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amazingmsme · 5 years ago

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A Bard’s Broken Heart

AN: This is yet another 10k+ post mountain fic about Jaskier. I have a bit of a problem, but I promise it’s good! Jaskier’s sad and fed up so he sings! The songs in this fic are Fair by the Amazing Devil, I've No More Fucks to Give by Thomas Benjamin Wild, Farewell Wanderlust by the Amazing Devil, and No Worries by Robert Hallow.

Jaskier's ears were ringing, his mouth slightly agape as he stared in horror at the man he once thought was his best friend, who he had loved, but who clearly didn't love him.

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands." The words were the harshest that have ever been thrown his way. His voice was a deep and angry growl that sent a chill up his spine, and not the good kind. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to speak, and he couldn't be more grateful that Geralt had turned his back to him. If he had to look at him he knew he would burst into tears.

"Right. Uh... Right then... I'll- I'll go get the rest of the story from the others..." He knew he wouldn't. "See you around Geralt." Except he hoped he wouldn't. He could go the rest of his life without seeing this bastard and it would be fine by him. Except he'll miss him... fuck everything hurts so damn much.

He turns and slowly makes his way down the mountain. Why is it that whenever your sad, you're slow? He wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the mountain as possible, and yet his feet drug in the dirt. He finally made it to the lower level of the camps where everyone left their horses, and that's when he saw her.

A sob caught in his throat as he realized he would never get to see her again after this...

He trudged over to Roach, her ears perked towards him as she tossed her head. Hot tears streamed down his face and a trail of snot dripped from his nose. He reached up with his handkerchief to blow. She gave a concerned whinny, gently bumping his shoulder with her head to comfort him. He only cried louder. He wrapped his arms around her neck and cried the hardest he had since he began his walk. Gods, he could barley breathe.

"Goodbye girl. I'm gonna miss you so much." He pulled back, and Roach nickered in distress, pressing into him more. Jaskier stroked her muzzle as he spoke around sobs. "I have to leave, and I'm afraid I won't be coming back." She snorted, as if questioning him.

"I know, I don't want to either. But you know how Geralt is, and he made it clear he never liked me." Call him crazy, but he swears she shook her head. He sighed, "It's true I'm afraid. I'd tell you what he said, but it hurts too much to repeat. So I guess this is goodbye," he sniffled, pulling out an apple he had been saving, just for her. He gave her one last, tight hug and a few pets before turning and going.

Roach pulled on her tether, trying to follow him. The farther he walked, the more distressed she became.

Why was Jaskier leaving them? Why was he so sad? What did Geralt do? Surely this isn't the last time she'll see him, she had really grown to love him, almost as much as she loved Geralt.

Jaskier's crying increased tenfold as he heard Roach's neighs of distress. She pawed at the ground, throwing her head back as she brayed. Jaskier didn't dare look back. He didn't need his heart broken a second time today... Truly he would die.

It was well past nightfall when he made it to the closest town near the base of the mountain. He knew if he camped on the mountain it would only increase his chances of seeing Geralt or Yennefer, and that was the farthest thing from what he needed.

It was barely past midnight when he stumbled into the inn's tavern, weary and weak. He sat at the bar and ordered the first of many drinks. He needed to forget. He needed to be numb. Someone noticed his lute case and came up demanding a song. He looked at them with bloodshot eyes and answered in a broken voice, "I'm not working right now, sorry. I've had a rough day." But they were insistent and even more drunk than he was.

They grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off of his stool. The barmaid eyed them wearily, unsure of what to do.

"I said, play us a fucking song."

"Are you perhaps deaf? I'm not playing anything, I simply wish to have a few drinks and a bite to eat before I retire for the night," he clarified, shoving the man off.

"I ain't deaf! Now if you know what's good for you, you'll play a fucking song or else!"

Jaskier was done. There was nothing left to fight for, he just felt empty. Nothing mattered anymore. "Oh so maybe you're just stupid then. My mistake." He stood to go to his room only to be shoved back down in his seat. Before he could do anything, his head was slammed into the bar. He burst to life, ready to unleash all of his hurt onto this man who picked the wrong fight.

This is what Jaskier needed. A good adrenaline rush! He craved to feel bone crack under his fists, to have blood on his hands, both from this poor sucker and his own cracked knuckles. Only some bastard came and stole that away, delivering a swift punch to the side of the head, knocking him out. The barmaid had ran and gotten the owner, and the assailant was thrown outside. Jaskier huffed. Seemed he can't even have the pleasure of getting the shit beat out of him. It would sure feel a hell of a lot better than what he was currently feeling. And it would've been a nice distraction.

The man sat down next to him, and Jaskier refused to look up. He just took a few large gulps from his tankard before speaking.

"I would've handled it you know."

"I don't doubt it, but you look like you've had a rough day."

Jaskier snorted into his glass. "You have no idea," he muttered. He glanced to the side, taking him in. He was tall, maybe even taller than Geralt. Shit, no, don't think about him. You can't let this stranger see you cry. He allowed himself to turn his head more, studying him. He had dark hair, just past his ears and ended near the nape of his neck. His face was handsome, even if he had a huge scar running down his right side and caused his lip to curl, almost in a sneer. And how could he possibly miss those striking gold eyes.

Jaskier winced, finishing off his drink and gesturing for another.

"No offense but the last thing I need is to be saved, especially by some witcher," he was decently drunk, his words slurring but he managed to get just the right amount of discontent in his voice. The witcher held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Never said you did." He was just about to leave, but a strange part of Jaskier wanted him to stay. Maybe so he could tell him everything he wishes he could tell Geralt now.

"Y-you know, you aren't so great-" he started. The man tilted his head in curiosity, settling back into his chair to listen. "With your stupid potions and swords. I mean yeah you guys are strong but there's plenty of strong folk out there. And FUCK all that "witchers don't feel" bullshit, I know it's a damn lie!" He pointed an accusatory finger at him. The witcher only smirked and put his hand back on the table.

"I mean who the hell do you think you're fooling? Yourselves. I mean you guys are so emotionally constipated you can't even bring yourself to call someone a friend after they've been traveling with you for two fucking decades! And not once in that time did I hear a thank you Jaskier, you're not as useless as I once thought Jaskier. No, it's always you're such a fucking nuisance, and you ruined my whole life." He deflated after his little rant, hunching over his drink in shame. The witcher held out his hand.

"Eskel," he greeted formally. Jaskier took it in a loose handshake, not having the energy to put effort in it.

"Jaskier," he mumbled.

"So, emotionally constipated, huh? Pretty grumpy from the sounds of it too," he pondered aloud. Jaskier looked at him, puzzled. "And let you travel with him for 20 years. Take in the consideration that fine gentleman demanding you sing for him... you were with Geralt," he concluded.

"You're good."

"So, what the hell did my dumbass brother do now?"

"What didn't he do would be a better question. I can't believe I stayed with him after all this time. I should've never started singing his praises," he lamented.

Eskel shrugged, "You sure did help the rest of us out. Thanks for that." Jaskier stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. Tears barely held back.

"Y-you're welcome."

"Look, Geralt's an idiot, especially with his feelings. But what I know is his bark can be a hell of a lot worse than his bite. He probably didn't mean whatever it was he said," he tried to comfort him. Jaskier shook his head.

"You weren't there. In all the time we've been together I've never seen him so angry. And it was all directed at me. You wanna know what that bastard whoreson said to me?" Eskel nodded. He was very curious.

"First he snapped and blamed me for all his life troubles, simply because I was there. Then he said, he said..." he trailed off, a lump in his throat preventing his speech.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to tell me if you want."

"No, no I need to. Need to get this off my chest, share the burden, you know?" He took a shakeup breath to brace himself. "If life could give me one blessing... i-it would b-be to take you o-off my hands," he barely managed to say. He couldn't hold it back any longer and the tears began to flow once more. He turned away from Eskel.

He was shocked to say the least.

"Wow... Geralt you really fucked up," he said in disbelief.

"I never want to see him again," Jaskier spat out.

"I don't blame you."

"But... is it wrong that I also do? Want to see him?" he asked. Eskel shook his head.

"Not at all. Like you said, you traveled together for 20 years. Hard not to get attached to someone during all that time."

"Not hard for Geralt apparently," he snarled. Eskel placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck him."

For the first time that day, Jaskier gave a small, albeit sad smile. "Yeah, fuck him." They clinked their mugs together, chugging the rest of their drinks. Eskel ordered two more.

"You've had a shit day, let me pay for it," he insisted.

"Thank you," Jaskier said. "Not just for the round, but for everything. For listening."

Eskel shrugged, "What can I say? You're fun to listen to, even if you're sad as hell right now. Bet you're a hell of a guy when you're not all torn up like this."

Jaskier was floored. Maybe because it was the most genuine compliment he's ever received, or maybe because it was a witcher who said it. Or maybe because Geralt had never said anything half as nice to him.

He put a hand over his heart, "Wow, that's- that's the nicest thing a witcher's ever said to me." He was only half joking. Many drinks later, and they were both sufficiently drunk. Jaskier leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder. It had been... years, decades even, since someone touched Eskel like this. No traces of fear, hatred or disgust on his scent. He wasn't paid to hold him like this. He just simply treated him as though he were normal. It made his head spin, and not just from the amble amount of ale he had.

"I can't believe I lo-hic-loved him," he slurred, interrupted by a hiccup. Eskel's eyes widened at the confession. "I'm just a ssstupid, hopeless romantic who fell in love with someone who- who can't even admit, at the very least! That they like me!"

