even gets a few hours here and there without dreaming at all. But other nights, he does dream.

Nights like tonight, even closing his eyes makes him feel short of breath. He’d already clawed fresh marks into his neck before calling it quits and getting out of bed.

There are people who can help you with this, Kaidan has said. Countless times. Sometimes right after a night terror, sometimes when Kaidan finds him on the porch swing watching the sun come up.

I get by okay, or some variation, is always the reply. The notion of describing to someone else how well-acquainted he is with what it’s like to suffocate makes his stomach churn. Whether it’s smothering under a pile of rubble or staring out into a void of stars as he asphyxiates, Shepard knows exactly what it feels like to die in his dreams.

Because some part of his brain still remembers what it felt like to die for real.

So he doesn’t sleep. When the anxiety gets the better of him he disentangles himself from Kaidan’s arms, sometimes – like tonight – prying the cloth of his shirt out of clutched fingers, and finds something else to do. Mess around in the barn, take walks through the apple trees. Especially now, when the orchard is in full bloom. Anything to keep from disturbing Kaidan. His constant tossing and turning wears on them both, but Kaidan shot down the idea of sleeping in separate rooms before the words were even out of his mouth.

So tonight, rather than bother Kaidan, he’s bothering Echo.

He drops the comb back into a grooming box. When Echo turns her head and noses at his back pocket, he mutters under his breath.

“Sorry, kiddo. Forgot the carrots. I’ll be right back.”

He withdraws from her stall, taking the grooming box with him, and latches the door before strolling back to the house and up the back porch steps. No sounds tonight save for the crickets and a light breeze rustling the trees. Too many clouds to see the stars.

Sometimes that’s a good thing, though the stars harbor less anxiety when he can gaze at them with his feet planted on earth. After two years he’s gotten used to having windows instead of bulkheads, and the ability to walk out the door without waiting for an airlock cycle.

He keeps his footsteps quiet as he slips into the dark kitchen. When he opens the door to the fridge he blinks into the shock of light that spills out. A sharp intake of breath makes him jump.

Heart hammering, he peers into the living room towards the sound, eyes widening in surprise when he makes out Kaidan’s silhouette on the couch.

“Kaidan?” He shuts the refrigerator door and heads towards him, pausing only to switch on a lamp on the end table.

Kaidan doesn’t move. He sits frozen with a curl in his back, eyes downcast and unfocused, chest rising and falling like he can’t catch his breath. A sheen of sweat stands out on his brow. His elbows rest on his knees, fists clenched, hands shaking.

“Kaidan.” Shepard’s chest constricts as he kneels on the ground beside him and grabs a hand, surrounding it in his to still the tremor. “Kaidan.” He puts a hand to Kaidan’s brow, cups his cheek, turns his chin to meet his eyes.

“Sam,” Kaidan murmurs.

Shepard moves up onto the couch, wrapping Kaidan in his arms and pulling him to his chest. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head. “’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

Kaidan’s entire body feels like a rubber band pulled so hard it’s about to snap. His heart pounds under Shepard’s hand, breath a shallow rattle in his throat.

“‘s ok. Don’t worry. Just…need a minute.”

“I’ll give you a fucking lifetime,” Shepard whispers into his hair. “I’ve got you, ok? Just breathe.”

Kaidan latches onto Shepard’s arm with a viselike grip. Shepard responds by holding him closer, rubbing his arms, shoulder, back, as if trying to keep him warm. “It’s all right,” he murmurs over and over. “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Slowly, Kaidan’s breathing evens out. His muscles relax until he’s limp in Shepard’s arms.

“Let me get you some water,” Shepard says, kissing the top of his head. But Kaidan tightens his grip when he tries to get up.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving, just going to the kitchen,” Shepard says, but doesn’t make another attempt to get up.

“I know.”

“Hey.” Shepard shifts him around until they’re face to face, but doesn’t turn loose of him. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Kaidan says, voice wavering. “I just need a minute. That’s all.”

Shepard strokes Kaidan’s jaw, fighting back his own nerves to keep his voice soft. “Panic attack isn’t nothing.”

“It…happens sometimes. It stops and I’m fine. It’s ok.”

A knot forms in Shepard’s chest. “What do you mean it happens sometimes?” As far as Shepard knows, Kaidan hasn’t had a panic attack in years.

Kaidan squirms a little in his arms. “Nothing. Forget it. I just need a minute.”

“Kaidan.

“It’s fine. I’m ok. I just need a minute and I’ll be fine. Everything’s fine. Please…don’t worry.”

“Why wouldn’t I worry?” Shepard says, trying and failing to mask his disbelief. I worry about you all the time, because you have to put up with me.

“Because I can handle it.

“Handle it? Having a panic attack alone in the dark, that presumably you weren’t going to tell me about, is handling it?”

“Yes,” Kaidan says through clenched teeth, shifting again, though his grip on Shepard tightens.

“You asshole,” Shepard breathes. “If you found out I’d kept something like this from you, you’d throw me out an airlock. You made me swear I wouldn’t keep things from you. That I’d let you help.”

“I—”

“How often does this happen?”

“It doesn’t. Forget it. Sam, I just need a minute and—”

“You’ll be fine? You’re shaking. You’re not fine.”

“Yes, I am,” he argues. “If you would just give me a damn minute.”

“Do you know what triggers it?”

“Please leave it alone.”

“You do, don’t you?” Shepard says, horror growing. “You know, but you don’t want to tell me.”

Kaidan shuts his eyes. “Sam—”

“Why?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal! Kaidan, I love you more than the sun. I don’t care if you don’t think it’s a big deal, it still matters. Why—”

“Because you leave!” The words tear out of him like they’ve ripped a hole in his chest, stunning Shepard into silence.

“You leave without a word,” Kaidan sputters, tightening his grip on Shepard’s arm. “I wake up and you’re…not there. It’s stupid, it’s so stupid because I know better. You’re not gone, you’re just not here, but I wake up and I can’t find you and it feels like I’m going insane. I know it helps you cope, I know you need to just…be somewhere else sometimes. But I used to wake up all the fucking time after Alchera and think it was all a dream only to find out it wasn’t. I’ve gotten you back twice now. What if that’s the dream?”

Kaidan’s chest heaves, eyes so full of grief and anguish and pain Shepard hardly recognizes him.

“Kaidan,” Shepard murmurs, but it comes out hoarse. “No…god. Kaidan.”

“It’s stupid—”

“No. Damnit, no. It’s isn’t.”

“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted and I keep losing you. What if this time it’s finally for good?”

Shepard cocoons him with his body, swallowing up every square inch he can reach. It’s been two years since the war ended. He’s been leaving Kaidan alone to wander around at night for two fucking years.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t…please. It helps you,” Kaidan mumbles, fingers running across the welts on Shepard’s neck.

“Not if it hurts you.”

“Sam—”

“Kaidan.”

He can’t think about the guilt. Can’t think about how long Kaidan has been suffering in silence. He’ll feel those things later. What matters is now.

Shepard tips his chin until they’re eye to eye, keeps his voice low and soothing even though he’s the one shaking now. “Forget about what I need. Tell me what you need. I am not more important than you. We do this together. The parts that are good and the parts that are messy. I signed up for all of it. Let me take care of you for once. Please.”

He holds Kaidan’s gaze until something breaks, the fear and dread morphing into something closer to relief.

“Please don’t leave,” Kaidan whispers.

Shepard shakes his head. “No. I won’t. I swear. Not now, not ever again. I’ve got you, ok? We’ll figure it out. I’ll make a call in the morning. Find someone who can help me figure out how to sleep. I’ll talk to anyone. I just—I’m so sorry.”

Kaidan rests his forehead against Shepard’s shoulder. Shepard rubs his back with one hand, finds Kaidan’s fingers with the other. The tremor is still there, so Shepard holds his hand until it’s gone. Eventually Shepard shifts, loops Kaidan’s arms around his neck and scoots him onto his lap.

“What’re…”

“Shh,” Shepard tells him. “Let me take care of you.”

He braces himself and lurches to his feet, a hundred different muscles and joints screaming in protest. His knee pops and he winces.

“Sam—”

“I’m being romantic, let me be fucking romantic,” Shepard says with a smile. Kaidan huffs, but doesn’t try to stop him.

They get halfway to the bedroom before he’s forced to set Kaidan down and let him walk the rest of the way. Used to be Shepard could do that without effort, but that person is long gone. He still makes a point of sweeping Kaidan back up again to put him in bed.

“You’re an idiot,” Kaidan says with an exhausted smile.

“Your idiot,” Shepard says, stripping off his shirt, shucking off his pants and climbing in beside him. Before Kaidan can get too comfy Shepard removes his shirt, too.

“This is a skin kind of night,” Shepard informs him. “Prove that I’m real.”

“Mmm. Like the sound of that.”

Kaidan is usually the one who traps Shepard against him in bed, probably, Shepard realizes with a sinking heart, to make sure he doesn’t get too far away.

Not tonight.

He pulls Kaidan’s back to his chest and holds him tight, running a hand over him until he’s a relaxed ember nestled against him.

“Sam,” Kaidan murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“’m gonna fall asleep.”

“It’s okay,” Shepard says, smoothing back his hair. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

#commandercod #mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #my fic #tw: ptsd #tw: panic attacks #woo this one got intense #don't worry it ends fluffy and hopeful and happy #just had to go through some shit to get there #i swear the rest of these are almost pure fluff #with little to no angst #but had to go there for this one

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evergreen-dryad · 5 years ago

Text

begin again.

[day 6 - eyes/dreams]

They are in the golden field of grass again, out on the test floor of Evankhell.

The sky blazes blue, blue above them — it takes a while for Baam to remember it is an artificial sky, and it is the ceiling he is looking at. It always takes time for Baam to realise, so it seems. He knows, because he can see it in the way Baam looks around, and the little jolt of realisation that comes when his shoulders shift, and his wide eyes stop to a point slightly above them, instead of soaking it all in.

Khun looks at him, and feels his chest grow.

This is how he imagines Baam arriving. A Baam that has come back to life, fully intact as if nothing had happened. Across the field, he starts running.

Strange he can't imagine Baam anywhere else, but this place echoes of him — a sea of gold, and the forever blue of the sky stretching on.

"Baam," he breathes, name barely curling past his mouth. He can't hear him, he's still some distance away — sitting up, breaking off a bit of the tall grass to taste —

And then the announcement breaks. Khun barely hears it — after all, he knows it by heart. His heartbeat loud in his head.

He has to make it to him this time.

Baam, scrambling for the Black March, standing. Running, but with the distinct black-red of his clothes, it's only a matter of time before someone sights him as an easy kill.

"BAAM." The shout explodes out of him, surprising even him. Baam turns around, alarm in his entire stance, too shaky to even hold a sword let alone a legendary needle properly. Golden eyes look at him, pull him in, and Khun—

—feels the world fall away. It's just the two of them, in this moment of time.

Baam smiles, a tremulous thing. There is knowledge in his eyes, and grief. He feels it pull at his gut.

And Baam says the damning words, "Is Rachel still safe with you?"

He has to stop looking at him. There's a block, a feeling in his chest that won't go away. He recognises it as — yes, he's upset.

The moment sways, like oil across water, and he starts to feel himself waking up.

He's dreaming again. He's dreaming of where they began, long ago in a golden field under a fake sky, but that sky was the most beautiful Khun has ever remembered one being. He's always noted them as one may note a nicely wrought piece of architecture, but never has his mind dwelt on one.

(Blue for emotion, for horizons on the morrow. Always far away.)

Not when the boy he loved—

(no. did he? dissonance.)

Are you sure, Aguero? His mother's voice murmurs insidiously from the corners of his mind. Did you love him, or were you trying to gain more things from him? Who is he kidding? It's ultimately his own voice, forever asking himself, did he change? Or not?

He can't admit he misses him. He stares into space, the image stuttering as he opens his eyes to darkness. Not out loud, never. Whenever he talks about him to other people, he passes it as coolly as he would every other subject.

The impulse to laugh it off catches in his throat, and the summary always comes out brief and hard, so no one would even think of prying.

No one does, anyway. At this stage, everyone in the tower has lost at least a few people. It is nothing strange.

He wonders, if no one would ever light the same feelings in his heart as Baam had. With each year, he could feel himself becoming more and more detached. Allies were allies. He checked in with Shibisu and co., and could call them friends, but didn't feel the pressing need to socialise with them more than necessary. Getting ahold of Rak was an obstacle in of itself, so the conversations they had were sparse to most.

Ironically, perhaps the most he talked to, or put in the most effort for, was putting the facade on for Rachel.

With Rachel, he makes himself be gentle. The gentleness that could have gone to Baam, he dredges it up, and telegraphs the movements for her. He doesn't have to feel it to be able to do it. That has usually been how he's been able to keep winning, keep succeeding for every floor.

Rachel, of yellow eyes, slitted pupils, sallow skin. The viper in the grass that had bitten Baam's heel. Pale corn yellow that don't shine as Baam's do, not in the same way. Fool's gold.

She tells him she dreamt of Baam again. Yes, so did I. How much does she feel she needs to repeat this performance? Does she dream of Baam every night like he does? He doubts it. He really, really doubts it.

"I dreamt of him calling out to me," she says softly. She always looks at her hands when she recites these. They move minutely, fingertips aligning. "From a very dark place," she added, swallowing, as though to mask emotions. "There were fish all around him, and he spoke with their voice." She murmurs, eyes turning to the window for dramatic effect. "I think a great silvery fish had swallowed him, you see."

He doesn't see, but he supposes he can applaud her for varying up the routine. He opens his mouth, and soothing words tumble out.

He dreams of the throne in the crown game, Baam sat upon it resplendently, safely. This time, he simplifies things. This time, he takes liberties he would never have thought of before. He lovingly crowns Baam's mop of dark hair, leans against him, deposits himself in his lap like a cat in its favourite spot.

There's no place like napping in a sunspot. Khun closes his eyes, and feels warmth. The soft thigh beneath him, the slight brush of Baam's hands above him as they fidget and readjust.

The flush of his face for doing such a thing, but his eyes remain determinedly closed. He can absolutely will this blush away, damnit.

He dreams he dreams he dreams. He reconstructs times of when he was with Baam, he revisits, he redoes it in such a way he can be happy with. He could have touched him on the shoulder more. He didn't need to have focused on bickering with that ridiculous Samurai guy about his earrings, god — so instead, he turns to Baam and acts cute instead.

"Right, Baam?" He knows he's definitely a good-looking guy, courtesy of Khun genes, so just notice him more.

I'm here. You don't need to fixate on Rachel so much-

"Is Rachel happy with you?"

"I trust you, Khun-ssi."