He patted his back in a mimic of comfort. "Hey, uh- I'm sure you're not those things. Romantic yes. But stupid and hopeless? I don't think so." Jaskier reached a hand up to pat his cheek, his scarred cheek, in thanks.

"Oh you poor stupid witcher. If I am anything it is stupid and hopeless." Eskel rolled his eyes.

"You said loved, as in past tense."

Jaskier sighed, sitting up on his own. Eskel almost felt sad. "Yes well, it's hard to love someone after they say something like that. But I already miss him. Yearn to see and touch him again. But I can't let that happen."

"Why not?" Eskel tilted his head in curiosity.

"Because I'm weak," he said, his voice so small. So utterly broken. "I'm weak for him. I already know that if I even catch a glimpse of him I'll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness." His voice was wet and heavy now.

"You're not the one who should be begging for forgiveness."

"You see, my brain knows that, but my heart tells me to try and get him back. I feel, torn. Why do I still want him even after he shoved me away in the worst way possible?" His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked to Eskel for an answer.

"Uuuh, look kid, if you're looking for a real answer, I don't have one. I may understand feelings better than Geralt, but they're still a mystery to me," he admitted.

"Yes, I suppose so.

Eskel was staring into his mug when he spoke. "Winter will be here before you know it. Normally we all head to the keep and wait out the bad months. I'll probably see Geralt, want me to, I don't know, pass on a message? Teach him a lesson?" he asked. It wouldn't be the first time he beat him up, and he always had fun doing so. And Lambert always liked to watch.

Jaskier snorted. "I don't know. Make him feel guilty though, if you can. Tell him he blew it."

Eskel nodded solemnly. "I can do that. Anywhere specific you're planning on going?" he questioned. Jaskier eyed him suspiciously.

"Depends. Do you plan to tell Geralt where I ran off to?" he asks. Eskel shrugged.

"Depends on how sorry I think he is," he answered truthfully. Jaskier didn't really like that answer but at least it was honest. "I won't tell him if he hasn't learned his lesson. You have my word."

Jaskier hums. "I don't really know where I'll go from here. Wherever I feel like going, I suppose. I might go back to Oxenfurt and teach for the winter." Eskel nodded.

"Right, well. I'll be on the lookout for you. Stay safe." He clapped him on the back as he rose from his seat, heading out of the tavern doors and into the night. Jaskier went up to the room he rented and cried himself to sleep.

~~~~

Geralt realized his mistake, and shame washed over him. His anger at Jaskier had been misplaced, and he didn't deserve his harsh words. But it was so easy to blame him instead of taking the fault as his own. As he walked down the mountain alone, he began to feel worse and worse about what he said to Jaskier. He always had good intentions, even if things didn't always work out. He was pure at heart and tried his best. Geralt should've tried harder. He needed to find him and apologize. And hopefully it wasn't too late for Jaskier to take him back.

When he made it down to Roach, she seemed less than pleased with him. As she saw him approach in the distance, she snorted angrily and tossed her head, looking away from him. It didn't take long to figure out why. The closer he got to her, the more he could smell Jaskier. His scent was all over her, mingling with salty tears and bitter sorrow. Geralt frowned to himself, knowing he was the reason Jaskier had left in tears.

Roach didn't meet his eyes, even when he tried talking to her. He stroked her mane apologetically, but still received the cold shoulder. He sighed.

"I promise, I'll make things right with him." She whinnied as if to say, "You better."

At least that had been his plans. But the bard was surprisingly hard to track. The trail had gone cold by the time he had made it to the small town at the base of the mountain. This would have to wait. He was running low on coin and needed to find jobs.

~~~~

Jaskier had no idea where he was going. He drifted with the wind, a truly lost spirit unsure where he would turn up next. He supposed he could continue on the path, drifting from town to town like he normally did. However, that increased his chances of running into Geralt... He could head to the coast alone, but that would just remind him more of his rejection. It was too early to head back to Oxenfurt, summer only just around the corner. Hm, the road it was, he supposed.

He sat on the forest floor, idly strumming his lute. He needed new music. Something to help sort out the mess inside his brain.

"Damnit Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?"

"Well, that's not fair-"

Fair. Nothing in this word was fair. He inhaled deeply, breathing with the grass and sighing with the trees. He began plucking a few chords, testing the waters of a new song.

"It's what my heart just yearns to say, In ways that can't be said. It's what my rotting bones will sing When the rest of me is dead."

His fingers gained more confidence, strumming more clearly as he continued.

"It's what's engraved upon my heart, In letters deeply worn. Today I somehow understand the reason I was born."

Images of Geralt flash before his eyes. A dazzling bright smile, so rarely seen. A voice that could be so gentle when he tried to be. Soft golden eyes, warmer than sunshine and sweeter than honey. His hair was surprisingly soft for everything that happened to it. Maybe monster guts are a sort of conditioner.

But he also remembers his lips curling in hatred. Evil words spat his direction, ending 20 years worth of friendship. Well, friendship on Jaskier's part.

He thought of Yennefer, and everything she took from them both. Things had been relatively fine until that fucking djinn. But... maybe Geralt did care after all, at least a tiny bit. He had seemed so desperate to find someone to save him... But of course he could never compete with Yennefer. She was powerful as all hell with the beauty and grace to match. She knew the control that kind of thing had over others, and used it to her advantage. He couldn't really blame her. He probably would've fallen at her heels had she not been so utterly terrifying. They were perfect for each other, he thought sadly. She was a heartless witch in search of something she may never have and he was a clueless witcher who cared very little about anything else and denied the fact he had any sort of emotions. They are timeless beings, similar to himself. Oh if only Geralt knew... maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to choose her.

"Cos outwardly he says I try so hard to make you laugh at me. And she, she does, She laughs as though she not heard the joke ten thousand times before. And he adores her, He watches her get dressed as though she's hurtling through time. Oh darling please be mine."

That was a good verse. Most people will assume it's about some lost love, a fair maiden who was swept off her feet by another man. Well, that was half true. A few more verses, then he reached the chorus. He let some of his magic seep into his words, having filled his heart and overflowing from his mouth. He didn't know what good it would do, but it felt right on his tongue.

Elven magic was a bit different than the kind that mages typically used. It drew its power from the earth, and in return the magic would breathe life back in the world. He remembers his grandmother's lectures that he had brushed off at the time. You have to pull from your core, whatever that meant. He hadn't tried in years, and when he had, he could never tell a difference.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say- Oh how, oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am, with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

The words felt hot in his mouth, tasting like a sweet smoke. He didn't notice how the life around him teemed, seemingly growing towards him. He had always had an affinity towards nature, as most elves do. In this moment, the whole forest grieved with him. As he continued to sing, a doe and fawn wandered into the clearing. A small fox raised its head from where it was bedded down. He debuted his newest song at the next tavern he stopped at.

It was late, and the patrons that were left were tired and very inebriated. He had played some upbeat crowd pleasers and now, all their excess energy was spent. They were bound to be much more accepting of a slow song by now. He pulled up his stool and sat down, adjusting his lute as he did so.

"Alright, one last song. It's a new one I've been working on, so I hope you enjoy it." His eyes locked on a table full of young, good looking women. "This is for anyone out there with a broken heart." And just like he knew they would, they swooned.

The song was very well received; as he traveled the continent, so did his song. Followed by another and another.

His latest was an upbeat jaunty little tune, that left courtrooms and taverns alike in stitches. It was one everyone, no matter who you were, could relate to. He even thought it was more popular than Fishmonger's Daughter, which was saying something.

He stood in the ballroom of some palace in Vizima. It was the Duke's birthday, so of course they had requested only the best bard in the continent to come and play. And with flattery like that, how could he refuse? All around him beautiful people talked and ate, flitting about the room. He was pulled from group to group, engaging in both thrilling and dull conversation. He grabbed his lute from where he had set it aside, strumming the strings a bit to gain the room's attention. With everyone staring at him, he smiled, wide and dazzling.

His fingers set to work, playing the bouncy tune as he bobbed up and down. The crowd erupted in cheers upon the recognition of the song.

"I've tried, tried, tried, and I've tried even more. I've cried, cried, cried, and I can't recall what for. I've pressed, I've pushed, I've yelled, I've begged, In hopes of some success. But the inevitable fact is that it never will impress!"

He jumped into the chorus, spinning around the room as everyone danced and clapped along.

"I've no more fucks to give My fucks have runeth dry I've tried to go fuck shopping but there's no fucks left to buy! I've no more fucks to give Though more fucks I've tried to get I'm over my fuck budget, and I'm now in fucking debt!"

Laughter and cheers rang through the air. Men and women hooked arms and twirled around in circles before changing partners. Skirts twirled across the floor and feet stomped in time to the beat.

When Jaskier had written the song, he didn't expect it to grow so popular. He had been so fed up with life. So unequivocally done with his very existence. Of course he was still upset with Geralt. He never knew if he would ever really get over that. And Yennefer's utter bitchiness any time they were in the same vicinity fueled his fire. His talk with Eskel stood out in his mind, and the thought of possibly seeing Geralt both thrilled and terrified him. Oh how he hoped the bastard was sorry. Lately all of his love endeavors ended in either failure or nothing more than a one night stand. And overall he just felt like anything he tried backfired. He was tired, hopeless, and fed up. All of this swirled in his mind until it was just too much. He scribbled down the very first thing his angry hornets nest of a brain could spit out, and this was the result. It was cathartic, and he had sure got a kick out of it. He played it in a seedy tavern as a joke, but they absolutely loved it. Begged him to play it again and again until his fingers bled. Now wherever he went, it was a sure thing that he would have to play that song.