A gentle smile that leaves Khun choking on wordless grief in the mornings.

Why is it that Baam seems to look more wide-eyed and delicate with each dream? What does Baam even look like? Is he sure of the exact contours of his face anymore? The exact hue of his eyes-?

(There were no photos taken. That damn Yu Hansung could have given them those instead of those nuisance rings, he's sure there's usable video footage somewhere in their archives.)

The shades of Baam's eyes:

Burnished, bronze, warm toffee, that gleam gold like coins, or amber in low light, like honey. Amber that Khun would allow to drip around and entrap him.

Amber that has gone away with the light, amber that is only a memory.

Nothing on the Lighthouse network too. Disappointing. He supposes he can't expect images of small fry on 2F to interest anyone.

If only they could have known Baam—

Trust Baam to never reproach him, even in the worst of his dreams where he cradles Baam's brokentornbleedingblue body. He never asks the words Khun always does to himself, everyday:

"Why didn't you save him?"

How could you have failed? How did you not take account of this? Did you underestimate Rachel? Why couldn't you have been there-

(Always: "Have you taken Rachel to see her stars yet?"

Not yet, he always answers at last, head lowered.

He never says the rest out loud: when she does, that's when I'll finally throw her off the tower. )

They do say to keep your enemies closer for a reason, he reasons as he leans in to lightly brush away Rachel's self-pitying tears, once again. They are disgustingly cold, he observes clinically. Not that fresh, hm?

Khun never gives Rachel a reason to doubt he is anything but gentle towards her.

(Khun A. A. dreams of the ways he could have saved the 25th Baam. Twenty-five nights and more, in a row.

It never changes. It begins and it ends with Rachel, bringing Baam to existence, ending his life. It begins and it ends with Baam, always asking him to look after her.

It begins and it ends with Khun Aguero Agnis, unable to look him in the eye, and tell him the truth.

What does Baam dream of? Where does he exist now? Khun doesn't believe in the afterlife, but —

—Baam should have died happy. Innocent. With no memory of what Rachel could have done to him.

If there is a god watching from the top of the tower, then Khun prays—

If pray is even the word to use — that he's happy. Perhaps even better, with no sensation or thought or memory.)

— begin again: Khun Aguero Agnis meets the 25th Baam in a golden field of grass. They become friends. They do not, and Khun passes him by, and Baam dies a bloody death early. They do not, and Khun wins for Team A, and Baam does not pass on, and Rachel leaves him behind. They do, and Khun wins for Team A, but the fiasco for Team B happens anyway and Baam finds Rachel, so they’re left behind.

begin again —

Where Jue Viole Grace sleeps, Baam emerges.

Baam dreams of Rachel, of stars and towers and being flung into darkness. Falling, from a great height, into the great dark, with no one to ever hear his voice crying out again. He dreams of a shaft of light opening into his dark world, and Rachel coming to save him once again. But no. Of course not — he wakes, and they tell him she put him here.

But he can't stop dreaming of her.

And of happier times. In the cafeteria. With the others. With Khun.

Baam dreams of blue skies and warm blue eyes, and a hand that reached out to him. Hands and words that cut through others so easily, but have always been gentle with him.

The dreams begin with Rachel, but they always end with Khun. From sunrise yellow, to deep night blue.

//or: the anime was khun's dreams of the test floor so they have more moments together. i projected my angst onto khun, so here we are. it began as a drabble, and after repurposing it for day 6 it’s still basically a long angst drabble set in canon.

...maybe i’ll rewrite it for AO3 one day. 3am brain is dead.

#tower of god #tog #khunbam #khun aguero agnis #khunbamweek2020 #day 6 #25th bam #togspoilers #25th baam #tower of god spoilers #twenty fifth baam #kami no tou #beginning of s2 webtoon spoilers #my writing #ed fics

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

Before the Wall Part 33

Masterlist

----

One week after their visit to the library, Miryam lies sprawled on her bed and glares at the spellbook she positioned on her pillow. Unlike her own, it contains no additional explanations to go with the spells. Which is truly unfortunate, since the spells noted down in this book surpass everything Miryam has ever seen. She understands the individual symbols, but their combination is where the problems come in.

“Damnit”, she mutters and rubs her temple.

Whatever these spells are, they are powerful. Powerful and complicated, and if Miryam ever learns to understand them, she might actually be able to stand a chance against the other witches.

“Trouble?”, Jurian asks from where he is sitting over his maps.

“Yes.” Miryam sighs. “This is too damned complicated for me.” She rereads the page for the eights time, still not understanding what exactly the spell is supposed to accomplish. “I just don’t have the necessary knowledge to understand it.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out”, Jurian mutters and moves a figure over his map.

If my power doesn’t rip me to shreds before I do, Miryam thinks, but she just nods and returns to her studies.

Half an hour later, all she has to show for her troubles is a pounding headache. When Drakon pokes his head through the tent’s entrance, Miryam is almost relived to have an excuse to stop her work. Jurian just briefly looks up, rolls his eyes and goes back to his work, but Miryam slams the book shut and swings her legs over the bed’s edge to sit up.

“Tell me you have some good news.”

Drakon’s answering wince tells her everything she needs to know about the nature of the news he brings. “The university wrote”, he says, “They…” He bites his lip. “They got contacted by the Guild. Apparently, Artax was very… persuasive. They want the book back, and politely decline any information you might have promised them in return.”

Miryam looks down at the book, then shrugs. “No one wants to pick a fight with the Guild.” She should have seen it coming. “What now?”

“You give the book back?”

Jurian snorts. “You can’t be serious.”

Drakon starts drumming a rhythm on his leg and shoots a nervous glance at Jurian. “The university has a considerable amount of influence on the Continent”, he says, “Several of the current Continental leaders are former students. I may be the least qualified person to give anyone advice on politics, but I don’t think this is a fight you want to pick.”

Miryam hesitates. Giving up the book would be the easy way. If she’s entirely honest, she doesn’t want to deal with it anyways, and this is the perfect solution. But if it does hold the key to the spell she’s been failing on, then it might mean the difference between life and death for millions of humans.

“Fine”, she says, “They want a book, they’ll get it.”

“Miryam –“, Jurian begins, but she shakes her head.

“A book”, she repeats, “warded so that only a witch might open it, with a couple of spells written inside. It just won’t be this one.”

Drakon looks genuinely shocked. “You are… you’re going to steal this book? From a library?”

“Maybe take a moment to remember we’re at war”, Jurian says and returns to his maps. “You’ll realize how stupid you just sounded.”

“Sorry.” Drakon flinches. “You’re right, that was…” He turns to Miryam. “If you want to forge the book, just give it to me when you’re done. I’ll see to it that it’s delivered.”

“Thank you.” Miryam considers telling him that the university won’t lose anything through the exchange. They lent her a spellbook they can neither open nor read, and that’s exactly what she’ll give them back. But somehow, she doesn’t think Drakon will be overly grateful if she returns this conversation to his concerns about the library. So instead, she changes the subject. “I won’t manage to get it done today, though”, she says, “I’ve got a council meeting this afternoon.”

One she really doesn’t feel like attending. The High Lord of the Night Court apparently has some information he deems important enough that he needs a full council meeting to share it. Arrogant bastard, stealing all of their time with his nonsense. Miryam rubs her head. She barely slept these past days, and her thoughts seem to be drifting apart. Is she just tired, or is she already beginning to lose her mind?

“If the two of you are smart”, she says, “you’ll stay here.”

----

Years ago, Miryam warned Jurian that if he continued meeting with Clythia, he would lose himself. At the time, Jurian brushed her off with a shrug. Now, he is beginning to think that she may have had a point after all. It’s like with each meeting with Clythia, he loses another part of himself – tiny bits and pieces, seemingly insignificant, but they add up over time.

At least this time, Clythia brought wine. The bottle is ten times as old as Jurian is, and costs enough to feed his entire army for a week. Sitting on a ground in the small forest they chose as their meeting place this time, he clings to his glass and tries to keep from downing it all at once. Being drunk might make this more bearable.

“Have you had any visions lately?”, he asks. He doesn’t even bother to hide his curiosity. Sometimes he feels like he could just ask Clythia for secret information and she would hand him the files without thought.

“Nothing notable”, Clythia says brightly, “Everything stayed more or less the same.”

Jurian’s grip on the glass tightens. So Miryam is still going to die. No matter how hard Jurian works, no matter how much of the lost ground the Alliance wins back, this one thing always stays the same. He tried asking Clythia about how it will happen once, hoping that if he knew, he might prevent it, but apparently, there’s no telling. Seers, Jurian decides, are no use at all if their visions only tell of a set future, but aren’t able to help change it.

“But that doesn’t matter”, Clythia says, “our future’s still the same. We’ll always be together.”

Jurian’s stomach tightens. “Is that a prophecy?”, he asks with a forced smile.

“No, but I just know it. It’s written in the stars.” Clythia refills both of their wine glasses and runs her fingers through the grass. “We’re like the Mother and Daín.”

“Who?”, Jurian asks.

Comparing them to several pairs of lovers throughout the entire history of the Fae is a particularly annoying habit of Clythia’s. But if Jurian isn’t mistaken, she just took things a step further by comparing herself to the Fae’s main goddess.

“But surely you know the story!”, Clythia exclaims. She sounds genuinely shocked.

“Humans don’t follow Fae religions”, Jurian reminds her. He doesn’t say that he knows the Fae use their religion to justify enslaving his people and that he never really had an interest in finding out more than that.

“Oh, of course. I always forget how uncultured you humans are”, Clythia says.

Jurian stifles a sigh. Sometimes, he wonders if she even realizes that he is human. But of course, she barely seems to understand that they are on opposite sides of a war, so there’s that.

“Well.” Clythia leans forward, clearly excited about being the one to tell him this bit of information he absolutely doesn’t care about. “You know how the Mother made the world, creating High Fae, lesser faeries, humans and animals to inhabit it.” She pauses, clearly waiting for a reaction.

“Yes”, Jurian says. If she starts going on about how superior Fae are compared to humans, he may just lose it.

“After that”, Clythia continues, “the Mother settled down in her seat of power, a magical island named Cretea. From there, she ruled over the world, her followers making pilgrimages there to ask her guidance. One of them was a High Fae male named Daín.” Clythia smiles at him. “The Mother chose him. Picked him out of all the others and made him her consort.”

Jurian doesn’t like the way she looks at him while she says this at all. Is she seriously making this comparison? Does she not understand how disturbing this is?

“Daín was just an ordinary Fae, but the Mother loved him, so she made him into something else. She gave him powers that allowed him to shape the world to his will, a smaller mirror of what she could do, and created a sword for him that made him undefeatable and immortal.”

“And then they lived happily ever after?”, Jurian asks with just a hint of sarcasm. He secretly hopes this Daín used the sword to stab the Mother.

“No.” Clythia tilts her head backwards to look up at the blue sky peeking through the leaves. “After centuries of peace under the Mother’s rule, a group of evil beings rose up against her to conquer the world for themselves. They were defeated, but Daín died in the final battle, slaughtered by the enemy leader. Unable to stand the grief of his death, the Mother vanished, never to be heard off again.”

Only Clythia would consider this to be romantic. “And what about the sword?”, he asks, coming back to the one subject out of this whole rant that actually interested him.

“It vanished”, Clythia says, “As did Cretea. No one heard of it in millennia.”

“A pity.” Having a sword like this might actually prove useful. Assuming, of course, that it even existed in the first place. Since Jurian, like most humans, doesn’t believe in Fae gods, he doesn’t think this is particularly likely.

Jurian takes another sip from his wine and changes the subject. What does he care about Fae myths? They won’t help him win this war.

----

“I have no idea why you came along”, Miryam whispers to Drakon as they take their seats at the council table. Usually, he only comes along when it absolutely can’t be avoided, and today is no such case.

“Why should you suffer alone?”, he whispers back, “Besides, my emissary’s wife is giving birth to their second child today, and I figured he wouldn’t want to spend the day stuck in a meeting.”

Miryam smiles and straightens her dress. “That’s wonderful news. It’s customary to have gifts for new parents, right? I need to think of something for them.”

“It’s something for the baby, usually.” Drakon looks around the table, his feathers ruffle nervously. “More of a symbolic gift, honestly.”

Miryam nods and smiles over at Zeku, who inclines his head in return. They arrived late enough that they didn’t have to join the general rounds of small talk and could take their seats right away. However, the High Lord who called the meeting still hasn’t turned up.

“Isn’t it just lovely”, Andromache says from her seat on Miryam’s other side. “We all have to play by the Continental rules, no matter what we think of them, but these High Lords get to shit on them as much as they like and no one gives a damn.”

Miryam nods, but before she can say anything, the doors burst open and the High Lord in question enters the room. He is followed by an Illyrian who Miryam recognizes as Mor’s shadowsinger-friend, Azriel. Miryam never had reason to know him well beyond what Mor told her about him – and, knowing his job-description, she never had much of an interest, either. She knew a few torturers in Ravenia’s court and all of them were wretched in one way or another.

As the High Lord takes his seat, Miryam smiles at him. “I’m glad you could make it, High Lord”, she says, pleasantness hiding the edge in her words. A few of the Continental royals look amused. “Now that we’re all here, perhaps we can begin.”

The High Lord gives her a smile that looks more like he’s baring his teeth. “I see your lover didn’t join us. A pity. I’m sure he would have enjoyed today’s conversation. Where is he, may I ask.”

“I’d prefer to move on to the subject you asked us here to discuss, actually”, Miryam says evenly. She has no idea what he’s getting at, and she doesn’t like it.

“But this is the subject I meant to discuss, Miryam dear.”

Miryam hides her confusion behind a carefully neutral expression. What is he planning? Jurian is on a patrol, nothing out of the ordinary. Drakon shoots her a questioning look, some of the other councilmembers frown at the High Lord.

“You call a council meeting”, Grand Duke Zeku asks with soft disbelief, “to ask Miryam about Jurian’s whereabouts?”

“No, I called a council meeting to discuss the matter of Jurian fucking an enemy commander.”

The words are like a slap to the face. For a heartbeat that seems to last an eternity, all Miryam can do is gape at him. Then, her mind springs back into motion and reminds her that she is in the middle of a council meeting and right now, most of the attendants are staring at her. She schools her face back into a carefully blank expression, controls her breathing and forces the shock down.

She wishes she could believe that the High Lord is lying. But his words add up, fall into place to finally form a picture Miryam should have seen months ago. Jurian’s strange solo patrols. His ever-changing moods. The new spy that supplied all this information on Amarantha’s movements. She must have been blind not to see it.

“Maybe Lady Miryam would like to explain”, the High Lord says. Everyone turns to look at her, but Miryam just stares stubbornly at a point in the centre of the table. “Or maybe not”, the High Lord adds with a smirk. Miryam balls her hands to fists. This must be his revenge for her embarrassing him and Keir months ago. “Azriel”, the High Lord adds, calling him forward.

The Illyrian doesn’t look at Miryam or anyone else as he steps forward. “General Jurian”, he says, “has been meeting with the Hybern commander Clythia. I haven’t been able to find out for how long, but apparently”, now, he does look at Miryam briefly, “they are engaged in a romantic relationship. At this very moment, they are meeting.”

Drakon shakes his head. “That’s impossible. Jurian would never…” He shakes his head and turns to look at Miryam, like he’s hoping for her to back him up.

She presses her lips together. As if to match her roaring emotions, her power flickers to life inside her, tugging for her attention. Miryam tries to breathe against the onslaught, but her mind keeps reminding her of the fact at this very moment, Jurian is meeting with Clythia.

“I find that very hard to believe”, Andromache says, “Jurian would never start a relationship with a Loyalist.”

Miryam’s magic spikes. She can’t afford to let it out here, so it simply rushes through her veins, burning like fire. Forcefully, she pushes the image of Jurian’s meeting with Clythia out of her mind. Only for it to unhelpfully be replaced by the memory of a line from that cursed book about the Shadowsinger whose powers killed him.

“It is true”, Azriel says simply.

Miryam digs her fingernails into her leg as hard as she can, and finally manages to focus on the subject at hand. She should have said something a minute ago already, and surely, her silence has been noticed by now. Only what can she say? This is a disaster – for her standing, for this Alliance, for the war effort. Damn Jurian, how could he keep this from her?

She needs to fix this. If she doesn’t, both her and Jurian will look bad in front of the entire Alliance leadership. She needs to set this right, now, before anyone can do any more damage.

Zeku turns to Miryam. “You didn’t know, did you?” He sounds tense, like he, too, knows how precarious this situation is.

“I knew”, she says and tries to ignore the shocked looks a few people give her. “We planned it together. Clythia has an interest in Jurian, and we chose to use it for our advantage. As her supposed lover, Jurian has access to some information.” She doesn’t dare to add that Jurian’s information was the reason behind some of their latest victories. If Clythia for some reason hasn’t figured it out herself, Miryam won’t be the idiot who makes it public. So she just shrugs a little. “I apologize for not being able to notify the council, but we thought due to the need for secrecy in this matter, it would be best to keep it private between us.” She gives the High Lord a half smile. “I would have, of course, explained it to you, my lord. It really wasn’t necessary to call an entire council meeting, you could just have asked me.”

The High Lord’s face turns an ugly shade of purple and he has to grip the chair’s armrests. But other than that, Miryam’s words don’t have the intended effect. Where people seemed confused earlier, they now look annoyed, some even angry. Even Zeku gives her a dissatisfied look.

“Well, I suppose that changes things”, Andromache says slowly. She turns to the High Lord and smiles a bit to sweetly. “So now that you’ve called us all here in vain and made a military secret public, was there anything else you wanted?”

The High Lord’s face has turned an ugly shade of purple. “No”, he snaps, glaring at Azriel, “That was everything.”

He is also the first to leave, storming out of the room like a child. Miryam chooses the more dignified approach and waits a moment before slowly rising. Drakon steps close to her.

“Back to the camp?”, he asks.

Miryam nods, but Zeku interrupts their conversation. “May I have a word, Miryam?”, he asks.

The only person Miryam wants to have a word with right now is Jurian. But a feeling tells her that she already messed up enough today. The last thing she needs right now is to offend her most important Fae ally.

“Of course”, she says, then turns to Drakon. “Do you mind waiting?”

Zeku adds, “It won’t take long.”

“No problem”, Drakon says and looks around the meeting room, seeming a little lost. “I’ll just talk to…” He hesitates, then smiles. “Andromache. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

Miryam nods and allows Zeku to lead her away. He takes them to a smaller meeting room, closes the door, and sets up wards.

“What are you thinking?”, Zeku hisses as soon as the wards are up. “Why didn’t you just let it slide?”

“What?”, Miryam asks.

Now, she’s genuinely confused. She assumed Zeku might be angry because of the blow to her – and, by association, his – standing, or because she didn’t tell him about Jurian’s affair with Clythia. But none of what he said seems to indicate this.

“I don’t care if you knew or not! You should have said you had no idea, that Jurian went behind your back.”

Miryam shakes her head. “I would have looked stupid.”

“That would have been better than looking like you went behind the council’s back again!” Zeku’s voice rises towards the end of the sentence. He takes a deep breath, then continues. “Miryam”, he says more softly, “I think you still don’t understand the situation you’re in. Large parts of the council see you as a threat. In your position, you can take a blow to your standing far more easily than any actions that reinforce the impression that you’re dangerous to them.”

“This is ridiculous!” Miryam shakes her head. “Who would see me as a threat?”

“Lots of people”, Zeku says. “So keep your head down. Let someone else lead.”

Miryam stares at him. “But I can’t”, she says, “I’m not even leading, not really. But they need someone to stand at the front, and if I don’t do it, who will?”

“They’ll find someone.”

“No, they won’t. Because the humans will never allow a Fae to lead, and the only Fae I know who would accept a human leader is Drakon. If I step back, it will be the end of this Alliance and you know it.”

Zeku just watches her. His blue eyes are dark with sadness. “I don’t think you understand, Miryam”, he says softly. “This is your only chance. Keep your head down. Don’t make yourself into a threat, or you’ll have to pay the price.”

Miryam slowly shakes her head. Her fingers tremble, she forces them to stop. There are a million things she could say. That this is unfair. That all she wants is to free her people, and then she’ll disappear from politics. But what would her words count? What would they change? Her choice is already made either way.

“Then I’ll pay”, she says and lifts her chin, hoping that she sounds resolute instead of lost and desperate. But how could she stand back while her people bleed and die?

Zeku sighs. “I feared you would say that. You know you can’t win this, do you?”

Miryam shrugs. She doesn’t need to win. She just needs to draw things out until the war ends. Then, it will be alright. As soon as the Loyalists have been defeated and the human slaves freed, the Alliance can fall apart if it needs to. These Fae nobles can go back to quarrelling over power like wolves fighting over a carcass, and Miryam can try to sort out her life without the weight of thousands of lives on her shoulders.

“Thank you for the warning, though”, she says. “And for, you know. The general advice.”

She likes Zeku, after all. He’s her ally. Not quite her friend, perhaps, more like a mentor. She doesn’t want him to think she’s disregarding him.

Zeku waves her off. “I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you need to talk to Jurian.”

And what a talk that will be. With a quick goodbye, Miryam slips out of the meeting room. Drakon is still talking to Andromache, but quickly ends the conversation when he sees Miryam and walks over.

“Sorry for leaving you alone like this”, Miryam whispers.

Drakon shrugs. “Wasn’t so bad.” Together, they walk towards the gardens, the only place where you can winnow in and out of the palace. “What did Zeku want?”

“Discuss strategies. He didn’t like what happened with Jurian.”

Drakon nods. He keeps shooting her glances as they reach the gardens and winnow back to their camp. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“You didn’t know either”, he says, statement and question in one.

“No, I didn’t.” She doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Is there anything I can do?”, Drakon asks.

Miryam shakes her head. “Thank you”, she says, “But I think I need to be alone for a bit.”

She needs to make some sense of her racing thoughts. And then, her and Jurian will have a conversation.

----

Jurian returns to his camp when the sun is just setting behind the horizon and the world is coloured in orange and red. Tiredly, he slides out of the saddle and passes his horse on to one of his soldiers. Normally, he’d tend to it himself, but today, he’s too drained. The meeting was a waste. He endured hours of Clythia’s prattling, but has no information to show for it. Without stopping to chat with any of his soldiers, he trudges through the camp and pushes the entrance to his tent open.

Miryam sits on his bed.

“Hey”, Jurian says. He opens his weapon’s belt and lets it slide to the ground.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jurian freezes, fingers hovering over the jacket he was just opening. A knot forms in his stomach.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he says as evenly as he can manage.

“Yes, you do.” Miryam doesn’t get up from the bed. She just keeps staring at him, expression completely unreadable. Locking him out, even with her expression. “How long?”

Jurian’s gaze flickers around the tent. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. Maybe a way out. Something that could save him from what he has done, or from what is about to come.

“It started the day Amarantha slaughtered our friends”, he says, eyes fixed on a point just above Miryam’s head.

He doesn’t dare to look into her eyes. Doesn’t want to know if she’ll stick to her mask of indifference, or if there will be an accusation written all over her face. Disgust. He wishes she would say something, anything, but she remains silent. Apparently, she doesn’t plan to make this easy on him.

“I never meant to keep this secret”, he whispers, “Truly. I had planned to tell you after… after that first time. But then…” He chokes on the words. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you.”

“You promised”, Miryam says. Now, Jurian does look at her. She is still watching him with that guarded expression. “You promised you wouldn’t go see her again.”

“It has gotten us important information.” He doesn’t know if he’s talking to Miryam or himself. “All these victories in the past months… All because of the information I got from Clythia. All because of this.” He is shaking. “This is worth it, Miryam.”

She just shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Crushing shame turns to anger. Doesn’t she understand? He is talking about the war effort, about invaluable information, and she chooses to focus on this? She should get it. Why doesn’t she? They are at war, and the two of them have always been a unit, both of them understanding that they need to do whatever it takes to win this. Why is she backing out now?

“Are you jealous?”, he asks, “Is it that?”

Miryam shoots to her feet. “You-” Now, her faked indifference is entirely gone. Her eyes are positively burning. “This has nothing to do with Clythia!” She steps closer to Jurian until they are nearly toe to toe. “I am angry”, she hisses, each word more clipped than the last, “because you promised me not to meet with her again, and then went behind my back and did it anyways. For months, you lied to my face about it!”

“And you wonder why?”, Jurian snaps right back, “Maybe I knew how you’d react!”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. It’s like his mouth developed a life of its own and is moving without his permission. And Miryam may be angry, but he is, too. Even though he isn’t entirely sure why.

“My reaction has nothing to do with your actions, and everything with you not telling me!”, Miryam shots back, voice rising. The maps lying on the table ruffle as if caught in a breeze. “And maybe if I’d known, I would have been prepared when it came up in council today! Do you have any idea how stupid you made me look?”

“This isn’t about your stupid standing in the council! Wars aren’t won in council chambers; they are won on the battle field. What I did helped us win and if you can’t see that-“

“And when we lose our allies”, Miryam snaps back, “how well will your battles go then?”

“Oh, stop acting like this is what you’re mad about! You just can’t stand me putting anything before you. Even if it’s our people.”

Miryam takes a step back. She looks like he slapped her. “Do you even hear what you’re saying?”, she whispers, “This… I barely even recognize you, Jur.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Jurian’s anger crumbles in itself. What has he done? He didn’t mean to… He should have apologized. Instead, he…

“Miryam”, he whispers and reaches for her hand. She pulls it away and backs away another step.

“Don’t. Just…” She shakes her head, backing away further. “Just leave it.”

“Miryam, please.” He desperately wants to close the distance between them and reach for her hand. There is a gap opening between them like a ravine, and he knows that it’s his doing. He just doesn’t know how to make it right. “I’m sorry”, he whispers.

“I know”, Miryam replies. “And it will be fine in the morning. I just don’t want to be in the same room as you right now.”

With that, she stalks out of the tent.

Jurian stares after her for a few seconds. Then, he grabs a glass from the table and hurls it against the ground. It shatters with a very satisfying clink. He spends the next minutes systematically destroying everything he can get his hands on, sparing only the maps and the most vital bits of paperwork. The last thing Jurian shatters is a wine bottle – although not without draining it first.

Panting, he looks around the tent. His outburst hasn’t made him feel better. He just feels empty. Jurian lets himself fall backwards onto the bed and stares up at the ceiling. He wants to cry, but the tears won’t come.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the bed when the door flaps open. He doesn’t look up. From the pattern of the steps, he can tell it’s not Miryam, and he doesn’t care to see anyone else right now.

“Hey”, his visitor says.

Jurian groans. “Go away”, he says towards the ceiling.

“I brought you dinner”, Drakon says.

Jurian sits up in bed to look at Drakon, who indeed holds a plate in his hands. “You`re in the wrong tent. Miryam is the one who deserves to be brought dinner and comforted. I’m the asshole who lied to her and then yelled about it.”

“Mor is with Miryam”, Drakon explains. “And I though… well, I thought you might like some company as well.” He stares down at his feet. “Or would you rather be alone. I could leave.”

“Maybe it’s just you I don’t want to see”, Jurian mutters.

He only realizes he was hoping for Drakon to snap back at him and give him an excuse for an argument when he doesn’t. Drakon, damn him, just watches him. He even looks genuinely upset instead of angry.

“Have I done anything to offend you?”, Drakon asks softly. “Because I feel like there must have been something, I did, but I just don’t know what it is. If it was because I’m Fae, I’d understand, but I didn’t spontaneously grow a pair of pointy ears and wings, so it can’t be that, but I can’t think of anything else. But if I did something without noticing, I’m sorry.”

Jurian deflates. Trying to start an argument with Drakon is no fun, mostly because he does not argue. He just looks so obviously hurt that Jurian ends up feeling bad about himself for being an ass. And really, he already ruined his relationship with Miryam – the last thing he needs now is a fight with his best friend on top of that.

“No, you haven’t done anything”, he says with a sigh. “I’m just…”

Yes, what? He doesn’t even know what his problem is. It’s not necessarily that he has a problem with Fae, he’s just always so angry. These days, he can barely stand to be around people. Miryam is the only exception, but only because they have been a unit from the very beginning. And Drakon… Jurian can’t say why, but he annoys him even more than the others. Right now, though, that sentiment feels ridiculous.

He nods towards Drakon’s plate. “You brought food?”

“Yes.” Drakon looks relived as he looks down at the plate. “From the camp kitchen, but better than nothing.” He carefully steps over a few glass shards and sits down next to Jurian. “Oh, your hand.”

Jurian frowns down at his fingers. Only now does he notice that his left hand is covered in dried blood. “Oh.” He carefully opens the hand and looks at the deep cut in his palm.

“You got bandages anywhere here?”, Drakon asks.

He puts the plate on the bed next to Jurian and begins searching the destroyed tent for bandages. He finds some under a shattered piece of wood and begins to carefully bandage Jurian’s hand.

After that, they sit together on the bed in silence. Jurian picks around at his food, but can’t quite get himself to eat more than a few bites. Drakon, to his credit, doesn’t try to force a conversation on him.