Not that he was complaining though. It was a hell of a lot better than when he was forced to sing Toss A Coin.

He finished with a flourish, holding out the last note and strumming the lute strings a bit faster, a gesture of finality. Everyone roared with applause and cheers, coin and even a few flowers tossed his way. Hm, they looked strangely similar to the bouquets acting as table center pieces... Regardless, he reveled in the praise all the same. Even went as far as to catch a flower in mid air- with his teeth. The cheers grew louder at that, and he shot a wink towards the crowd.

He was stolen away from his glory by a countess who dragged him to a quieter corner of the room.

"Your musical skills are most impressive," she complimented, taking a sip from her goblet. "Though I'm sure you're used to hearing that by now," she teased gently. Jaskier chuckled.

"Oddly enough, I don't hear it too often. But I suppose I don't need to, I'm quite aware of my talents," he said, testing the waters. She raised a brow, seemingly intrigued.

"Oh? And what are your other talents?"

"I am a professor at Oxenfurt. Many of my students graduate with honors. And of course you're aware of my musical skills," he said, plucking at his lute, making her giggle. "But I must say most of my other talents are only shared in closed quarters." He licked his lips, awaiting her response. She flushed beautifully, adverting her eyes as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Well, I must say. As forward as that was I am most intrigued." She opened her fan, wafting air over her face. She couldn't seem to help the smile on her face as she pulled on his arm, leading him down a corridor and into an empty bedroom. After an hour and a half of pure bliss they returned to the party, satisfied and smitten, if just the slightest bit disheveled. This time, he was pulled away by a viscount.

"I'm glad you could make it Julian!" Jaskier didn't bother correcting him. After all, it was what the man had first known him as, and he supposed he was too old to learn anything different.

"I am too. This is quite the party," he said, taking a drink.

"So, where's your witcher?"

Jaskier nearly choked, sputtering his drink and coughing slightly. The man patted his back to help.

"Come again?" he asked, hoping he was just hearing things.

"The witcher you always sing about. He usually accompanies you to these things, does he not?" Great, just when he was doing better, just when he was starting to forget and began enjoying himself, he was reminded of what would never be again. His heart clenched in his chest and his stomach turned in knots. A lump caught in his throat. He struggled to speak around it, to act like everything was fine.

"He's on the path on his own at the moment. But when I see him again I will be sure to give him your regards," he said with a fake charming smile. Oh he'll send his regards. He'll send them right up Geralt's ass where they belong. He excused himself, going off to find a bathroom. He tried to stop himself, but hot tears flowed from his eyes, and he did what he could to keep his makeup from running. In the end he had to do a quick touch up, but when he returned to sing once more, he looked fresh as a daisy.

~~~~

Months go by, with no possible leads on where Jaskier, or his child surprise, could be. Just songs sung in taverns that he's heard the bard sing too many times before. But oh what he wouldn't give to hear that voice right now.

The bard at the inn he was currently at wasn't terrible, but they just weren't him. He had a voice unlike any other, and though he had never admitted it aloud, he really did like it. Why he never told Jaskier was beyond him. Maybe he thought by distancing himself, he wouldn't get too attached. Maybe at first, he really did hate his singing. Or maybe he was just afraid to acknowledge his own feelings. Witchers didn't really do compliments. After all, most of the affection he showed his brothers was through insults. It's one of the only ways he knows how to show he cares. But Jaskier didn't know that. He probably just thinks he hates everything about him. All because the one time Geralt should've kept his mouth shut, he erupted like a volcano. Hot, angry, and destructive.

The song they sang was one he hadn't heard before, but it sounded undeniably Jaskier. Everything from the chord progression, the range, the tune, the excessive swearing, to the hilariously relatable lyrics, just screamed Jaskier. He didn't need to ask who wrote it. He knew.

Winter was drawing near. It was time to make the yearly trip to the keep. Geralt had hoped that by this time he would've found Jaskier and made up. Wished for him to stay the winter with him and meet his brothers. Oh well. There was always next year he supposed.

The journey was just as harsh and bitter as he remembered it always being. But when he arrived at Kaer Morhen, he had three happy faces waiting for him. After the exchange of bear hugs and hair ruffles, Vesemir left them to chat amongst themselves. He couldn't help but notice that Eskel had been giving him the stink eye ever since he had gotten there. They were currently in a large den area, seated close to a fireplace.

"Okay I'll bite, why the fuck are you glaring at me like I just kicked Lil Bleater?" he asked, none too kindly. Lambert shifted in his seat, settling in for the show. He looked to Eskel, eagerly waiting for his response.

"Hm. I assumed you'd know," Eskel said in an even tone. Lambert's head snapped over to Geralt, ready to hear what he had to say.

"What the hell did I do to you?" he asked. Lambert nodded.

"Yes, please tell. I'm dying to know."

Eskel met Geralt's eyes with harsh judgement. "It's nothing that you did to me." Oh this was positively juicy. And Lambert was eating it up.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Geralt snapped. Eskel just shook his head.

"Nothing. Just means you blew it."

"Blew what?" he asked. He was tired of beating around the bush. Eskel just shrugged, infuriatingly.

"If you can't figure it out, you're an even bigger idiot than I pegged you for." Okay that was it.

Geralt slammed his fist down on the table. "Damnit I'm sick of your cryptic ass bullshit! What the hell are you talking about?" Eskel's face finally showed a hint of emotion. His scar curled lip quirked up in a smirk that could only mean trouble. And a playful malice danced behind his eyes.

"A little lark told me," he began, noticing how stiff Geralt became. "All about your little mountain breakup." All of a sudden Geralt surged forth, gripping Eskel by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. Lambert stood to get a better view of the action.

"You saw Jaskier and didn't tell me?" he growled. Eskel shrugged with a cocky smile.

"I'm telling you now, aren't I? And it's not like he was eager to see you. And from the sounds of it I'm shocked you'd want to see him either. Geralt's eyes widened in shock, his grip loosening ever so slightly. "If life could give me one blessing-"

He smacked a hand over his mouth, slamming his head against the stone just a little harder than necessary. Eskel didn't fight back, only raised his eyebrows. Behind them, Lambert let out a low whistle.

"So you finally fucked up the one good thing in your life? Can't say I'm surprised," he mused. Geralt whipped his head around to look over his shoulder.

"You want to be next?" Lambert held his hands up in mock surrender.

Eskel reached up and slid Geralt's hand from his mouth so he could speak. "He was pretty torn up when I found him." Geralt looked to the ground in shame. "Pissed as all hell, sad fucker too. You really did a number on him." Geralt's eyes were full of regret.

"I should've never said those things to him." He let Eskel go, arms hanging limp at his sides. The heavily scarred witcher crossed his arms.

"Yeah no shit. You really need to do better."

"I know. He was my best friend," he admitted. Eskel's expression softened.

"Why didn't you ever tell him that? He made it sound like you only ever insulted him."

Geralt sighed. "I wasn't as nice as I should've been. Any time I tried I just. Froze and said some stupid shit."

Lambert clapped him on the back. "Oh Geralt, you always do that." A ghost of a smile flashed on his face as he brushed off his hand.

"What was it that made you throw two decades worth of friendship down the drain?" Eskel questioned. Geralt sighed even deeper.

"The dragon hunt was long and tiring. Too many people wanting to kill the dragon, protecting it was harder than I thought. Yen and I fought. I told her about the last wish I made with the djinn and... she didn't take it well. Needless to say we're through. And then- Jaskier was right there and he was talking like he always does, and I. I lashed out. I just felt like hurting someone the way I was just hurt."

Eskel rolled his eyes. "You're a fucking moron. Just because you don't know how the hell to handle your emotions doesn't mean you get to take it out on other people. Especially those who had nothing to do with it."

Geralt wholeheartedly agreed. "I know. I just want him back."

"You better hope you know how to make this right."

"I tried looking for him, but his trail went cold. I need to apologize. I need him to know that I never meant those things, and that he's my friend," he said, sounding defeated. He took a few steps back, collapsing in a chair.

Eskel eyed him, a funny look on his face.

"What?"

"You sure he's only just a friend?"

"Of course he is! What else would he be?" he asked, brows furrowed. Eskel smirked, pacing the room in an aloof sort of way.

"I don't mean to go around telling secrets that aren't mind, but knowing you you'll never figure it out on your own." Geralt growled as Lambert snickered. Eskel cut them both off. "But it seemed like a lot more than just friendship, at least on your bard's end."

Geralt perked up, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait really?"

Lambert nudged him. "Careful, you almost sound excited. Don't tell me my big brother has a crush," he teased, locking him in a headlock. Geralt easily threw him over his shoulder, making him flip over his lap before landing on the hard ground.

"Shut the hell up, this is serious."

"Oooo you do have a crush!" his teasing increased tenfold. He wrapped an arm around his ankle, shaking his leg slightly. Geralt moved so the sole of his boot pressed against his cheek, effectively keeping him pinned.

"Ah! Hey let me up!" Geralt rolled his eyes and lifted his foot, setting him free. He turned his attention to Eskel.

"What makes you think that?"

"Aside from... everything about him?"

"Eskel get to the fucking point!"

"He was broken hearted, easy as that... And he, uh, told me himself," he said, looking away. For some reason he felt a sting of guilt. He wasn't betraying Jaskier, not really, but it felt like something the bard should tell him himself. But on the other hand, Jaskier said to make the clueless bastard feel bad, and he knew if this were a fight, that would be the final blow.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and buried his face behind his hands and let out a low, suffering groan. "He probably never wants to see me again."

"With a face like that, who could blame him?" Lambert joked from his spot on the floor. Eskel kicked him semi gently and shook his head at the youngest wolf. He then turned his attention to Geralt.

"Well don't get me wrong, he was very upset. But it had just happened, so he might've cooled off by now. And even then he was conflicted about whether or not he wanted to see you. I say give it a shot," he encouraged. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"But how will I find him again? I mean, where do I even start?"

"Well he's a bard ain't he?" Lambert said, finally sitting up. "Just follow his songs."

Eskel's face scrunched up in confusion. "The hell does that mean?"

"No, no Lambert has a point. If he's been performing then chances are other bards will be singing his songs in places he's recently been. Then I can follow the trail from there," he said.

"See? I have good ideas!" Lambert stuck his tongue out at Eskel, who rolled his eyes. He reached out and grabbed his tongue, pulling on it. Lambert's eyes bugged out and he made a strangled noise before biting his hand. Eskel recoiled and snarled at him in warning.

Geralt paid them no mind, instead thinking of how he would win back his bard.