It must have been hours when Jurian finally breaks the silence. “I should have apologized”, he says, “I don’t know why I didn’t. I just…” He runs his fingers through his hair. His hand is throbbing so badly that he doubts he’ll be able to hold a weapon tomorrow. “I’m so angry”, he says, “Always. I know I shouldn’t be, but I can’t stop it.”

“You have every right to that anger”, Drakon says softly, “Every human does, I think.” He looks down at his fingers. “I’m sure Miryam will understand.”

Jurian hopes she will. He hopes that his words didn’t break something between them beyond repair. They go back to sitting together in silence. Somehow, Drakon’s presence comforts him. This, he remembers, is why he became friends with Drakon in the first place.

Hours must have passed when the tent’s entrance flaps open and Miryam slips inside. Jurian freezes, staring at her. Miryam stares back. Slowly, precisely, Jurian sets down his plate. Drakon’s wings rustle as he shifts around uncomfortably. Miryam steps from one foot to the other. The silence stretches on and Jurian realizes that he has to be the first to speak.

“I’m sorry”, Jurian says. “About what I did, but also… I don’t know why I said all the things, I never meant…” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Jurian wishes she would yell at him. Or at least scold him. Then maybe, this matter might at least feel like it’s somewhat settled. He did something wrong. If she’d get angry at him, then they would at least come close to being even and they could go on from there.

“I understand”, Miryam adds, “Why you did it. I just wish you’d told me.”

“I should have”, Jurian agrees, “I meant to.”

Miryam nods. Looks down at her feet. Next to Jurian, Drakon seems to be doing his best to disappear into thin air.

“Then let’s move on from this. “I don’t want to argue about this anymore”, Miryam says softly, “This war is terrible enough as it is. I won’t allow it to…” She shakes her head. “I refuse to let this drive a rift between us.”

Jurian nods. “Yes. Yes, this is…”

He nods again and looks around, desperate to find a way to change the subject. Next to him, Drakon is now carefully inspecting a feather in his left wing. He looks up when he notices Jurian’s attention and smiles nervously. Jurian hesitates for a moment, then smiles back.

Miryam sits down on the bed between them. Slowly, carefully, Jurian reaches for her hand. She takes it.

“We’ll get through this”, she says. “The three of us together.”

They spend the entire night like this, huddled closely together on the small bed. None of them says a word, but they don’t need to. They just sit together. Trying to convince themselves that their friendship is still the same. Pretending that there aren’t cracks running through the very foundation of their friendship, that they aren’t drifting apart further each day.

It will be the last night they spent together like this.

----

A/N: I really hope Jurian's point of view comes accross in this chapter as well. His actions and reactions are a bit irrational at times, but I think with the situation he's in, that's understandable.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @sjm-things @clolikescloquetas

#i want them to remain friends #so #badly #but this isn't how it goes #and we're unfortunately moving towards the end rather quickly #miryam #jurian #drakon #before the wall #i'm kind of breaking my own heart here

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onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years ago

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Past the Stargazing Season (Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant Part II)

Words: 2,843 Warnings: Minor Spoliers in Warnings Characters: Roman, Roman’s mother (OC) Universe: Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant Rating: T+ Genre: Roman Angst

Sanders Sides Teenager/Magic AU - Friendship - Humor - Angst - Hurt/Comfort

Please read Painful Death for the Lactose Intolerant First, this is a sequel!

Chapter 1: Roman - Crushed (ffn mirror)

Roman’s phone buzzed while he was checking out at Forever 21. He found two pairs of jeans and a shirt with a red pattern on the sleeves. Remy had good timing to meet up to go back into the suburbs. He swiped his card and paid for his new clothes with a bright smile to the clerk.

“Have a nice day,” The cashier said as she slid his bag of purchases towards him.

“Thanks, you too,” Roman nodded and grabbed his sack and stepped out of the way to check Remy’s text.

‘Got a ride home Thx for the ride Had fun last night’ Were the texts Remy sent. Got a ride home from who?

‘Last night was awesome! Who did you get a ride from?’ Roman relayed back and headed out into the parking lot. It was kind of hot today and the sun was warm on his skin.

Remy still hadn’t responded when he got to his car. It was only a two-minute walk, but it wasn’t like Remy to not reply quickly. Maybe he was talking with whoever gave him the ride and didn’t want to be impolite. No, Remy wants to be rude, he seemed to enjoy being bitchy. Roman stared at his phone for a moment. Remy also hated using his phone as a phone, but something felt weird about this. Roman called Remy’s cell, but it went straight to voicemail. That’s even more unlike Remy.

Roman got out of his car again and checked the Starbucks. Maybe he returned for more coffee? He seems to have a big fucking problem with a caffeine addiction. Roman walked through quickly and scanned around outside near the Starbucks. He didn’t see Remyanywhere. Roman sighed and headed back to the car.

Well, it wasn’t the first time Remy had been cagey or dodged him. It was unusual recently, but if Remy was hanging out with Virgil or Remus, he wouldn’t always answer texts or things like that. Though that made this radio silence even weirder. Roman had no inkling who would give Remy a ride home. He didn’t get along with people easily and couldn’t think of anyone in town he knew to even get a ride from. Unless his dad caught him or something. Roman really hoped that wasn’t the case. Remy was already in trouble when he headed home. Roman couldn’t imagine anything good coming out of being caught in town. It was a good thing Remy was nearly 18.

Roman climbed into his car and started the engine to head home. Even after the coffee and cake, he’d kill for a nap. He wasn’t sure how late he and Remy were up together, but he probably only slept like 4 hours tops. He and Remy had meant to go to sleep, but they just got caught up chatting. Not to mention Roman had a little trouble sleeping with him right there. It wasn’t fair.

Roman pulled up to the curb outside of his house and checked his phone again. Still nothing. He shot Patton a text checking on if he was okay. He nearly texted Logan but thought better of it. His phone probably got taken when he got grounded, and Roman didn’t want to accidentally give Logan’s dad evidence of wrongdoing. Roman would have to wait till Monday to talk to him. Hopefully, Logan had enough fun last night to sustain him while he was being punished. It was a rough gig to have such tight-handed parents. Roman’s parents didn’t restrict him much as long as he kept looking and acting like they wanted him to. It was easy to manage, as much as it frustrated him.

“Mom, Dad, I’m back,” Roman called as he entered the house and locked the door behind him, sliding his keys back in his pocket.

“Roman, darling, good to see you. Where have you been?” It sounded like his mother hailed from the kitchen. Roman headed that way to meet her and get a drink.

“I was with Pat,” Roman said nonchalantly. He knew she wouldn’t push it as long as he didn’t let her know what he was up to.

“Oh, he’s such a good boy. I like that Patton. Did you eat while you were out? I can have Steve whip something up for you,” She offered distractedly. She was sitting at the table eating a small plate of fruit and working on her tablet.

“I ate. I’ll be fine until dinner, thank you though,” Roman sighed, getting himself some juice to drink from the fridge.

“Have you heard from Remus, yet, dear? The school called about him yesterday,” She sounded distant while she spoke.

“No, he’s still missing, mom,” Roman responded dourly. Not this again. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate it today.

“Oh, he’s not missing, don’t be dramatic. He’s surely off with that Virgil boy like he always is,” She waved her hand dismissively. “Those plays make you so fatalistic sometimes, life isn’t some Shakespeare play with tragic endings for everyone involved. You can be so histrionic,” She said dismissively, waving Roman off and picking up another piece of fruit.

“We checked Virgil’s house and nobody has been there, still. You don’t find it suspicious at all?” Roman asked, too tired to mask the testiness in his tone.

“Maybe they’re camping or something. It’s not the first time he wouldn’t answer our calls or disappeared, Roman,” She huffed shortly.

“It hasn’t been just a few days. It’s been over two weeks,” Roman crossed his arms and glared at her.

“Oh, has it? Oh, that boy is in so much trouble. He’s such a disappointment. He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. He’s losing his car privileges for sure, don’t let him drive if you see him,” His mother shook her head and daintily ate a piece of cantaloupe. She didn’t take her eyes off the tablet.

“Mother, don’t you think two weeks is enough time to maybe consider filing him as a missing person?” Roman suggested shortly. She didn’t acknowledge him glowering at her.

“No, darling, there’s no need to involve the police and make a mess of things. He’s just a delinquent. Stop overreacting,” His mother furrowed her eyebrows, but otherwise didn’t react. She was completely distraught about her missing child, surely. Roman groaned and left the kitchen before he said something he regretted, because holy shit, he had some choice words for her right now. He was even more tired after that fustercluck of a conversation.

Roman flopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling in his room. He checked his phone uselessly again. He already knew he hadn’t gotten a text back from Remy or Patton yet. He should just take a nap. Somebody will probably text after an hour or two and help quell this unsettled feeling in his stomach. Though, maybe that feeling was because he got to be so close last night and he was all alone again. Roman always got the worst crushes. Why couldn’t he ever like a boy who liked him back? Stupid gay curse of getting crushes on your friends. Stupid romantic heart getting attached at the slightest attention.

He buried his face in his pillow and fought the urge to scream. He knew he was being dramatic, but it fucking hurt, damnit. To fall asleep in Remy’s arms and get ghosted the next day? It was a nightmare scenario, and he just lived it. Why did Roman do this to himself? He knew Remy wasn’t interested. He knew Remy wasn’t in a good enough or safe enough place to even consider dating anybody. He knew Remy’s dad might actually kill him if it got back to him that Remy started seeing Roman. He knew all of this and still followed him into Virgil’s room like a lovesick puppy, anyway. Neither of them was even out to their parents. But that stupid amazing kiss and the way his heart felt and-

“Ugh!” Roman shouted into his pillow and buried himself under the covers. What was the point? Remy never showed a flicker of interest. Never even a single furtive glance. Roman was only half considering asking Patton out, but maybe he really should. Roman deserved somebody who might like him back and wasn’t trying to drink himself to death out of grief. Not that Patton deserved a lovesick puppy pining after someone else, either. Oh god, Roman left that vodka in his trunk. He just wanted to get it away from Remy for the most part. He did actually like the bottle, it was very Hamlet. But Roman was more concerned Remy would just finish it by himself if Roman didn’t take it.

Roman grunted and got up to go get the extremely illegal alcohol out of his car. Open containers and under-aged drinking and all that good stuff his parents would through a snit fit over. It was exceptional vodka, at least. It was a win-win scenario. Roman doesn’t have to drink piss-beer, and Remy doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning all alone at Virgil’s house. It seemed like a good idea at the time, at least.

Patton said he hid most of the rest of the alcohol in the house while he and Remy went to bed. Remy could find some of it, but Patton and Logan were very crafty about it. If Remy wanted to drink again, he’d have to get Patton to pull out a bottle so they could watch him. Remy could assuredly find a house party, but at least he couldn’t drink himself to death alone. Somebody would hopefully help him at a party if Roman wasn’t there. And maybe Remy would be willing to come to hang out again for more of the hundred-dollar vodka and- God damn it, Roman, stop it. Stop doing this to yourself.

Roman reached in and pulled the bag out of the far end of his trunk. Remus might have a flask in his room Roman could steal and put most of this in so he could clean and display the bottle. Fill it with glitter goo and make it ominous, or maybe just paint the inside to look more realistic. Remus liked to drink tic-tacs out of a flask for some reason, and he had a few different ones. Roman took the sack inside and buried it under some winter sweaters in his closet. Roman steeled himself as he left his room and went down two doors to Remus’s room.

It was the first time in a while he’d stepped in here. He mostly avoided it because Remus’s idea of organization was a nightmare, but lately, it just reminded him Remus wasn’t here, he didn’t enjoy being here, he possibly wasn’t ever coming back. And Roman didn’t need that reminder shoved in his face, that he fell for his parents shit and pushed his twin brother so far away that they had barely shared twenty words of conversation before he disappeared. Roman started digging around in a drawer near his bed. It seemed like a reasonable place to start.

There wasn’t a flask anywhere near Remus’s bed. Roman found three flasks in Remus’s closet of all places, stored with some old toys and what looked like mementos. That location made sense, weirdly? But not in a normal way. There was a wide variety of decorative knives in his bedside table, which kind of worried Roman. They were mostly dull, but some weren’t. And he hadn’t seen Remus outside of a jacket in a while, although it was getting warmer. Patton’s worry was probably just rubbing off on him.

Patton was so freaked out on Friday about Remy hurting himself, spouting all of these facts his mom told him in a mad ramble. Remus showed no signs of doing that kind of thing. He just enjoyed playing with knives. Remy wouldn’t do that either. At least Roman didn’t think Remy would. He knew Remus was adamantly against it for other people. He didn’t even like people joking about it. But maybe that was because he did it? Roman couldn’t be sure, and he kind of felt like an ass for not knowing.

Roman took the three flasks back to his room. It felt weird in Remus’s bedroom and was glad he found what he was looking for so he could get out of there. Maybe it was just Roman’s guilt, but he swore that room felt haunted. He combined all the tic-tacs into a coffin-shaped one and placed the other two on his desk. There was a big one with a dragon motif on it that would probably fit most of the vodka, but he probably needed to clean out the minty-dust before putting nice vodka in it.

He laid back on his bed with a sigh, curling back under the covers. Patton had been freaking out about Remy a lot lately. Roman would have wanted to go party with Remy regardless because he was a hopeless idiot, but Patton practically begged them both to come over. But Remy honestly seemed fine last night. He didn’t drink too much, at Patton’s behest, and cackled freely all night. Nothing like he had been acting lately, where he never laughed unless it was sarcastic and he wasn’t interested in doing anything.

All the house parties ‘bored’ him and he wouldn’t even take free food, which Remy normally was all over. Roman knew Remy was spending way too much time at Virgil’s place, partially from Patton’s reports, but also the bruises all over Remy’s arm when he took off Virgil’s jacket to go to bed. Roman didn’t want to imagine how he got those, but Remy hadn’t bothered side-stepping anything about his home life lately, so he didn’t have to do much to connect the dots. He used to be very cagey about it.

When they went to Virgil’s room together to chat, he seemed so normal. Not give-it-all-away or uncharacteristically cheery or any of those things Patton said. Remy was his normal chatty, kind of bitchy, secretly worried about everything, and his high-energy self. Though maybe the energy part was all the coffee he drank. And he even offered to share the bed with Roman instead of Roman sleeping on the floor or Virgil’s parents’ bed, which everybody agreed was kind of weird. Somebody who was depressed and suicidal was supposed to push people away. Remy cuddled against Roman as if it was the most natural thing to do. And maybe it was with his brother. Which Roman was admittedly very jealous of. But there was nothing he saw that screamed ‘in danger’, not from Patton’s horrible warning sign list or just any gut instinct. Remy seemed okay, emotionally. Elated, even.

Though he was acting very oddly today. Why did he take a backpack into town for some secret errand? Was he pawning stuff for money? Remy told him his dad didn’t buy much food for him, mostly just stuff for sandwiches. He also didn’t get an allowance. Roman was relatively certain Remy made money by placing bets with drunk people. But he spent like twenty bucks at Starbucks like it was nothing and bought his own food for lunch. Maybe he’d just been stealing things from Virgil’s parents to piss them off. Roman wouldn’t put that past him. It was petty enough for him to want to do, Remy loved being a petty bitch. Roman was also extremely frustrated that neither of their parents was willing to do anything.

Remy was nervous about something, though. He kept checking the time and looking out the window. But Remy didn’t prefer to talk about it and pushing Remy to do things he didn’t want just involved him running off, and Roman didn’t want to risk that. It was hard enough that Remy was struggling and Roman couldn’t help him. It was nearly impossible to be so hopelessly into someone you couldn’t help. It would be completely unbearable if Remy ran off. Remy always came back after a bit, he usually needed a few days to cool down if you pissed him off. He was sensitive to that kind of stuff because of his dad or something. But Roman really didn’t want to wait through those days. Especially not when he could still remember how Remy felt in his arms.

Roman came here to sleep, damnit. He needed to stop freaking agonizing. Remy seemed okay yesterday. He was probably being the petty bitch he always was in town yesterday and selling Virgil’s parents’ belongings or something. Remy could have made friends at house parties, too, and maybe ran into somebody and got a ride home. Not that anybody Remy hung out with at parties seemed to talk to him at school… but maybe that’s just the way Remy liked things. Roman could see him soon and maybe even hang out again soon. Maybe get drunk and cuddle again- god damn it, fucking idiot! Roman would not be an enabler, Roman would not be an enabler-

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Platonic Intrusleep: @aceawkwardunicorn

Sleepxiety: @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33

(couldn’t find dukesleepxiety or MoRoLo)

Hurt/Comfort: @nonasficcollection @evoodo123 @hekking-happy-nonsense @cottonwoolsocks

Angst: @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @mistythegirlfluxmess

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alvaar-aldaviir · 5 years ago

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Movement: Nocturne 2/2

Time Frame: Shadowbringers MSQ. Spoilers accordingly up to Holminster Switch.

Notes: Grief and angst and a whole lot of comforting the best girl. Platonic SFW with an older Alisaie.

Chapter one here.

Cross-posted to Ao3.

You're probably ALSO going to need this if you want an idea of what Alvaar is singing.

On the eve of Holminster Switch, Alvaar just wants to get some sleep on the first proper night he’s had in days. But there’s no rest for the wicked, and it’s more than worth staying up to comfort the person who needs it most.

Handling loss and grief is starting to feel old hat to him anyway.

“So that’s it. That’s what happened, I swear, if you don’t believe me, ask your sister,” Alvaar murmured, sitting on the steps of one of the stairways after dropping off the Red Mage’s gear with the mender. Alphinaud was perched nearby, mulling over the recap of Alvaar’s evening he’d been told while his carbuncle was currently draped across the man’s lap.

Breathing out a slow sigh, the Scholar finally eased a bit, though his face seemed no less troubled by the news. “So that sin eater was someone she knew... that would explain her reaction then. Who was it?”

“Tesleen. One of the carers at the Inn she was close with. Seemed a very sweet woman... she didn’t deserve that fate,” Alvaar answered, fingers still buried in plush fur. “That good? Not going to kill me now? Because I’m certain she won’t be too happy with what I have said, and any further details you’d have to ask her yourself. That’s just what I know from the brief time I was there.”

“I don’t imagine Alisaie will be either,” Alphinaud mused, studying his own shoes intently. “And... you’re fine Alvaar. My apologies. I should have known better, but even so I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

Glancing at him, Alvaar shrugged. “You were worried for your sister after she was obviously showing signs of upset and distress. I don’t blame you. If I were in a similar situation, I would have done the same even if one of the Twelve walked out the door instead. Speaking of, why were you there anyway?”

“When Alisaie still hadn’t returned, I thought it best to try and track her down to ensure she hadn’t been ambushed by sin eaters. Moonstone had just led me to your door before you opened it,” he explained quietly.

“Ah... neat trick. You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask before Alphi... who’s this cutie? Moonstone obviously, but I don’t remember you using a white carbuncle before. Last I knew was obsidian,” Alvaar inquired, ruffling the carbuncles long ears and grinning slightly at the rumbly purr it earned.

“Hm? Oh... I suppose you haven’t. I’d only just finished the basic geometries before I left for Garlemald. It’s based from white moonstone, designed for healing support instead of offensive arts,” Alphinaud answered, studying the carbuncle with a faint puzzlement as it continued to snuggle into Alvaar’s lap.

“So you’re the one who left all those paw prints in that shack in Kholusia,” Alvaar remarked brightly, ruffling soft fur and grinning at the bright chirp he got in answer even as Alphinaud pulled an annoyed face.

“I told you I spent most of my idle time on refining it Alvaar, don’t tease me,” he huffed.

“Well, they’re lovely. Hmm... Can I call you Carbi?” Alvaar asked the summon, tilting his head as the carbuncle’s fox like face looked up at him before chirping again. “Carbi with an I, it is.”

“You can’t be serious...” Alphinaud sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I can’t call it Mooni. That’s just silly.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m not the one that keeps designing cuter and cuter fuzzy pets for battle and then refusing to name them Leveilleur. You did this to yourself. But much as I would like to stay here and chat with you, and I do mean that I’ve rather missed our talks, I should be getting back.” He paused, mulling over the situation before meeting his friend’s eyes. “She asked to stay in my room tonight. If you wanted to talk to her before tomorrow, now might be the time,” he stated, offering an out that he knew the Scholar didn’t miss.

Glancing away in deep thought, Alphinaud sighed. “Knowing my sister if she wanted to talk to me than she would have. I fully expected her to be upset with my attempt to find her after she made it clear she wanted to be left alone. I had just wanted to ensure she was alright, and now I know she is. If she went to see you then that’s where she wishes to be.” Looking up at him, the Scholar gave a genuine if tired smile. “Contrary to my... less charitable reaction earlier... I know if she is with you, she’ll be fine. That’s enough for me. Anything further can be discussed later after we’ve all had some well-earned rest.”

“Sure?” Alvaar asked after a moment.

“Positive.”

“Alright.” Studying the Scholar’s face and the traces of weariness on it, Alvaar reached over to loop an arm around his shoulders and pull him into a one-armed hug. “Promise me you’ll rest? No staying up late for politics and research okay?”

A soft chuckle left the shorter Elezen after a moment. “I assure you my friend, the very next place I’m going to is my suite. ... Just... please take care of my sister.”

“I will. Now then, up you get Carbi. Cute as you are, I’ve a job to do.” The Bard waited as the carbuncle gave him a brief look before slipping off his lap to perch on the stairs with a dutiful if squeaky chirp. “.... Oschon’s bow and staff you’re so damn cute,” he murmured, ruffling the carbuncles fluffy cheeks. “Alphi I like this one. They’re so chatty... little charmer you,” Alvaar crooned, ducking down to press a kiss to the creature’s forehead before hauling himself up to his feet. Giving a last fur smoothing pet to the summon, he started up the stairs towards his room. “Get some rest Alphi. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. Pleasant dreams Alvaar.”

Knocking on the door, Alvaar waited for the muted answer before letting himself in. Remembering to lock it behind him this time, he paused as he stared into the room. It wasn’t particularly difficult to spot Alisaie, especially where she was leaned against the side of the open window in a thin shirt and shorts, staring out into the night and edged in silver light. It only made her long wave of white hair glow even brighter in the dim where she’d freed it from its usual braid.

It wasn’t the first he’d seen it, given their travels and closeness in the past, but it was... different somehow. In a way he couldn’t quite place.

“It’s beautiful. I can only imagine what it must seem like for the people of the First. This would be the first time they’ve ever seen the night sky,” Alisaie mused aloud. “I didn’t think I would ever get used to that oppressive veil of light when we initially arrived. I spent the first few weeks perpetually sleep deprived and out of sorts because of it.” Trailing off a moment, she gave a single humorless laugh. “They used to tease me at the Inn. For patrolling at all the oddest hours. It took me what felt like forever to get used to it. Tesleen... she used to wait up for me, even when I told her not to. She said it was always important to welcome someone back home...”

Hearing the catch in her voice, Alvaar finally trailed closer. Stepping up beside her and meeting Alisaie’s gaze when she looked up at him with a watery and pained smile.

“I had hoped... I’d wanted her to see the night sky. She believed so... so firmly that one day things would be better...” Looking away abruptly she shut her eyes and hugged her arms tighter where they were folded over her chest. Gently thumping her head against the opened shutter, she let out a slow and shuddering breath. “Gods... I failed them Alvaar. A good soul was ripped away and it hurts... That loss and that failure hurts.” Falling quiet with a harsh sniffle she thumped her head against the wood again a bit harder. “Damnit... I’d always known one day I’d have to leave. It wasn’t even anything that serious... nothing there ever could be but... this hurts so much worse than before. It cuts so much deeper...”

Noting where her fingers were dug in against her arms, he tugged her away from the window and pried her hands free. Clasping them in his own and giving her a sympathetic look. “I know.”

“We used to go to the market together,” she continued thoughtlessly after a moment, voice soft even as her hands shook in his grip as she stared at them. “She taught me several recipes. We’d spar together in the early morning before the others woke. We used to stay up all hours talking about anything and everything. Every time another patient was too far gone, she would still smile and reassure them everything would be fine. She would hand them the poisoned food herself and I remember it... I remember her tears against my neck when I held her afterward as she would cry late in the evenings when the others were asleep... I remember the first time we kissed in the shade of those ruins. The way she looked so peaceful when she slept and-” Her words finally clipped off with a choked noise, burying her face against his shirt with a muffled sob.

Releasing her hands so she could grip against the fabric at his back, he settled an arm around her shoulders, gently soothing his free hand through soft glowing strands comfortingly.

“How could you stand this after Haurchefant...? It feels like my heart is ripping in two...” she whispered hoarsely.

That made him still, glancing out the window and into the moonlit night stretching out below…

He flicks his gaze back down to her quickly. “Sometimes I still can’t,” he admitted softly, going back to petting her hair gently. “But we endure. For those we have lost, for those we may yet save. We continue to carry on one way or another. It’s alright. Go ahead and talk. Cry. Whatever you need. I’m here for you Ali. And I promise you, I swear it, we’re going to save these people.”

Alvaar’s eyes are heavy when they’re finally settled back in bed, the Red Mage curled up against his chest quietly as they lay on their sides like before. Once again his arms are looped loose but protectively around her, humming softly out of habit. He almost thinks she’s asleep before Alisaie shifts enough to glance up at him, expression equally tired but still restless.

“What is it from? That tune. You said it was your take on Warden’s Paean. Did you write it yourself?” she asked softly.

“No, just a song my mentor used to sing. ... She was a healer. A White Mage. I tend to think of her when I channel it,” he answered calmly.

“Would you mind singing it?” Alisaie queried carefully. Likely because of how little he’d spoken of the woman in the past, only ever in the bits and pieces of memories as they came back to him.

“Can’t sing on my side like this, it’s bad posture for breathing. But let me lie on my back and I can if you promise to go to sleep.” It’s a pointless bargain when he knows how haunting the first night is himself, but her nod is something at least. Rolling onto his back, he frees the arm that had been slipped under and about her as she shuffles closer again to rest her head against his shoulder and stretch an arm over his chest. Curling his arm high at her back so he can rest his hand against her shoulder.

It reminds him of Ala Mhigo abruptly. That victory that has now been... Gods... how long had it been? Almost a year on the Source now surely but it feels like a weary lifetime and yesterday all at once. When he’d been so tired and soul sick after his multiple clashes against Zenos. The weight of so many attempts, deaths and failures, and the familiar and loving arms that had held him tight in that space between. The familiar gentle voice offering advice and encouragement in those scant moments. How badly, even now, he wanted to let go and let that quiet space keep him safe and warm with the man he loved…

But he couldn’t. Not when the warm press of Alphinaud and Alisaie, curled up against his sides on that overcrowded cot, had seemed to keep his soul chained to his body. Silently reinforced all the reasons he’d needed to stay with the support and companionship of his dearest friends and allies.

“Alvaar?” Alisaie asks softly, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Sorry. Lost in thought. Almost feels like Ala Mhigo... Your brother had been looking for you by the way,” he replies, almost smirking at the expected annoyed huff that leaves her.

“Why am I not surprised... I told him to leave me alone and he can’t very well trust me on that can he the meddling...” she groused, grumbling again as Alvaar chuckled.

“Don’t be mean, he was really worried for you. I would give up a lot of things to have family that cared so much about me,” he reminded gently. Surely Alphinaud hadn’t wanted him to mention it, but he was certain her stoked temper would cool by morning. Perhaps it would even open the way for them to talk. One really couldn’t have too many friends to help them with their grief.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of singing Aldaviir. Quit bringing up distractions,” she grumbled sourly.

“You say that like you’ve never heard me sing before,” he joked.

“I haven’t,” Alisaie returned curtly.

That made him blink, staring at her blankly. “Bullshite. I’m told I scarcely ever shut up in combat.”

“In combat, sure. The practice yard, yes... But that’s more instrument than voice. Whatever use of aether you do to call music without needing to play. But I’ve never heard just you sing...” she argued flatly.

“Lucky you. Alphinaud likely wishes he could have gotten me to shut up.” It’s accompanied with a soft chuckle as he remembers the Scholar’s hastily beaten retreats in the past. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m tired and won’t be projecting properly.”

“I’ll withhold my critique.”

“That’s very kind of you. There’s a long build to it first, let me catch the tune before you get mad at me.” Settling back he studied the ceiling in the dark a moment, taking a few experimental deep breaths before starting to hum again. The same soft tune as he had before, slow and calming, though clearer and stronger now that he could breathe properly.

The lyrics were ones he’d long etched into his heart, and they rolled easy off his tongue on well-practiced habit. Words of comfort, almost like a lullaby, but speaking too deep for the different weariness that could fill a heart. A meaning he had only learned in the many years since, a world away from the echoes of thunder as he’d first heard them. The rasp of rain against treated fabric as he’d clutched into the warmth of Rosa’s robes when he’d been young, fragile, and small with malnourishment. Shivering with fear and chill in the nights storm. Afraid for what might haunt that dark when he couldn’t hear the approach of footfalls in the rain, a warning he’d learned to wake for in his troubled youth.