~~~~

When the months turned cold, Jaskier tucked his tail and holed up in Oxenfurt. After a life on the road, teaching just wasn't as thrilling as it used to be. He still loved these kids, saw their blooming potential. But he also saw too much of himself reflected in those faces, with their wide hopeful eyes and innocent naïvety. They idolized him. He achieved what so many could only dream of, had seen amazingly horrific beasts and lead a life of wonder and adventure. But that was over. At least he could relive those glory days vicariously through his songs...

Winter came and went. His students were all talented and lovely people, and he earned the title of the fun, hot professor. And while he might would have hooked up with a student or two when he was younger, the thought no longer appealed to him. His heart and mind were elsewhere.

As the snow began to melt, he set off. He had bought a nice and sturdy steed for his journey ahead, being tired of traveling on foot and finally acquiring enough coin for one. Bruno was a beautiful smokey gray with a white mane and tale. He didn't seem to mind his singing or his rants, and offered the occasional neigh in response. Jaskier suddenly understood why Geralt talked to Roach as if she were human.

During his time at Oxenfurt, he was productive and debuted a few new songs. Now as spring fast approached, he was ready to share them with the rest of the world. He was currently in some small village not too far from the academy, a mere pit stop on a long journey.

After performing a particularly successful set, he sat at the bar to wet his whistle in preparation for the rest of the night. He only glanced at the body that sat down next to him, going back to his drink.

"Nice songs, they all yours?"

Jaskier swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I normally only play my songs. They're quite popular and people expect it. But if I get a request by someone else I won't turn it down. Why, you want me to sing something?" he answered, turning to look at him. He was quite handsome if he said so himself.

"No I can never remember the songs or how they go." Jaskier hummed into his glass in lieu of a real answer. "So uh, what was that last one called again?"

"Her Sweet Kiss," Jaskier said, lip curling in saddened amusement.

"Oh yeah, I remember. What's it about?" he tried.

"Just a... an old relationship that didn't quite turn out."

"Sorry to hear that mate. If you don't mind me asking, what happened." Jaskier snorted and shook his head, staring at his reflection in the liquid.

"Let's just say they didn't choose me." The man shifted in his seat.

"I'm Lambert by the way."

"Jaskier, pleased to meet you," though his voice didn't sound all too enthused. Lambert licked his lips.

"My brother's looking for you." Jaskier's head snapped over to look at him. Really look at him. He had a scar over his eye, short brown hair, two scary looking swords strapped to his back, and a wolf medallion hanging on his chest. Another witcher. He didn't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that it wasn't Geralt.

He decided to play dumb. After all, maybe he didn't know. "Eskel?" he asked in feigned confusion.

Lambert rolled his eyes. "No dumb ass. The other one." Jaskier tilted his head.

"I'm sorry, but how do you expect me to know who your brother is when I've only just met you?" he asked. Lambert snorted and folded his arms.

"Well you know Eskel. Geralt was right, you really are a smug lil smart ass."

"That's funny, a second ago I was a dumb ass."

"Hey I'm not afraid to hit you," he threatened.

"Nor am I," Jaskier countered. Lambert wore a shocked half grin, eyebrows raised.

"Huh. Okay then."

"So what, did Geralt send you? Am I too close within his vicinity that I'm fucking up his destiny yet again?" he asked bitterly. Lambert looked him up and down, judging his next words before he spoke.

"No, I found you all on my own thank you very much. Though I bet he'll be pissed that I also found you before he did," he mused. This seemed to peak the bard's interest as he turned to face him. Lambert leaned in to say more. "He's looking for you ya know."

"So you said. Why though?" he asked. Lambert shrugged.

"Wants to apologize I guess. Make things right," he said. Jaskier just looked... lost. Then his face morphed into one of amusement as he doubled over, letting out a stream of shrill, slightly manic laughs.

He wiped away a few tears as he spoke. "The day that man apologizes is the day he dies. He's much too prideful and stupid to do such a thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes. "I know he is, but he also really seems to care about you."

Jaskier snorted. "Funny. Normally when someone cares about you they don't blame you for all their life's problems and tell you to get fucked," he spat out.

"Look, I get he may be a stubborn horse's ass, but he really is sorry."