Rosa hadn’t been anything approaching a Bard. Her voice too untrained to hold the notes proper, more whisper singing than anything... But deep in his heart, as he’d spent many hours since contemplating and perfecting his craft, he knew it must have been the first flicker of Bardsong he’d ever heard. A melody and lyrics that had passed through the years into folksong, changing hands many times like a worn Allagan bronze before it came to him.

Strength. Endurance. Rest and peace in those moments they were most needed. Hope amidst the promise of those words.

All would be well in time.

He’s not surprised to feel her settle further into his side as he sings for her, the faintest bit heavier as the tension in her muscles ease. There are a few hot pinpricks of unconscious tears that sink against his shirt even as she falls asleep, the even and slow rhythm of her breathing an unconscious accompaniment he matches on instinct.

Finishing the last meter, he listens to the notes as they echo in the large room, a soft prickle against his skin that waits like a question. It’s something he’s learned is the hum of Resonance waiting for use, the aether primed from his music ready to find use with his additional skills. He lets it slip away as he closes his eyes, curling a bit closer and fussing the blankets about the young woman buried against his side unconsciously.

There’s a faint... something. A subconscious feeling, a knowing, that stirs in his head sleepily. The same way many of his memories come back to him, suddenly coming to his mind as if stepping free from a fog. But even when he waits it doesn’t reveal itself, and he falls asleep before noticing the other entity in the room. A pale ghost perched on the windowsill, sitting still and quiet with his eternally bloodstained axe shining like a crescent moon in the night.

#wol #warrior of light #alvaar aldaviir #alisaie #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud #alphinaud leveilleur #dealing with grief #hurt and comfort #oc #writing #mywriting #blatant abuse of bard lore #tesleen mentions #ardbert mentions #Nocturne: A piece written for the night #I just like me some good old fashioned supporting your friends really

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

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Stolen Hope Pt.2, An Avengers Holiday Adventure

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You get to enjoy your Christmas gift from Bucky but he receives upsetting news while you’re away for the day. Set in the AU of What He Wants, which you can read HERE if you missed it. Pt.1 of the three part holiday fic can be read HERE

Warnings/ Content: ALL THE ANGST

Word Count: 1493

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Who’s ready for part two? I warned ya’ll the angst was coming and I’m so sorry, but if I have to have my heart ripped out thinking about this I’m taking ya’ll with me. Please remember that this is only part two of three and that I love you all.

Again, for the tag list peeps: I’m tagging all the original WHW tag list, if any of you want removed, or if anyone new wants to be added, just let me know.

XOXO - Ash

Stolen Hope

You return from the day spa on Friday well rested, relaxed, and just a little tipsy. Bucky’s gift had been something you hadn’t realized you needed and you are eternally grateful for his intuitiveness. The day had been perfect from start to finish and you now consider the group of women friends of your own, and not just friends of Bucky.

The guys are all hanging out in the gym when you arrive a little past eight and you find Bucky and Sam sparring on the mats as the others watch. Bucky is down to just his sweatpants, flushed and sweating from head to toe, bruises blooming in several spots across his chest and stomach. It’s a mouthwatering sight but something in his eyes as he stares down Sam raises alarm bells in your head. Something is off, you can feel it in your bones. The men grapple, landing blows when they can and trying to flip one another. Finally, Sam catches a lucky shot and tucks a leg around Bucky’s knee, dragging him onto the mat where he all but sits on his chest. “You done, now?” Sam asks, his tone firm.

Bucky looks around, realizing they have an audience, and nods at Sam.

“Hey.” You say hesitantly as he approaches you.

“Hey. I need a shower, okay?” He tells you, not meeting your eyes.

“Okay, let’s go up to your room.”

Bucky lets you take his hand but keeps his head slightly bowed, his hair shielding his eyes from yours. You can be patient, let him figure out how he wants to go about telling you what is bothering him. Back in the room Bucky heads to the bathroom without a word and you hear the shower switch on right away.

You wait patiently on the edge of the bed for him to be done. Bucky always takes five minute showers; he swears that’s all they had time for back in the army and before that it was all the time he had until the hot water ran out. You wait, and wait, and wait. After fifteen minutes you enter the room, worrying briefly that he was actually hurt sparring and needs help. The room is filled with thick, pine scented steam and nothing seems amiss.

“Bucky?” You call out tentatively. The shower is an enclosed, ceiling to floor, glass stall and it muffles your voice so he doesn’t hear you. You see him though, his body shaking and bright red from the hot water. His head is bowed and he has both palms braced on the tile wall letting the water rush down his head and back. You walk over to the shower stall and realize he’s sobbing; eyes shut, jaw hanging open, shoulders heaving from his silent sobs.

Your heart breaks as you open the stall, unable to leave him alone to process whatever grief has come up. Bucky bangs his forehead against the tile in frustration when you step inside with him, a low, despondent sound breaking free from his chest. You move to stand behind him, pressing your chest against his back, not giving a shit about your clothes at this point. The water is scalding hot and you’re amazed he hasn’t developed burns from it. You reach around him and turn the knob to lessen the heat. Bucky loves hot showers but nothing like this. This seems like punishment. You lean your head against his back, giving him all the time needs to come back to himself.

After a few minutes Bucky’s shoulders stop heaving quite so hard and he slams the knob to the right, turning off the water. He’s still not speaking and you’re trying not to freak out at what could be so awful to have him like this. You strip out of your soaked clothes, throwing them in a pile in the shower stall to deal with later.

“Come on then.” He says with an outstretched hand, still not meeting your eyes.

You follow him out to the bedroom where he turns off the lights and climbs into bed pulling you in with him. He cradles your body against his, his chest against your back and you lay quietly with him, the air filled with tension.

You jump at the sound of his voice when he finally breaks the silence. He sounds so lost. “I got a check up from Bruce today.”

“Okay.” You nod in the dark, wondering where this is going.

“I don’t know if you noticed but I found a grey hair a few weeks back. Just the one. Then another last week. And my muscles aren’t quite what they used to be either.”

“So you have a few grey hairs, your body is basically in its thirties, that’s normal. And your muscles are bound to atrophy a little if you’re not using them consistently. We can get a gym membership when we get home if you’re worried about getting your six pack back or bulking up or whatever. I’ll even go with you if you want.” You’re silently relieved his concern isn’t over something drastic and life changing.

But you’re wrong.

“I’m not supposed to be aging, doll.” His voice is so soft you barely hear him. “The serum… it’s supposed to keep my cells in perfect condition. It’s why I heal so fast. My muscles shouldn’t atrophy regardless if I’m using them or not.”

“Oh.” Icy dread floods your veins and you pray silently that you’re not about to lose the love of your life after just finding him. “So what does that mean?”

“Bruce ran some tests and found the serum is degrading. Like it did for Steve. Eventually it degrades enough that you age normally, it’s how he grew old with Peggy and their family. Since I didn’t get the same serum as him, we weren’t sure if it would happen to me or not.”

“I’m sorry, I really am. But you’ll still get a normal life span now, right?”

“Yeah, as it degrades I’ll age from this point on normally.”

You let out a breath of relief. At least he’s not being taken from you anytime soon. It doesn’t entirely explain his grief though. “So you’re upset because you’re officially on an average human lifespan again?”

Bucky gasps behind you, suppressing a sob. You can feel him shake his head against your back. “When Bruce realized the serum was degrading we thought it might reverse some of the other side effects.” He pauses before carrying on, his voice grave. “HYDRA didn’t want to risk us being able to procreate so they took care of that for us. I assumed it was part of the serum, but no one was really explaining much of anything. So if the serum was degrading I thought that maybe… I had hope, doll.” You can feel the wetness of his tears on your shoulders as he continues, his voice breaking. “I had hope for three god damned hours while Bruce ran more tests. I know I’m rushing things again and I’m sorry, but for three hours all I could think about was a bunch of little babies runnin’ around with my eyes and your smile. But it wasn’t the serum. They… sterilized me. Surgically. Those bastards are all dead but they still managed to steal another part of my life that I’ll never get back.”

You expected the sadness that wells up in your chest, but you didn’t expect the anger, the rage. You take a minute to calm yourself before you speak. It’s a shame all of the HYDRA members are dead because you want to kill them all slowly and painfully for what they’ve done. “I can’t even imagine what that feels like, Bucky. Nothing I can say is gonna help but I’m here for you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ll never be able to give you...”

“No. Fuck that.” You all but hiss. “This isn’t your fault. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. What those monsters did to you was horrific and against your will. And we have so much time before we’ll be ready to even think about kids. When the time comes, we'll look at our options. There’s adoption and IVF and probably other stuff we’ve never heard of.”

“I don’t deserve you. You should be with someone whole, someone who can give you a normal, quiet life.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you stop that right now. I want you, damnit. I love you and there are no deal breakers for me. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” You roll over so you’re facing him and can hold onto him as tightly as he’s holding you.

“I love you, Y/N.” He says finally and his breathing evens out a little more.

“We’ll get through it together.” You remind him.

“Together.” He agrees and then slowly, after a few more quiet minutes, he slips off into sleep.

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #Winter Soldier #james buchanan barnes #marvel #Marvel Avengers #marvel fanfic #Marvel fangirl #MARVEL FANDOM #what he wants

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jhaernyl · 5 years ago

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Big Damn Table challenge

Character: OC - Vincent Conner Bolton [original story]

Prompt #30 - Death

Age did not sneak up on her. It did not come around while she was unsuspecting or distracted and then suddenly made her hair pale from blonde into grey and white, it did not take her by surprise.

She didn't wake up one morning and look herself in the mirror and thought Damnit, I look old.

She wasn't fooled by the youth of her witch husband, witches live up to three hundred years when they take care of themselves and that's without any attempts at cheating Khage out of her dues, or that of her shifter husbands, shifters live up to two hundred years as long as they don't do something idiotic and get themselves killed earlier than that.

She never forgot that she wasn't ageing at the same pace as them, that as a human she'd get a little bit more than a hundred years if she was stubborn enough and followed Roman's regimes well enough, both things she was definitely going to do, and it did not surprise her that she ended up being the older and more responsible one of the four of them, five counting Anatoly and Anatoly ought never to be counted because Anatoly decided he was her mom friend about thirty seconds into meeting her and hasn't budged from that role since, no matter how much more mature she grew up to be.

It's all down to developmental differences, because of different lifespans leading to different ageing processes and that extends all the way to brain chemistry and energy levels and how that affects how young or old someone is liable to both be and feel on any given day.

She is younger than Roman, and Anatoly, by five years, two years younger then Dominic and the same age as Hugo but by now they are the young ones and she is far older than they will get to be for a very long time yet. They are in their prime, as far as their ageing is concerned, all of them in their sixties and their sixties meaning to them not at all what her sixties mean to Vincent.

Childhood, teens, young adulthood, adulthood, late adulthood, elderly.

The six ages of life and the common divide accepted for races, as watched over by the Goddess and Ianna both, the Goddess because all of creation is hers to look after and Ianna because she was a witch healer that Ascended, became the goddess who watches over the domain of preserving life and easing the effects of the natural passing of time.

(Rome prays to Ianna plenty, on Vincent's behalf, because Vincent will look after herself but she won't pray, has never prayed since the child she had once been was lost and Vincent herself was born of the violent, murky Wild that was left in her stead.)

Physically, the gods have deemed it just and fair that they all age the same in their early years, hitting physical landmarks at around the same times until they get to eighteen, at which point the ageing rate slows down for shifters and witches, at different degrees, and stays the same for humans.

Childhood for humans lasts from their birth to their twelve years of age but a shifter is considered a child until they are fourteen and for witches it depends from bloodline to bloodline though it is generally agreed not to last more than eleven years old.

Human teens are so from their twelve birthday to their nineteenth and then they enter their young adult years and stay in them until they hit their thirtieth year. They are adults from their thirtieth year to their fiftieth and that's when they enter the late adulthood phase of their life, dovetailing into the elderly category on their seventieth birthday.

Witches are considered teens, again with some leeway depending on bloodline, from their eleventh birthday to their nineteenth, because witches are born knowing the Truth Of The World and that ages them differently, just as their magic does develop differently than a shifter's abilities do. Once they mature out of their teens, however, that's when witches ages start to stretch out exponentially. A witch is considered a young adult from their nineteenth birthday to their ninetieth and an adult from that one to their two hundredths. They count as late adults from two hundred to two hundred and seventy years of age and then from that one until their death they are considered to be elderly. Most of them get to elderly easily, witches being very good at keeping their lifespan intact.

Rome in their sixties is still a young adult, his brain chemistry still in the same phase Vincent's was when she was in her twenties. Vincent in her sixties is in the place Rome will be when they get past two hundred by a couple of decades.

(She wishes she could be around to see it, to share it with all of them, with her husband Roman and her best friend Roma and with her equal best friend Rome, but not so much that she would do anything that would require her to give up her humanity for it. She is, and always has been, human, technical definitions and unasked for interventions be fucking damned. It has always been her choice. It will always be her choice.)

Shifters are somewhat more even than witches when it comes to their lives. They consider their own to be teens from their fourteenth year to their twenty-fifth, young adults from their twenty-fifth to their seventieth birthday, adults from the age of seventy to the age of one twenty, late adults from then to their one hundred and seventy birthday and elderly for the last thirty years of their life.

It seems to be a theme, to leave elderly age for the last three decades of one's life. It is at least treated about the same in all three races.

(It is another reason why empty quarters are considered to be practically humans, along with the fact that they do have none of the physical gifts actual shifters are born with to go with all of the instincts they are supposed to be born with. Empty quarters age as humans do whereas quarter blood age as shifters do and have the gifts to go with the instincts.

It's one of the ways Vincent has been able to grind her humanity in the face of any shifter who tried to deny her the truth of her choice.

If she'd been one of them, as they insisted if she'd been as good as she was because she was part of a superior breed as most of the ones from the Lands believes themselves to be, she'd have the ageing and the natural abilities wouldn't she? She doesn't and she's not and she's all the better as she is. She's fucking damn perfect as she is and they can choke on it and on her still bench pressing Hugo and still outshooting any of those who tried to show her up, even in her sixties and needing glasses to read things up close.

Fuck the lot of them and their assumptions that she'd have to be anything more than human to be who she is and as good as she is. Collective fucking represents, assholes.)

Vincent is a late adult to her husband's young adults and while they all met in their twenties and they've been together since and their ages are all close chronologically, by now she's basically cradle robbing if you went by comparative ages and developmental levels.

Those two factors are why there are so many shifters who don't settle down until they hit their late eighties and why so many inter-races romances have what look like heavy age differentials that are actually inexistent from a developmental level. A shifter in their one hundred and fifties would be around the same mental age Vincent is now and that's why most of them settle down and marry old with chronologically much younger humans. Witches who decide to settle down are pretty much the same, choosing partners with huge age differentials that actually mean very little when it comes to maturity levels.

She doesn't mind and she certainly won't give up any of her husbands, nor would they let her give them up either, but it does mean that she is older than the lot of them and that she worries for how they'll react to her inevitable decline and death. They are all far too invested in each other and they have all refused to let Vincent be anything but the lynchpin of their worlds.

Once Khage takes her away, they will fall apart and it pisses Vincent off that she won't be able to prevent it, that she won't be there for them, that she'll be trapped in Khage's hands and kept from them, able to witness their grief through the waters of the Fields but unable to do shit all about it. It has always pissed her off, will never stop pissing her off.

It's why she signs off on the funding and the secrecy qualification for Mar's Great Equalizer project, when it was brought up to her attention.

She won't give up her humanity.

That does not mean that she'll let Khage take her away without a bloody fucking fight.

#Jhae's original material #words words words #February 9th 2020 #Big Damn Table for Vincent #my writing #my original writing #my ocs #Vincent Bolton #Here's To Us 'Verse

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azraelcfdeath · 5 years ago

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❛ I really do fall for dumb ones. ❜

This was the first time He had directly spoken to her since everything began. Just like she did in Lucifer’s rebellion, the angel found herself on the sidelines, refusing to partake in hurting any of her celestial siblings. She’s met with a small handful of her siblings, offering comfort where she could but refusing to join His crusade against the other God. The height of her involvement were the whispers she heard of her Father’s actions since his destruction of her sibling.

Death made a comment in passing when they last spoke about her Father’s attempts to right his wrongs. But Father, she wanted to tell him, Death is irreversible and serves a purpose. Actions have consequences. Surely You must know that. It’s a lesson you ingrained in me.

It had always been difficult to retain anger or any sort of negative emotion in her Father’s presence. His divinity and grace made it so. The soothing comfort always overpowered any ache she could carry in her chest. This time, however, she found her anger faded and in its place did not come serenity, instead, pity.

There comes a day, Rae Rae observed that all children reach the understanding that their parent is not perfect and just as flawed, just as human. But they were not humans. She, a celestial creation, the Angel of Death, and her Father, the Creator, the all-knowing, and all-powerful God. Humanity was His creation but… they were made in His Image, after all, so it made sense.

But more than understanding that parents were not perfect, it was the true acknowledgment of this, seeing it for your own two eyes, proven to you. For the first time in the entirety of her existence, Azrael now understood that even God made mistakes and He hurt just as they all did. The clear cut evidence in the grief rolling off him in waves—for her fallen sibling, His son, for His lost love, a betrayal so raw and probably unfathomable for an all-knowing God.

Knowing this, feeling it for herself, she felt a similar ache to the echo of losing Raphael. But now Azrael found herself at a loss because no child ever wants to see a parent hurt or vulnerable. The pedestal she had placed Him upon crumbling and now, there was a new sense of helplessness. She knew how to help fathers mourn lost sons but this was so much more intricate and knotted and she had no words to say.

She knew she couldn’t speak to him now as a daughter who has lost a sibling. That’s not who this comment was addressed to and for now, Azrael opted to push aside the fury and her own grief for the sheer sake of being so damn exhausted from being upset.

Instead, the angel spoke to her Father as a being all too familiar with loss and as a girl who once thought she knew what being loved meant.

“We can’t help who we fall for. It… just is.” She offered the briefest of smiles, dropping her gaze as she recalled Chuck’s promise to never hurt her Father, the reassurance that He loved Him and that Adonai would be cherished.

Liar.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I know how it hurts so bad when you offer them your heart and have it be… crushed in their palms when you so… foolishly gave it away in the first place.” Her fingers laced the charmed necklace around her neck, toying with it as she pushed back memories so stupidly unimportant to the present. Azrael inhaled deeply and reached out slowly for her Father’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’m sorry that He hurt You. It shouldn’t… it’s… it’s not right.” She swallowed, moving close to wrap slender arms around her omniscient parent in an embrace.“And I’m sorry… I’m sorry that You lost a son.”

Even though it was done by His own hand, and how they all lost a sibling, their Father lost a child. And it seems abundantly clear to her now that Death never seemed final for Him. And why would He understand? He was the all-powerful God, His will be done on Earth as in Heaven. He would never understand Death, not in the way that Azrael was forced to. The mention of Raphael reignited the spark of defiance in her chest. As much as Rae could sympathize, even empathize, with His turmoil, it did not excuse any of it. Truthfully, there was a prickling worry in the back of her mind that her Father only reached out now that the Blade of Death was back in this universe, back on its place at her hip.

She stepped back, wiping the few stray tears at her cheeks. “Dad, You don’t deserve to hurt, You shouldn’t ever hurt. But we… But Papa, we don’t deserve to hurt either. And Raphael, he didn’t deserve…” She pressed her hands together as if in prayer. Her chest felt heavy as she knew she was trespassing on things she should dare not speak about. Would she end up jailed right beside Uriel? Damnit, some things had to be said and she’d accept the consequences.

“We’re not the ones who hurt you. A war between Gods… it’ll only end in the deaths of my siblings and I don’t want to see any more of us hurt.”

#biigbcss #❝ 死 – — what do we say to the angel of death? (╰ answered )#event: the irrevocable

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icecubelotr44 · 6 years ago

Text

Trouble with a Capital ‘T’ (2/3?)

It liiiiiiives! (And by lives, I mean it’s been sitting in my documents for weeks and every time I got home from work, I kept forgetting to post it.)

Still basically just another excuse to whump the Jones brothers, after all.

Chapter One

ao3 | ffn

Chapter Two:

Everything was white. Everything was buzzing. Someone was screaming.

Oh, wait that was him.

Killian sagged sideways, nearly toppling over and letting his head rest on Liam's seat as he tried to catch his breath. Tears stung his eyes and his cheeks, but he couldn't have bitten them back if he tried. It hurt, gods it hurt so much more than it had a few minutes ago. He didn't actually know a body part could hurt that much - and he'd lost a bloody hand, had the stump cauterized, and survived the resultant infection and fever.

He glared at his leg, sure that he'd rather the bloody Crocodile lop it off aga-

His leg was free.

Killian stared for longer than should have been necessary, not quite understanding that he'd been successful. He could feel the blood soaking his pants, could see the jagged end of the bone poking out. But he wasn't trapped any more, and that meant he could get to Liam.

Killian's ribs screamed nearly as loudly as his leg as he slithered backwards over the console, into Liam's seat with his leg propped up on his own seat. Gods, it looked a mess.

It was too much. Killian twisted, finally losing the contents of his stomach onto the ground just outside the car. More tears fell as he gagged and retched until there was nothing left.

Finally spent, Killian clutched at his ribs and rested his head on the steering wheel, breathing in shakily until the agony muted enough to concentrate again.

Liam.

There was nothing for it, he had to get to his brother. So he slid backwards until he could get his left foot into the wheelwell and used it to lever himself out of the car.

He hit his hands and knees, retching again into the snow and nearly collapsing forward into the last of his dinner.

Liam.

Killian bit back the nausea, shook his head to try and clear the stars, and crawled to his brother, heedless of the drops of blood he was leaving behind.

Liam's eyes were closed.

Killian wasn't sure why this surprised him, but it did. "Brother?" He didn't know why he expected a response, something about how Liam had always been there for him (until he wasn't) and how he'd clearly come back from the dead or from another realm or timeline or... had come back to him. For him.

"Brother, please," Killian begged, moving to turn Liam over slowly, carefully, gingerly enough not to exacerbate his injuries any further. He settled Liam's head in his lap, brushing back the damp curls and trying to rid his brother's cheeks of the snow. His skin was pink in some places and frighteningly pale in others, but he was breathing, soft puffs of air that Killian could see in the air above his mouth.

Another tear leaked down Killian’s face and he dashed it away angrily, sniffling it back and trying to get hold of himself.

"Please, Brother, I need you," he begged, almost expecting his brother’s eyes to open at the raw need in his plea. Liam had always… would always be there to help him.

The only thing that answered him was the wind.

Killian let himself wallow for a moment, but only a brief one, determined to save his brother and possibly himself. He couldn't do that if he was just sitting in the snow like a lost little boy who didn't matter to anyone and never would. (He'd seen enough of them in Neverland to last several lifetimes, thanking his stars every time that he'd had Liam growing up when no one else in the world wanted them.)

All right, Jones, that's enough of that now, he thought angrily, boxing up the memories, the emotions, the abandonment, and shoving it to the side.

A shiver worked its way through him, igniting any number of injuries and reminding him that there was still the unknown issue with his shoulder that had been lost in the agony of everything else. No time for that now, he had to get Liam back into the car and then find the damn blankets.

Killian sat Liam up, propping him - slumped nearly on his side - against the front door. Levering himself to his own feet, Killian bit back a cry when he set weight on his injured leg. Pain flared out from the open and jagged fracture, but it held him up.

Barely.

"Liam? Brother, can you hear me?" he asked when he thought he saw Liam move. Nothing happened and Killian put it on the back burner. Carefully, he dragged Liam backwards, knowing that it would be easier to lump him into the backseat than to try and contort him back into the driver's seat. Wrenching open the door nearly made him falter, unintentionally putting more weight on his leg than he'd meant to and clenching the muscles around his ribs.

The worst, he knew, was yet to come.

"All right, Brother, stay with me," he mumbled, looping his arms under Liam's and heaving with a sharp cry.

Killian was shaking with exertion by the time he had Liam nearly upright, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when his brother was so limp. With less care than he'd intended, Killian flopped Liam into the seat.

His brother screamed when he landed on his injured arm.

Killian bit back a grimace when Liam's eyes opened to slits and he rolled to try and grasp his wounded arm. Blood started to trickle out around the stake of wood again and Killian slammed the door shut before he could fixate on it. He needed to get to the trunk, get to the gauze and the pressure bandages and the godsdamned blankets. He heard Liam's mumbled question, heard his brot... captain, captain, damnit, call his name - his cursed name - but he couldn't focus on that. If he did... if he did, he'd never get to the trunk.

Was it too much to ask to want his...

Yes, yes it was too much to ask, the risk too high, the threat too real. Gods, he wanted his brother back and awake more than anything, but he couldn't risk it. Even if he had so many questions. Why was Liam here? How was Liam here? Would he stay? Could he forgive Killian for who he'd become? For turning pirate and forsaking the crown that Liam had so willingly followed?

For spending hundreds of years seeking vengeance instead of peace?

Would his brother stay with him now?

Did he still love him?

He stumbled, his leg giving out on him and sending him crashing, face first into the snow.

Bloody, buggering, son of a kraken, he thought violently, shaking the snow off as best as he could and cursing several deities and Mother Nature in the process. The snow was falling thick and fast, the air whipped into a frenzy with the storm. He had to get up, to stand again, to keep moving. It was so tempting to lie there, but no one was coming to save them. It was the Jones brothers against the world, always had been, always would be.

Killian pushed himself to his knees, snarling out his pain instead of screaming like he wanted to. He couldn't… Liam was somewhat conscious in the car and he needed to stay there. The stubborn bastard would come running if Killian screamed.

It took longer than he'd like, but he managed to drag himself up with help from the bumper. Putting weight on his leg came next, nearly sobbing when the snow settled on the jagged edge of the bone and it erupted in fire. Killian gasped out a breath around his ribs, dropping his forehead to the cold window for a moment and just trying to breathe.

Numb fingers reached out, searching until he saw them wrap around the door handle. A moment longer to breathe and gather his strength and he stood tall, his leg protesting vehemently, and yanked open the trunk.

The blankets and medkit were exactly where Liam said they'd be.

Thank the bloody gods something's gone right, he thought wryly, nearly crossing himself in a ghost's memory of his cursed self lest he bring down calamity on them. He threw the blankets over the back of the seat so they wouldn't get damp in the snow and wind, and then made his way around to the passenger's side, hoping beyond hope that he'd be able to get the door open.

Liam's shaggy curls greeted him and Killian breathed out a sigh of relief. He sat on the edge of the seat for a moment, nearly screaming again when he had to put all his weight on his injured leg to get into the car. It took longer than he'd like, but he managed to slide in, to settle Liam's head in his lap, and to shut the door again.

"Why did you call me your brother?"

Killian busied himself with spreading the blankets out over Liam's large frame, inwardly marveling at how so much of his brother managed to fit in so small a space. He tucked the first blanket tightly around his legs, then shook the second one out as best he could and left it loose, prepared to tuck it over his brother's shoulders after he'd taken care of the impalement that was still bleeding sluggishly.

"Detective?"

Killian was sure it was meant to be an order, but it came out breathy and questioning. Liam was weak, he needed help. Killian would have to get him squared away and then try to make it to the road. He'd found one of their cell phones in the snow, tossed in the crash and shattered, and the other had no service and the battery was low.

"I... I wasn't calling for you," he lied, hoping that his brother was too focused on the pressure Killian was putting on his wound to hear the way his voice shook. In a way, he thought, it was true. He wasn’t calling for William Jewell, his captain and boss. He was calling for Liam Jones, his captain and his brother.

But Liam... William shook his head. "I've read your file. You don't have a brother."

"I did," Killian admitted, not trying to hide the grief of being separated from Liam for centuries. He hoped Jewell would read through the lines, read him like an open book as Liam could.

Liam froze. "When did you lose him?" His voice spoke of known loss and Killian thought of the unsolved file in Jewell's desk drawer. That's me, Liam. I'm right here, he thought. But he couldn't... he shouldn't.

"A long time ago. I... I miss him." You, Liam, Killian thought sadly. It's you I miss. But I'd gladly live another three centuries with you not knowing who I am than to risk you to Gothel's new curse.

It didn't matter. None of it would if they couldn't get Liam to help, get him to help. His leg was throbbing, his ribs were screaming, his head was pounding. His right arm was on fire now, the back of his shoulder hot with pain. It felt like torn muscles, only different, somehow more intense. Killian reached up with his prosthetic, but couldn't feel anything - the pain emanated from a point beyond his reach - though the fingers came back sticky with blood.

He ignored it. He had enough to worry about.

Tearing open some of the rolled bandages, Killian went to work stabilizing the branch in Liam's arm and putting enough pressure around the wound to finally stop the bleeding. Liam growled at the pain but allowed Killian to work, watching his every move intently.

"You're hurt," he mumbled, once Killian had tucked the blankets around Liam's shoulders.

Killian just shook his head. "It will keep, we need to worry about you right now."

"I had a brother, too, you know." Liam's eyes closed, the tone of voice one of pain and loss. Killian knew exactly what that was like. "You remind me of him."

"Aye, L-Liam, you've told me. We've looked at the file together, remember?" Killian risked the contact, needing the assurance, and rested his hand on Liam's chest.