"Thanks but I'll believe it when I hear it from him. If you'll excuse me I need to get back to work." He pushed off from the bar, walking back to his stool and lute. Lambert leaned back in his seat, allowing himself to listen to the music. As he drank himself into a stupor, tales of heartbreak and anguish washed over him. But there was also a deep seeded sense of longing, a yearning so strong it almost hurt Lambert to listen to. But it was there that he saw a glimmer of hope for his brother to win him back.

~~~~

Things never went as planned. For some reason, destiny liked to fuck with Geralt as much as it possibly could. It seemed as though he was finding everyone except the man he was trying so desperately to find. The first to come to him was his child surprise, who he had also been searching for and had been given the most importance in his mind. Good, one thing crossed off the list. He knew they were bound together, so they would find their way to each other eventually, but with the fall of Cintra he much preferred sooner rather than later.

She was kind, but also had a fierce bite to her personality that reminded Geralt of her grandmother. He could feel the untapped potential of her magic sizzling beneath her skin and sparked under his touch. She was curious and talkative in a way that emphasized the hole that Jaskier had left behind.

And then, much to his chagrin, they met up with Yennefer during the middle of a contract. It would be hard to miss the way she stared at Ciri, with a want so strong and a hint of jealousy that Geralt had been gifted what she could only dream of having. Even with his knowledge of magic, he would need someone with stronger abilities to help train the princess. And as much as he had regretted it, he was now thankful that he had tied his and Yennefer's fates. She seemed to be more forgiving now, but made it obvious that whatever romance might have been blooming was now long dead. He was okay with that. He was just glad to have her back in his life. They were good friends, and as a witcher, that was hard to find.

It was dangerous to travel with Ciri, what with the state of the continent. Nilfgaard was on the prowl for the lion cub of Cintra, and would stop at nothing to try and hunt her down. They were still a long ways from the witcher's keep. Only then would she be truly safe to begin her training properly. They had cut her hair to just below her chin to change her appearance enough so she wasn't instantly recognizable. Geralt gave her a thick black cloak to further hide her face. Her old blue cloak was just as much of a dead giveaway as her hair. But no one paid much mind to a veiled child at the side of a famed witcher.

They knew better than to call her by her name, at least in public. Instead they would call her Ella or Ellie, Yennefer claiming that it suited her. Ciri didn't seem to mind. They had been traveling nonstop for a week and were completely exhausted and starving for a real meal. A bath wouldn't hurt either. They came to the inn in search of some much needed rest for the journey ahead. Warm light spilled from the windows and into the darkness outside, a welcome sight. Music and excited chatter met their ears as they approached, greeting them as Geralt held the door open for them.

Avoiding as much attention as they could, they slipped into a booth in the far corner. Ciri sat on the inner seat near the wall, Geralt's large frame mostly shielding her from view. Yennefer sat across from them.

Geralt was tired and worn, otherwise he would've instantly recognized the voice drifting through the air.

"I'm the hardest goodbye that you'll ever have to say-" the last note drug on and scooped continuously into the next word, earning a couple of impressed cheers.

"You don't know it yet, but I'm the Cupid of things That you just don't get, that you struggled to say." The music continued in the background as a waitress took their orders. Once she moved out of their way, Ciri gasped.

"Oh my gods, that's Jaskier!" she said in excitement. Yennefer calmly turned her head to the side while Geralt whipped around, eyes frantically searching for the bard. There he was, swaying to the music as his fingers plucked and thrummed the strings. "I have to say hi!"

"But like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it's my curse. To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse."

Geralt was about to speak, but Yennefer beat him to it. "Ah ah ah, I don't think that's a good idea," she warned.

Ciri shook her head adamantly. "No, he's a good friend! He played at all of my birthdays and our banquets! Believe me, we can trust him." When they both stared at her dumbfounded, she continued. "I get it if you're a bit star struck, I mean he's the best musician on the whole continent."

Yenn snorted. "Who told you that? Him?" Ciri jumped to his defense, but Geralt was too preoccupied to know what she said. His eyes were glued to Jaskier.

Jaskier's voice was raw with emotion as he sang. Deep and guttural around certain words, sensual and alluring with others.

"I'm the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned. All those letters unsent and that garden ungrown. I'm the captain of courage that you've eternally lacked. I'm the Jesus of wishing to Christ he'll come back."

Jaskier looked up at just the right moment, at just the right spot to lock eyes with Geralt. He froze for barely a second. Geralt could hear him swallow thickly before he continued, as though unfazed. His eyes never breaking their gaze.

"Because farewell wanderlust, you've been oh, so kind." His voice was so soft, so tender as he sang the words. Then ramped up in intensity as he continued, finally tearing his eyes away.

"After he finishes this song I'm going to go talk to him," Ciri said with a finality that can't be challenged. Geralt only just now caught up with the conversation.

"No. I will." Yennefer was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. He shot her a glare. Ciri looked at him with an incredulous look.

"I'm practically like family to him, I get to go first," she left no room to argue. Geralt stared at her in slight shock. "You can wait your turn."

"Hm." He would do as she said, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. But at least it gave him time to gather his thoughts and try to form a proper apology. He looked up to see Jaskier's eyes burn holes through him, an angry bitterness woven into his words.

"I'm the tales that the guests will applaud and believe. I'm the child that you just didn't have time to conceive. I promise you I'm not broken! I promise you there's more! More to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door."

Ciri leaned forward in her seat to see better. "This must be a new song. It's kinda sad, I wonder who it's about." Yennefer shot Geralt a knowing, accusatory look. He finished, holding the last note of the song for as long as the chord faded out. Everyone burst into applause, tossing coin his way. He made a beeline for the bar, taking the route farthest from them and maintaining that distance. When Geralt didn't move to let her out, too entranced, Ciri crawled underneath the table and made her way to her old friend.

Jaskier leaned against the bar, his head in one hand, a tankard of ale in another. "Melitele's tits I'm too sober for this," he muttered to himself.

"Jaskier!" Before he could turn around he was bombarded by a small figure and enveloped in a hug.

"Wha- hi hello," he said in confusion, tentatively wrapping his arms around her.

"Jaskier, it's me!" she said, and tilted her hood back to reveal her face to him. His eyes widened and mouth dropped in shock. He smiled down at her, scooping her up in his arms and spun her around.

"Gods I was so worried about you! When I heard about what happened I couldn't stop thinking about you! I'm so glad you're okay," he said, smothering her with love and affection that she soaked up like a sponge.

"Come on, I want you to meet someone," she said, tugging on his arm. He pulled it back reluctantly.

"Ah, I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet," he said, tossing a nervous glance Geralt's way.

"It's okay, he's nice," Ciri assured him. He chuckled.

"Maybe to you."

"What?"

"Well I really should get back to work. I'll talk more after I'm done, I promise," he called as he made his way back to his instrument. Ciri stood there, dumbfounded as she made her way back to the table.

"That was weird," she said sitting down at the table. Geralt tensed.

"Why? What did he say?" he asked, slightly too eager to be considered normal, especially for him. Ciri looked at him quizzically, picking up on the strangeness of it all.

"Um, well at first he was thrilled to see me, then I mention introducing him to you both and he suddenly starts walking away saying he has to work," she said, trailing off.

"Don't take it personal, like you said, he's very popular. People want to hear him sing," Geralt tried to comfort her in the knowledge. She sighs, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her palm.

"I know but he seemed. I don't know, weird? Off? Definitely not like himself," she noted. Yennefer smirked, and looked Geralt up and down. He tilted his head, furrowing his brows and fixing her with a warning look. He was barely holding back a growl. If she said anything...

"You sure it has nothing to do with how you dumped him on the dragon hunt?" she said slyly, smirking with a dangerously arched brow.

"Yennefer!" he snarled her name. He wanted to move past that, he had apologized to her, now he needed to do the same for Jaskier. And now Ciri was glaring at him with real heat behind her eyes.

"Geralt, what's she talking about?" Despite the fire that burned behind her eyes, her voice sounded ice cold. Okay she was definitely spending too much time with Yennefer.

"Nothing of your concern," he said firmly, glaring daggers at Yennefer for telling. The child had no reason to know.

"It is if you hurt Jaskier!"

"I didn't-" he started only to be interrupted again.

"Not physically," Yennefer said slyly, taking a drink. Geralt sighed in defeat.

"Yes I did, okay? But I regret it, and I need to make it right," he said matter of factly. Ciri's expression softened. She reached out and held his hand.

"It's okay, I'm sure he'll forgive you. But just so you know, he's a sucker for grand gestures," she said with a wink. The tavern had erupted with chatter and song requests. Jaskier seems to have finally settled on one. His fingers worked fast upon his instrument.

"Don't think You're mighty cos I said so. It's fine you've got no time to make it home."

Jaskier's voice was deep and smooth, just like Geralt remembered. He caught Jaskier staring his way before the man turned his gaze away as quickly as he noticed.

"And every question's a creeping doubt. I wanna stop the pain, but I don't wanna freak you out. Oh horror the house is shaking, Take it easy. 1, 2, 3, No worries no, no not from me."

Geralt was entranced. As he listened to him, dozens of memories flashed before his eyes. Visions filled with happiness, laughter, fear, singing, anger, screaming... Some of the best memories Geralt has, especially in recent years, are shared with Jaskier. He longed for those times. He wanted nothing more than to wake to blue eyes and a blinding smile. Jaskier moved to the chorus, still beautiful and slower than some of his other songs, but still peppy and upbeat. Most of the tavern's patrons seem to be affiliated with the tune enough to confidently sing along.

"One life to trade away, No use in keeping much I say. Your heart's not mine to weigh. And I'll have words with fate. This earth is burned but I'll sing rain."

Geralt liked this song. As he sat there listening he wondered how he composed it. How many different words bounced around inside his mind before settling on the right ones? How many scratches and scribbles marked in his notebook? He used to have the privilege of knowing, but had never truly appreciated what he had until it was gone. He would never make such a mistake again.

He sang a few more songs, running on requests and ale. But the hour grew later and more patrons retired to their rooms. Jaskier could only put it off for so long, but as long as one other table was there, he would play. The people that did fill the chairs were getting tired, not as eager to hear loud and upbeat music. When a young man requested he play his song Fair, he faltered.

"Uh, perhaps you'd prefer a different song," he tried, casting a nervous glance in Geralt's direction. The song was not only about him, but Yennefer as well, and he wasn't too keen on playing it with both of them here, let alone one.