"You remind me of him," Liam repeated anyway. "He was my little brother. He followed me everywhere until... until we were separated. I... I miss him, too."

I'm right here, Liam. Bloody hell, I'm right here. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He wanted to shout it in Liam's face. He wanted to find Rumplestiltskin's bloody dagger and slide it gracefully between Gothel's ribs while he shouted it in her face, too.

He wanted his brother.

Hell, he'd take on the bloody Darkness, himself, if that's what it took to keep Liam safe.

Shutting his eyes and blowing out a stuttering breath, he calmed himself down. No, he thought. Not even his love for Liam could make him take in the Dark One's curse. He'd never go that far; he couldn't. He couldn't go back down the path he'd followed until Alice had come into his life.

His head dropped back to rest against the seat. He was tired, he was cold, and he hurt. Killian wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and try to escape some of the torment for a bit, but he couldn't risk it. If he fell asleep-

He jerked up, startling a squawk out of Liam. It was full on dark, now, the snow blanketing the car and muting the world, somehow. Air drifted in from the broken window and the shattered windshield, but it seemed warmer in the confined space. He'd fallen asleep. Godsdamnit, he'd fallen asleep and he could have... Liam could have... gods, he couldn't do that again. But he was just so cold and so tired and-

"I'm sorry, little brother," Liam whispered into the darkness.

Killian froze, his breath caught in his chest and what felt like a dagger slicing into his chest. "Li... Liam?" he asked, not daring to hope that his brother remembered everything in the same instant that he was suddenly petrified that his brother had remembered everything.

"I'm sorry I couldn't find you," Liam continued, unaware of Killian's plight. He turned the best that he could, grabbing Killian's hand and looking straight at him. "I'm sorry I was too late. Killian, please, can you forgive me?"

Liam didn't know his real name was Killian... had he woken? Was he in danger?

"Please, little brother, I didn't mean for you to die."

Oh.

"It's... it's all right, Liam," Killian murmured back, not knowing what else to do, what else to say. "I know you wouldn't have left me if you could stay. I know you didn't mean for anything to happen. I was mad at you, for a long time. I was so angry that you'd gone where I couldn't follow and I abandoned everything you taught me. I didn't understand why we had to be apart, why the universe saw fit to separate us. But we're... we're together now, so it's all right. I forgave you long ago, brother."

Liam shook his head, shifting with a bitten back grimace until he could find Killian's prosthetic, tangle his fingers through the stiff joints. "So much happened, and I tried. I tried to stay with you, to fight to stay with you. But we couldn't... I couldn't make my way back to you. I was weak, little brother, and I couldn't figure out my way back to you until it was too late. You were gone where I couldn't follow. I miss you, Killian. I miss you and I still wish you were here with me. You must have felt so alone and I... I just... I couldn't find you. Not until it was too late."

Killian shuddered, the memories - the grief - he'd long since buried coming to light in his brother's words. He didn't know what was going on - didn't really understand what side of Liam he was seeing, but it didn't matter. His brother needed him and he'd be damned if he was going to fail Liam again.

"It's not too late, Liam. You found me. Aye, it took longer than either of us would have liked, but we're together now, just us against the world."

And it was, would always be the brothers Jones on their quest for good form and glory and, most of all, a happy bloody ending for the two of them. Together.

Even if he had to slay a witch to do it.

"The brothers Jewell," Liam avowed.

Aye, close enough for now, Killian thought, shifting with a wince as he shivered.

“Rogers?” Liam asked some time later, his eyes more clear and staring - almost accusingly - at Killian. “What’s wrong?”

The emotional whiplash Liam was putting him through was more than enough, but Killian couldn’t exactly tell him that. It stung more than he’d like to admit to hear his cursed name falling from his brother’s lips.

“Rogers,” his brother ordered, a tone of voice that Killian had followed for years and then dreamt about for centuries. A tone of voice that he’d never fail to respond to.

“We need to get out of here,” he allowed, not quite a lie, but not what was really wrong, either.

Liam nodded, but frowned. “I don’t think I can make it too far; everything’s a little fuzzy.”

Killian shuddered. Hearing his brother admit weakness was… well, it wasn’t something he’d ever be prepared for. “That’s all right, Liam. I can… you can stay here and I’ll try to get help. I just need…”

Need what, Jones? A minute to gather your strength, an hour to hope that you’ll make it more than ten feet outside the door on this bloody leg? You’re not going to make it any further than Liam would.

But Liam was fading again, his eyes glossing over and the shivering starting to worsen. “Please don’t leave me, little brother,” he begged, lost to the delusion once more.

Killian bit back the tears at the sheer desperation in Liam’s voice.

“Please. Please, Killian, I need you with me. Please don’t… I’m sorry I lost you. Please don’t go!” Liam shifted in the cramped backseat, the blankets falling away from where Killian had tucked them carefully, and knotted his fingers in Killian’s shirt. “Please!”

Killian reached out to snag the warm blankets, tucking them back in carefully before he wrapped his fingers around Liam’s. “I’ll not leave you again, brother,” he murmured, ignoring the pervasive cold that started to wrap around him.

Liam’s hand was trembling just slightly in his - whether from the cold, the pain, or the sheer depth of relief that Killian saw echoed in his face - and his fingers refused to give up the treasure of Killian’s shirt. He dropped his head back against the seat, grimacing when sparks danced in his vision. Gods, he just wanted to start this day over with, get his brother somewhere warm and safe and leave him there.

Killian’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Liam’s. No, he thought wildly. He’d never wanted to be parted from his brother. Not ever again.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain that crested every time he tensed, Killian never noticed when it took him under completely.

Rogers's hand went limp around Liam's fingers and a bolt of fear shot through him. He didn't understand the feeling, not really. He hadn't felt that in years. Not since he'd lost Killian in that bloody back alley, since he had come across his little brother - shot and bleeding out - no. No, wait, that wasn't right. Rogers had been shot in that alley. Liam hadn't been there when Killian died, too busy chasing his goddamned tail across the city looking for a lead on his brother's whereabouts, looking for the right case to improve his standing on the force so he could open enough doors to get to Killian.

Not knowing that all the while, Killian had been right in the city, under his nose, needing him desperately. And Liam wasn't there. Wasn't there for the only thing in the world that their mother could leave him, for the only person who relied on him (and who Liam relied on when their father had split). Wasn't there when his little brother was gasping out his last breaths, likely wondering why his big brother wasn't there to keep him safe.

No, Liam had failed Killian, but he'd be damned if he would do such a piss poor job of keeping Rogers safe. He'd almost lost the man once, and the stab of regret that accompanied that memory just made him all the more determined to see Rogers safely to a hospital. Rogers obviously needed someone to look out for him and Liam... well Liam would be lying if he said that he didn't need the feeling back that came with successfully looking after someone who looked up to him. They weren’t brothers, not by blood anyway, but they were tied together by far more than that. The bonds of fellowship and the thin blue line and everything the proverbial 'they' talked about were more than just lip service. Those things meant something, and it was more than enough to draw he and Rogers close.

Slowly, painfully biting back a groan that nearly turned into a whimper when he jostled his arm, Liam forced himself to sit up. Stars popped in his vision and it felt as though the SUV lurched nauseatingly around him as he tried to gulp in air and stay sitting upright. He had to let go of Kil- Rogers's shirt, throwing his hands out to the seat below him as if the entire vessel... vessel? it's a bloody car, you idiot... were rocking on a storm-tossed sea.

Liam wasn't even going to try and justify where his thoughts were floating off to.

Rogers didn't move.

Liam got his first good look at the detective then, cursing loudly through the blanketed silence in the car. He was bloody well going to murder the idiot. Rogers was nearly as pale as a ghost, his white complexion blending into the snow covering the window behind him. Even unconscious, he was shivering, goosebumps covering the exposed flesh that Liam could see.

He cursed again - a nonsensical string of words about a kraken and a demon-child spawning a creature that had more bloody sense than Rogers did. The blankets slipped from Liam's shoulder as he reached subconsciously out to touch Rogers’s cheek and started swearing once more.

Rogers was freezing and it was only then that Liam realized - his bloody stubborn and idiotic br- subordinate hadn't taken a goddamned blanket for himself.

Muttering angrily to himself, Liam struggled to separate the two layers of woolen blankets that were wrapped tightly around his too-tall-in-too-small-a-space frame. No good, dumbass, idiotic, son of a- Liam bit off the curse when the blankets finally came free.

"Didn't I teach you anything about self-preservation, you bloody git? Never, never make yourself a victim because nobody is going to look out for you if you're not where I can..." he trailed off, beginning to shake - and not from the cold.

Rogers.

Killian.

Killian!

Rogers - shot and bleeding out in an alley. But no, not Rogers. That hadn’t happened. Or... rather, it had, but that wasn't the start of their story. No. No, there was so much more than that.

Abandoned by their father, sold into slavery, breaking free of the hold of Silver and the rum that had taken Killian by storm, the Navy. Freedom in war, in rising through the ranks of their own station.

Killian, whole and safe and holding him on that bloody, godsforsaken island after he’d made the stupid, self-sacrificial mistake of trusting someone who wasn't his little brother.

Gods, he had a little brother, still.

Killian, shaking with relief when Liam had woken, tears in his eyes and trembling fingers that had clutched at the lapels of his uniform, berating Liam’s stubbornness and his lack of self-preservation on that godsforsaken island in the name of good bloody form.

Killian, screaming again - this time for anyone to help him as Liam had collapsed, the poison returning with a vengeance just as they'd made plans to do the honorable thing and report the King's treachery to the Admiralty.

Killian - the last thing Liam had heard before waking up in Hades' bloody clutches - screaming out his grief as Liam had failed him so utterly, leaving him with no one to protect him in their cold, cruel realm of existence.

Hades, quickly restoring him to life before his body could decay, only to hand him over to the bloody demon child Killian had thought was his salvation - a slave once more to Neverland and its ruler - in exchange for information that never had made sense to Liam. After all, how could a child have a full grown son whom Hades feared?

Decades of servitude to bloody Pan and his shadow, always a half step from salvation if he could just get free long enough to barter passage from Pan's nemesis - Captain Hook. Liam would gladly take to piracy if it meant freedom to leave Neverland, to find out what had become of his little brother all those years ago.

All Liam had wanted back then was to find some record of Killian's passing - to know if his little brother had ever been truly free.

But now?

Now, Liam was sitting in a bloody contraption of a vehicle next to the little brother he'd thought must have passed on centuries ago. He didn't know how or why, but he didn't rightly care, either. Killian, his Killian, was here - alive (okay, barely because his little brother was still a bloody idiot, apparently) and he was going to gods-be-damned stay that way. Liam wrapped the blanket tightly around Killian now, terrified that he was too late.

Again.

Always too late, always leaving his brother, but this time - this time - maybe Killian was going to leave him.

No!

Liam gripped his little brother's shoulders, stomping on the cursed memories that brought forth images of another little brother, this one cold and dead on a slab in the morgue. He no longer recognized the face, but felt the grief of loss all the same. He couldn't quite shake the feeling of losing his little brother, even when the only little brother he'd ever known was right here, inexplicably beside him, breathing and shivering.

Liam shook Killian. Hard.

"Kil-" Liam cut himself off. Rogers would think he'd lost his godsdamned mind if he woke up to his Captain calling him by a strange name - by the name of his dead little brother. He couldn't risk it. He needed Rogers to trust him.

He needed it more than he needed explanations, more than he needed to see the recognition in his little brother's eyes, more than he needed the air in his lungs and the scant warmth of the blanket pooled in his lap.

But Killian didn't respond anyway. Didn't wake up and look at him, didn't cock one bloody eyebrow and smirk as he'd done ever since they were boys playing at pirates outside their seaside cottage, play-acting for their mother.

No, Killian remained cold and frighteningly still and unconscious and Liam had never felt so lost in his whole bloody life. He couldn't lose his little brother. Not now, not before he'd even really gotten him back.

Gods, if he lost Killian now...

Grief crashed down on Liam's shoulders with enough force to buckle his spine. He slumped forward, tugging his little brother close and taking advantage of his unconsciousness for only a moment, tucking Killian's head beneath his chin and hugging him as tightly as he could manage. He just needed a moment to gather his resolve, to reassure himself that Killian was truly alive, that Liam hadn't yet failed his-

His hands were sticky.

What the bloody... oh gods, blood.

"Son of a godsdamned kraken, Killian Jones!" Liam spat as he tugged Killian further forward, hiking his brother's jacket up his back to see the shirt beneath nearly saturated with blood. Shaking, Liam reached up to find the rend in the leather and tore it further, exposing the jagged laceration that was nearly as long as his hand. Killian must have been cut by the glass of the broken passenger side window during the crash.

"Bloody hell, you stubborn, self-sacrificial..." he trailed off into Gaelic, a language he hadn't spoken in centuries - not since he'd been lost to Killian and washed up on the bloody shores of Neverland, alone and lost.

"Mac kraken agus an scáth fuilteach sin," Liam muttered again, throwing in an insult to Pan's bloody shadow while he was at it. Killian stirred when Liam reached for the first aid kit, digging haphazardly through until he could find something suitable - an abdominal combine pad as it turned out - and mashed it with all the strength he had against the gash on his little brother's back.

Killian writhed weakly, trying to turn away, but Liam persisted. "Serves you right, you moron," he seethed and pressed harder.

That tore a little whimper from Killian's lips that struck Liam right in the heart.

"I know, little brother, I'm sorry," he whispered, laying Killian back against the seat and using his own weight as pressure against the wound. Liam covered him with both blankets, tucking the ends under Killian's shoulders to keep them secure. "Don't worry, I'm going to get us out of this mess."

Liam turned then, intent on getting out of the car and searching for the road, when the whole world seemed to tilt and whirl around him. "Bloody hell," he managed, gripping his hair with one hand and the backseat with the other.

It didn't help.

His arm throbbed, his head was pounding, the world was spinning. None of it should have mattered because Killian was bleeding and only somewhat conscious in the seat next to him. Gasping, moaning a little in spite of himself, Liam tried to scrabble for the door handle, needing to get out, get to the road, get help.

He had barely managed to lock his fingers on the handle when his battle of wills with his stomach came to an abrupt and violent end. Liam nearly blacked out, his head coming to rest on the driver's seat as he forced the stars popping in his vision to not send him back to the calm of unconsciousness.

Killian needed him.

"Looks like you two could use some help," a chipper voice startled Liam badly, making his head shoot up in search of the newest threat and causing the world to tilt dangerously around him again.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

tagging: @gusenitsaa @pirate-owl @killianmesmalls @killian-whump @gilliangrissom @cocohook38

#brothers jones #ouat fic #season 7 #au fic #liam jones

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