"Please? It's my birthday and that's my favorite song," he said, batting his lashes prettily. Jaskier sighed, "Well then, how could I say no to that? C'mere," he gestured with a single finger. His eyes darted towards Geralt's table. He was staring at him intently. Good, he wanted him to see this. Jaskier pulled the man closer by his collar and planted a kiss upon his cheek. In that moment they locked eyes. Geralt's burned with regret and jealousy. Jaskier's were smug and a little scared, with the smallest hint of rage.

"Um Geralt? Your mug's leaking," Ciri pointed out. Geralt immediately let go of his grip, realizing too late he had been clenching his fist a little too tightly around his tankard. He wiped up the spill and called the waitress for another.

The boy was flustered and blushing, touching his cheek with delighted awe as he watched Jaskier play his song.

"She promises to fight them all when it all becomes too much. And he, he curses at the world for Leaving him behind and he's falling out of touch. And she is stronger than he's ever been he knows. And she brushes her hand through His hair, he's got so much fucking hair."

Jaskier is glaring at him, Geralt knows it. He dips his head down, unable to meet the gaze. However, he still feels the heat of his stare burn holes through his back. Ciri watched curiously.

"And he holds her close just to keep the world at bay. And when they're sure no-one can hear them. She'll turn to him to say, she'll turn to him and say-"

Yennefer listened with her head tilted, taking Jaskier in fully. He had been broken, barely hanging on and searching for a new purpose. He had been lost, found, and lost again. The strange fuzzy feeling of magic that had fizzled so faintly within him buzzed with a bit more certainty, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. After all, she hadn't known what lie beneath her skin until Tissaia forced her to unlock her potential.

"It's not fair, It's not fair how much I love you. It's not fair, Cos you make me laugh when I'm actually Really fucking cross at you for something. And he'll say, Oh how oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do. I'll spend my days so close to you cos if I'm Standing here maybe everyone will think I'm alright."

It's funny, she thought. He used to be scared of her, or maybe intimidated was a better word. Threatened. They had been competing for the same thing after all. Well for what it's worth, he can have it.

"I've seen enough he says I know exactly what I want. And it's this life that we've created, Inundated with the fated thought of you. And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all Like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born."

How dare they come to him like this? What are they now, some happy little family? Geralt gave her the child she always wanted, surely she'd never leave him now. He can only imagine the disgustingly amazing sex they probably have when Ciri wonders off. Did they find him so they could rub it in his face, or was it a complete accident? Was this the princess's idea? Did they seek him out for help? So many questions whirled through his head as he finished the song. He figured it was time to get some answers. He bid what was left of his audience goodnight before making his way to the table.

Yennefer wore a judging, knowing look as she watched him come closer. Geralt still looked to be in a state of shock, and, was that jealousy on his face? Jaskier liked to have thought he could read witchers, especially his witcher, extremely well. He had only kissed the boy to distract himself, to show Geralt he was just fine without him. That he could move on. But both Eskel and Lambert had seemed insistent that Geralt was regretful of his actions, so perhaps he did care. He smirked at the thought. He would make this as difficult as he could then. If he really did want him, he'd have to earn him back. Walking towards them with a renewed swagger he hadn't felt in months, he threw his arms open.

"Darling, I'm so sorry about earlier. Let me give you a proper greeting," he said as Ciri barreled into his arms. She tucked her head against his chest, grinning from ear to ear as she squeezed the breath from his lungs. Ah, so she'd been training.

She let him go, suddenly feeling the tension in the air. She faltered for a moment before speaking. "Um, Jaskier this is Yenn. And I uh, I think you know Geralt?" she said with such timidness it was more of a question than a statement. Jaskier put on his fakest smile, the one Geralt knew was fake.

"Why yes love, we do. Geralt, care to explain?" he asked and cocked his head. Geralt huffed out a breath of annoyance, with a possible hint of amusement. Jaskier's heart ached.

"Why don't you sit down first?" he asked and motioned them over with his hand. Before he knew what was happening, Ciri rushed past him and slammed herself in the seat next to Yennefer, thus forcing him to sit next to Geralt. He crossed his arms and popped out his hip.

"I will only sit next to the child," he said sternly. He didn't know what they were calling her now, but he knew better than to use her real name. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"Jaskier don't be ridiculous, sit down," he said. His eye looked almost pleading, his pupils swelled up like a begging cat. It was utterly adorable. He nearly wanted to do what he said. It seemed so tempting... But no. He wouldn't let him win.

He placed his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow, turning his nose up the slightest bit. He even went as far as to look him up and down with a smirk, "Make me."

Before he could think better of it, Geralt reached out and grabbed a hold of his wrist, yanking him down to the seat. Jaskier was caught off guard and stumbled, falling right into Geralt's lap. They both stared, flustered as their eyes met. Ciri snickered from behind her hand, and even Yennefer gave a small chuckle. They both gathered themselves and Jaskier scrambled out of his lap and in the seat next to him. Jaskier still looked a bit dazed. Geralt leaned closer to him. He didn't pull away.

"Made you," he said, and when Jaskier turned to look at him, he looked so damn smug and cocky. That bastard.

Jaskier brushed himself off and cleared his throat. "Okay then. Uh where was I? Oh um-you were just about to tell her how we know each other," he said, clearly flustered. He was looking anywhere but to his right.

"He's my bard. And my best friend." Jaskier's head jerked upon hearing those words.

"Sure as hell didn't show it much," he argued. Geralt sighed heavily.

"I know, and I should've never treated you that way. I'm sorry for the mountain, and the djinn, and only ever letting you ride Roach if you were hurt, and every time I was cruel or harsh with you. I'm more sorry than I've ever been." His words dripped with truth, forged after hours of regret and meditation. These words were carefully formatted and hand picked just for him. If Jaskier had been standing, his knees would've buckled. He let out a strangled squeak. Geralt continued.

"It was wrong then, and it's wrong now, so I, uh, understand if you're still mad." This time it was Jaskier's turn to hum in lieu of words. "But I want you to know you're my best friend and it won't happen again. I promise," he swore. There was so much emotion swirling in those golden irises. Jaskier believed everything he said.

He took a breath to steady himself before he spoke. "Okay. I accept your apology," he said. He didn't dare say more for fear of revealing his hand. Geralt didn't hint at stronger feelings for him than just friendship, so neither would he. He was content with this, had always been content with this. He could still have his witcher and the life on the road that he missed dearly. He just had to bury the burning love in his chest. But he was used to that. What he wasn't used to was Yennefer's unwavering presence. He wasn't looking forward to it. The way she loved to jab and mock him, flaunting her relationship with Geralt in his face. She was always devilishly smart and cunning, much like a raven. They didn't get along well, or perhaps they did. It was almost like a game between them, to see who can ruffle the most feathers.

But the smirk she wore wasn't smug or triumphant like she won something. It was something softer, more akin to fondness, a sort of teasing glimmer in her eyes. She knew something he didn't. That wasn't new. Geralt was avoiding his direct gaze. He was tired of the stretching silence and spoke.

"I'm assuming it's an accident that you happened upon me. Or was it intentional?" he ventured to ask. Geralt blinked.

"Yes and no? I mean, I was looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you here. We're on our way to the Keep," he explained. Jaskier leaned back in the booth, an amused, surprised expression on his face. His arms were folded over his chest and his lips quirked up in a smirk.

"Huh, he wasn't lying." Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Who?"

"Lambert. He said you were looking for me. Didn't believe him at the time, but I guess he proved me wrong," he said, chuckling. Geralt's jaw dropped as he stared at him. Ciri giggled and Yennefer watched on in amusement.

"Lam- fucking Lambert found you before I did? How long ago was this?" he asked. Now Jaskier was the one squinting at him.

"Only a few months, maybe three at the most." His smirk grew.

"Damnit, how many witchers have you met since I saw you?" Geralt wasn't the best at expressing his emotions, they all knew that, but he was even worse at hiding them when they fought to rise up. Geralt was jealous and Jaskier was drinking it up.

"Ah, so I suppose Eskel had his little chat with you." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned to look at Geralt. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, his nostrils flared out. He looked utterly delicious. Jaskier slipped on a charming smile. "Good. You know, I think he was my favorite. Charming, nice, and extremely handsome-"

"Jaskier, can I talk with you?" he cut him off, voice a deep growl. A pleasant chill ran up his spine. Oh he liked jealous Geralt.

"You already are darling," he said, voice sugary sweet. He's gotten underneath his skin already. That didn't take long. Geralt rolled his eyes.

"I meant somewhere private." He stared at him, hoping he wouldn't have to explain himself. Jaskier made an O with his mouth and slid from his seat, allowing Geralt to follow him. The larger man lead him outside and around the corner of the tavern, close to the stables.

"Oh is Roach here? I've missed her terribly, you wouldn't believe-" Before he knew what was going on, he was slammed against the wall with Geralt's body pressed against his. He promptly shut up, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"W-well I certainly can't say I haven't imagined this," he breathed out in an airy chuckle.

"Come with us," Geralt said.

Jaskier was shocked to say the least. "What?"

"Come with us. To Kaer Morhen. Ciri likes you, and right now we need to keep her safe. A-and you're a professor, and you're smart- she's gonna need a teacher." Jaskier deflated.

"Is that all?" he asked, trying to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"No." Jaskier jerked his head to look at him. Geralt moved his arm from where it was leaning against the wall to caress Jaskier's cheek. He shivered. "I want you to come with us. I missed you Jaskier. And I know I'm not- I'm not good with this. Emotions, and talking about what I want. But I'm trying and-" he looked at him, pupils wide and eyes pleading. "I want you."

"Fuck Geralt, you don't know how long I've wanted to hear that." Geralt surged forth, planting a surprisingly sweet kiss against Jaskier's lips. Jaskier pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He didn't want to be able to breathe, he was hungry for this and wouldn't waste another second. Their teeth clanged and clashed as their tongues danced together as one. When Jaskier was satisfyingly breathless, they pulled apart, still held in each other's embrace.

"I want you too." These words sparked another passionate make out. Then Jaskier pulled away, remembering, "Wait, but I thought- you and Yenn-"

"Just friends." Jaskier couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. He grew himself at Geralt, who easily caught him. He wrapped his legs around his waist, carding his fingers through his hair. He surged forth and caught his lips in another kiss. Geralt spoke around his lips.

"I don't have to worry about you and Eskel, do I?" Jaskier chuckled.

"I like it when you're possessive," he said, thrusting his hips forward. Geralt growled as he dove in for another heated kiss. And just like that, Jaskier's torn heart began to mend.

#jaskier #elf!jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #ciri #ciri of cintra #princess cirilla #the witcher #the witcher fic #witcher #witcher fic #song fic

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ghostmartyr · 4 years ago

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how a life can move from the darkness [5/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren had lunch plans for the weekend. An appointment. Specific time and everything. It took a lot of debate, stress, one meeting and several more confirmations from Historia that it was fine, but there was a plan, and Mikasa and Armin had agreed to it. Sunday lunch. Dinner reminded Eren too much of his mother watching every twitch of his hands at the table. Lunch’s only association was with forgetting it.

He couldn’t forget this one.

Of course! the happy letters from Armin’s latest text spelled out. Mikasa had been more formal, which was easier. He could tell she didn’t really believe the offer either. He should have felt like crap over that, but it was too nice being back on the same wavelength.

He was going to see his friends again. And try like hell not to screw it all up this time.

Petra had said, many times, that one of the best things they could do to aid their recovery was keeping their minds engaged in something besides sitting around wanting drugs. It was important to keep life going instead of hiding in its cracks.

The first time she’d said it to him, directly, had been when he’d gone off on a rant about Zeke’s damn baseball games. He couldn’t even remember why it came up, except that Petra thought maybe going to a few would be good for him, and he’d still been in the yelling stage of everything.

Now locked in the stage where he took people’s advice and did something with it, he was doing what he could to distract himself. Benjamin was accepting food that wasn’t wriggling now. His tank still needed regular checks and cleaning. Several bouldering groups were lined up for the week.

He’d mentioned it to Reiner, since Reiner knew more about keeping busy than anyone he knew.

What he got was a copy of one of Ymir’s books.

“This one’s not about the porn,” Reiner had assured him, like that was a mark of quality.

Ymir had rolled her eyes loudly when he said it, snagging Eren’s toast off his plate. “Great review, Reiner. You should be my new marketing team.”

Eren was fifty pages in, and except for the very disconcerting moments spent realizing that Ymir’s insights about human emotion could translate to something painfully earnest when they had nothing to do with an actual person, it was okay. Mostly.

The two characters who were the focus of the romance were starting to spend a lot of time together. On purpose, instead of being forced into it. The narrator kept denying that part, but the narrator was also starting to spend an uncomfortable number of paragraphs being distracted by the other character’s physical appearance.

It was a lot of hunger. Wanting. Not being allowed to have.

“Historia?” Eren called out, flipping a few pages ahead. He’d forced her to the couch with her homework by stealing her usual spot under Benjamin’s tank.

“Yes?”

“You’ve been in love, right?”

The vibrations of a very heavy textbook hitting the floor were followed by a hiss of pain. Eren’s head swiveled around to catch Historia sucking a paper cut. Her face was an uncomfortable red.

“I—why?” she asked.

He brandished the book into the air. “One of Reiner’s friends is a romance novelist, and he gave me this to read.” Historia knew one or two things about Reiner thanks to awkward questions about whether or not it was okay to mention his roommate was a drug addict to other addicts. “And I was wondering if it’s normal for it to all sound like…”

Historia picked up her textbook, continuing to look at him with the kind of paralyzed horror he would have reserved for one of their talks about dead people. Eren cut to the chase.

“Is it supposed to sound like addiction?” he asked. “Is that what it feels like?”

Because every single page was taking him further and further away from the kind of want he knew Ymir had been intending and tossing him back into the hazy memory of needing a fix so badly that he talked to the man behind Zeke’s batting cage and staggered into Armin’s granddad’s bathroom and—

He didn’t know how Reiner had gotten through the full book. Eren didn’t think he could.

Petra read romance novels. She enjoyed them. Was it just him?

“No.” Historia stopped rubbing at her finger. “It—they’re not the same. Whatever I…” Her eyebrows knitted together. Carefully, with a precision that was at odds with the panic that had somehow been unleashed, she placed her book on the other side of the couch. “I don’t know if it was love, but it was nothing like… that.” She looked at the offending manuscript like it was one of Petra’s cookies. “Why are you still reading it?”

Eren shrugged, flipping through more pages. “Trying to keep busy.”

Trying not to think of what Ymir would say if she found out he couldn’t stomach the tamest book from her shelf. He could picture it pretty easily. He had no interest in living it out.

Hell, though. Did this character ever bother doing anything about all the wanting? Fifty more pages, and the obvious conclusion was that this was the only one Ymir wrote that wasn’t pornographic because she’d picked out a main character who couldn’t figure out how to communicate her feelings to her love interest, so there was nothing to be explicit about. No wonder the project had stuck out to Reiner. Someone like Ymir writing someone with a sense of embarrassment or insecurity was jarring.

“’Crystal Wick’?”

Historia had left the couch, and was investigating the book’s cover. She looked halfway alive, which was about as good as Eren had come to hope for lately. The shadows under her eyes had stopped darkening each morning.

“It’s a penname,” he said. “Bertolt says she mostly writes porn.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Reiner gave you porn to read?”

“He specifically said this one wasn’t.”

She peered closer at the cover, reading the quotes on the back. “Reiner gave you a romance novel that ‘Speaks to the truest soul of melancholic love’?”

Eren turned it over. “It says that?”

“Yes,” Historia said. “Crystal’s a ‘genius.’”

It did say that. Eren looked at the innocuous bits of text with a growing nausea the came from the book’s content, but felt appropriate for the glowing praise Ymir of all people had somehow earned. “If you ever meet her, you can’t say things like that,” he said. “Her head’s big enough already.”

Reading her reviews had probably paved the way on that. Ymir seemed like she came by most of it naturally, though. The reviews probably just confirmed what she already thought about herself.

“You don’t think she lives up to her accolades?” Historia asked. “She isn’t the—Eren your thumb’s blocking that one.”

Eren rolled his eyes and opened the book back up, pretending to read more about addictive, repressed lust with more of a smile than he’d managed all day. “Do you want to trade books?”

Historia stepped over his feet and grabbed the hardback Frieda had left on Benjamin’s table, pausing to give their fish a moment to say hello to her. She dangled his namesake’s volume over Eren’s head. He took it before he ended up with another black eye, handing over Ymir’s paperback.

“Frieda screens everything she reads around me,” she said. “She’s—protective.” Concernedly so, if it were over anyone besides Historia, but Historia didn’t need Eren voicing that. “You’ll probably have better luck with one of hers. It’s longer, too.”

Along with heavier. Eren rolled onto his stomach. “Thanks.”

Historia shrugged, returning to her couch vigil. Eren cracked open his Frieda-approved reading. Sci-fi, based on the cover. Armin had probably read it. He liked going through the bestseller’s lists. He liked sci-fi. They’d have something to talk about at lunch.

“It’s going to be fine, Eren,” Historia said, a minute into the author’s foreword.

“Yeah,” he said.

----

Not sleeping was marginally better than nightmares. He was supposed to look at the positives of his life, not focus on the negatives. Tossing back and forth between walls before settling for a few minutes at a time on the ceiling meant he wasn’t waking up in a cold sweat.

Frieda would be around soon, if she was having a sleepless night. He could make himself useful and start the hot chocolate early.

Mikasa and Armin would be showing up in a few hours. Their first time in an apartment he hadn’t shared with either of them.

Rivaille was coming with Mikasa. A neighbor hadn’t been watching their dog, Rivaille had no tolerance for non-human mammals breathing in his presence, and Mikasa didn’t trust him not to tear off his bandage if she left him alone. Armin and Mikasa had coordinated letting Eren know. They didn’t say that outright, but Armin had told Eren Rivaille was coming instead of Mikasa asking. They hadn’t wanted to give him the option of taking back his invitation.

He could see that conversation happening. It played out in his head until his worry about how things would go was smothered by how much he missed being there for those conversations.

He wouldn’t have taken back the invitation. He wondered how weird starting out with that point would be.

Eren swapped over to his side again. The streetlights several stories down barely winked at him through the blinds. He pulled the edge of his pillow up to block it out. He lowered it.

He snatched the blanket by his feet and swung off the bed. He’d make hot chocolate and keep a sleeping Benjamin company. If Frieda showed up, he’d keep her company too. That was better than lying awake all night wondering how he was going to screw everything up again.

He stepped out into the hallway, blanket over his shoulder, and there was no sign of anything but him being wrong.

He was thinking about hot chocolate and kitchen pans.

Down the hall, a thump sounded from Historia’s room.

Eren used to beat up his mother’s walls. And people. He’d heard worse.

It was just a noise. It was just a dark apartment.

It was just the sound of something hitting the floor in his suicidal friend’s room in the middle of the night where no one would be around to—

Eren’s blanket dropped to the floor, and Historia’s door appeared in front of him with a snap of motion he knew best from Armin’s toy magnets he’d got for his seventh birthday. The juxtaposition didn’t do anything to settle his nerves.

“Historia?” he asked the door. His voice came out loud and distant. One of his fists found the wood and knocked. “Is everything okay?”

Several more heartbeats of silence confirmed that to be the stupid question it was. Eren cleared his throat and tried to think of something besides how Frieda, who didn’t even have the full story, couldn’t sleep some nights until she saw her little sister breathing.

That was supposed to be weird. Kind of creepy.

“Historia, I’m opening the door,” he said.

He pushed it open more roughly than intended, and there wasn’t really a noise that came with it, but the door’s swing had some definite resistance that put his head in all the wrong places, and the random thought hit that he’d never been in her room before, and he was three steps in before his eyes even tried to pick anything out of the shadows, and for an insane moment he was so sure that this was the start of another nightmare, just in time to break Armin and Mikasa’s hearts all over again, and Historia was on the floor next to her bed.

Eren’s hand snapped out and hit the light switch.

The searing brightness hurt, but relief made up for it when it illuminated Historia’s tearstained face.

Eren almost fell to the floor. “You’re okay,” he said.

Historia, in a state of much less alarm over the last thirty seconds, stared at him with tears still actively falling, listless shock and a force that threw tennis balls taking in Eren’s presence under the spotlight that lit up her room.

“I don’t think so.”

Eren shook his head. “I meant you aren’t dead,” was the only thing he could think to say. He slid down into a more comfortable position on the hard floor. “What was that noise?”

Historia continued staring at him. She was in her pajamas, holding her flannel top tightly around her nightshirt. Like she’d tried to hide herself in it, and realized somewhere in the middle that there wasn’t enough room, so just left her hands frozen stiff.

One moved. Rigidly. She pointed at the floor behind him.

Somewhat wedged between the door and the floor was a book.

Ymir’s.

So he wasn’t the only one.

The comprehension wasn’t the gentlest place to land, but it was tinged with enough relief to pass.

“Too real?”

Historia nodded.

Eren smiled. Shooting for comforting. “Yeah, it didn’t work for me either.” There was a review to take back to Ymir. ‘Two out of three drug addicts agree your main character reads like a junkie.’ Maybe Reiner just read enough of her stuff to be inoculated.

But Historia was shaking her head. Not in a definitive motion, just back and forth. She whispered something Eren didn’t catch.

“Sorry?”

Historia swallowed. Visibly. “She left.”

Eren’s eyes drifted back to the book. It was the only thing on the floor. The only spot of color in the entire room, really. The furniture was all bare, left staged and sterile. One book, hurled at the door, was the only indication that someone lived in the space. The romance novel Historia should have had more of an interest in anyway, that the words on the back cover and that he’d skimmed near the end dubbed a tragedy.

“She doesn’t say anything,” Historia said. “She spends—she spends half the book wanting this girl, loving her so much it sounds like—” one of her sleeves pulled up, and the scars popped. “She spends all that time, but then she never says it. She leaves and never says it.” A new fount of tears started, and Historia whipped them away with the back of her hand.

Her voice broke. “If she doesn’t say it, how’s she supposed to know?”

Eren moved to the bed, sitting next to Historia on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, he carefully put his arm around her shoulders. She curled inward, but not away.

“If she doesn’t know, she won’t know to…” The sleeve pulled further up, drawn by Historia’s hand raking through her hair. “She left,” she repeated. “She loves her, and she leaves anyway, over some stupid, idiotic, self-righteous—”

More tears. Eren had never been great with them. When Armin cried, it was usually after someone had hit him. Eren’s job was to go hit them back so Armin wouldn’t have to anymore. Mikasa had been better at that. She’d also been better at making Armin feel better. She was better at just about everything.

Eren wished Historia had one of the better ones in her corner. But she was stuck with him.

“I left too,” he said, the truth of many, many hours of guilt and hatred clawing its way into words that sounded halfway human, and like maybe forgiveness was okay to want. “People don’t always—”

“But you’re getting them back!”

The shout was hoarse and broken, and much louder than the rest of the conversation.

Historia continued on, savagely tearing through the words. “You never reached out, and never said anything, and you needed them. More than anything.” Her voice caught. “I… She was so… I always thought she didn’t need anyone. Even…”

Eren was five and Armin was the coolest kid on the playground. He mouthed off to everyone he disagreed with, even after he took a beating, because it was right.

Eren was seventeen and hearing for the first time how little Armin had thought of himself back then.

Eren was ten and Mikasa was winning all the fights he started.

Eren was nine and Mikasa would not let go of his hand.

“She left,” Historia said, “and all this time… but I’m the one who…” She stopped, and Eren could see the cords in her wrist tighten before she started again.

When she did, the words were slow and agonized. “I’m not like Armin and Mikasa,” she said. “I didn’t wait. I didn’t keep trying. I took it for granted that she didn’t want me and gave up. She left. I never chased her. I want her but I never—”

Eren was probably holding her shoulder too tightly. He knew his jaw was too tight. He could hear Armin tutting at him, flicking a spilled cheerio from the kitchen counter at his forehead. “You were stuck in juvie,” Eren said. “You’d have to be an idiot to expect someone to chase you from there.”

“She is!” Historia shouted at the floor.

Eren kept the half-hug stable through the laugh that choked out a sob. He thought he heard the click of their front door unlocking. Hot chocolate felt very far away. Historia was shivering. She could use some.

He hoped her girlfriend felt half as bad about everything as he had when he’d flamed out and abandoned everyone who loved him. Whatever had happened, there was no way this didn’t earn her at least that.

“I don’t know what went on between you two,” he said, not adding that he didn’t think Historia did, either, “but I never wanted Armin and Mikasa to stick this through. I’m—” hell “glad they did, but I was a jerk. They deserved better. I wouldn’t have blamed them if they never talked to me again.”

“But you would have wanted them to.”

And hated himself all the way through his bedroom wall for it. “Yeah.”

“Because you love them.”

“…Yeah.”

Those were definitely footsteps. Eren didn’t want to listen for the moment they spotted the extra light in the hallway, or his blanket on the floor. Historia’s eyes were peeking out from behind her hair again. They were trained on Ymir’s book.

“I don’t even know if she loved me back,” she said.

Eren couldn’t give an answer to that. All he really knew about Historia’s girlfriend was that all the flashbacks in the world wouldn’t be reason enough to shrug off a chance to punch her in the face, and if that needed to happen, Historia had first claim.

The footsteps stopped. Eren winced when they started again, slapping the floor, and he caught the second when Historia’s confusion at the noise turned into horror.

Frieda appeared as a breathless shadow in the doorway, and Eren didn’t even have a chance to spot the panic her body was screaming on her face before she swooped in. A blur of older sister dove on both of them, and shock and a welcoming thud of a heartbeat stole the breath from Eren’s lungs. Frieda’s fingers caught his head and pulled him over her shoulder while Historia was simply dragged bodily into her side with a surprised croak.

“You’re both okay?” Frieda asked, squeezing more air out of them. She sounded faint. Fear bled through her grip, and Historia had gone suspiciously still.

Eren had wanted her around for these late-night encounters, once. Right now it felt cruel to both of them.

“I’m good,” Eren said.

Frieda nodded, and Eren felt her pull away just enough to look down properly at her sister, who was still clutched to her like a limpet.

“Historia?”

Both of her sleeves had rolled up. Her fingernails were digging matching imprints into her scars, and every person in the hug could feel the flinch Frieda tried to hide. Historia buried herself closer. Shaking like it was her first night off the hard stuff.

“I—” she started through a new sob. “I’m sorry.”

Eren disentangled himself before Frieda’s hand decapitated him on its way to hold her sister more tightly, soft words and reassurances brushing by his ears as Frieda told Historia not to apologize, she had nothing to apologize for, and Historia dissolved further into tears.

“I’m going to go get started on the hot chocolate,” he said.

Frieda’s gaze shot over him, and Eren almost stopped in the middle of standing at the unadulterated terror dampening her eyes, but she only mouthed her thanks, pulling Historia fully into her arms in the midst of another litany of sorrys, one after another.

The one thing Historia had never wanted was for Frieda to know how bad things were. Eren doubted any of them wanted to think about how long she had guessed at it.

“Does it ever help? Talking?”

Eren patted Historia firmly on the head on his way out.

He also grabbed the book off the floor.

----

Eren was cleaning the apartment, which was stupid. They had maid service. They did a superhuman job of cleaning. Short of making a deal with the devil, Eren wasn’t going to be able to match their work. He was leaving streaks on the counter. It didn’t matter how many times he dragged the washcloth over the spots. The streaks just moved.

Armin had shared an apartment with him. He knew how Eren lived.

Right, and his last memory of what that was like was forever linked to digging through Eren’s bedroom and finding all of his drugs.

The streak moved from the edge of the counter to the center. Eren was chasing it around the way Benjamin swam after their hands when they were over his tank. With about as much success.

Lunch was takeout. Takeout plus a few mangled apples.

Historia had been nice enough not to say anything. Her face had handled that.

A night of no sleep and hysterics had peeled off some of the darkness in her eyes. She looked almost human again. By their standards, but their standards had improved lately. She’d stopped Eren’s jittery hands from costing him a finger and spun her phone over the marble at him, several restaurant tabs already opened.

Eren had texted Armin and Mikasa. Everyone had ordered. It was all fine. They had enough chairs. Frieda had double-checked before she left. She’d spent the night.

“You don’t want to stay?” Eren and Historia had asked in perfect, frantic unison when she announced her departure over breakfast. A breakfast she’d cooked for them, smiling through her yawns the whole time.

For a moment he’d thought Frieda might cave, with both of them asking. Instead, she’d given them both a perfunctory pat on the head. “You two are all grown up. You don’t need me to supervise your play dates.”

Frieda was the only one with that confidence. Historia had come back from feeding Benjamin dripping dread, and Eren was left wondering if sleep deprivation and drug addiction looked anything alike and how much it would worry Mikasa and Armin that he could barely walk in a straight line.

“Sorry,” Historia said, joining him with a washcloth of her own. She didn’t leave streaks.

“Stop saying that,” Eren said. He wiped down a dried spot of water he’d left earlier. “I was only up because I couldn’t sleep.”

“Still.”

Eren yawned into his hand. “If you’re sorry about that, I’m sorry for giving you the book.”

Historia’s mouth thinned.

They worked in silence for several minutes, contributing very little to the overall cleanliness of the apartment. Eren could hear a clock ticking. None of the ones either of them owned ticked.

“What are they like?” Historia asked in a blurt.

“Huh?”

“Armin and Mikasa.”

Eren stopped scrubbing. “They’re… Armin and Mikasa.”

“Your friends,” Historia said. She made the term sound alien.

Eren glanced at her. She was frowning at her rag. Tiny, blond, and maybe looking for the words instead of being too stubborn to share them, but the blast of nostalgia wasn’t pulling its punches. Eren slowly renewed his swipes at the counter.

His friends. The two people who made him get it a little when clients chattered on about their other halves. The foundation of everything he was that he’d bombed halfway to hell when everything he was turned out to be pain.

Armin and Mikasa.

“Mikasa’s good at everything,” Eren started. He remembered jogging to one of Zeke’s baseball practices, skipping over the cracks in the sidewalk and trying to keep up, whining those same words because his big brother would never tell anyone. “She’s strong. I—not just in things like sports, or fighting. I could never win against her when we sparred, and she has better times than I do on all the mountains nearby, but that’s not it.” His reflection blinked emptily from the shining counter. “She’s reliable. The responsible one. Always there, even when you don’t want her to be, because she knows more about when you need her than you do.

“It’s annoying,” he didn’t say. It used to be. It would have his head full of steam and his feet stomping cross the sidewalk. It had leaked into the things he’d said when withdrawal hit and he hated everyone.

“Armin’s… an optimist. He doesn’t think he is, because he’s always thinking about the most depressing stuff, but it’s always about… ways to make them better. To fix them. He doesn’t lose it when it’s hard or looks too difficult. He just does it. Like it’s nothing. He’s tough. The toughest person I know. And the smartest. He—I don’t know how many things he’s tutoring by now, but he picked up as many jobs as he could to pay for every college course he could stay awake for.” And then some. Eren had seven different alarms set for each day of the week to go and collect Armin for his classes. There were days he ended up carrying Armin to class. That was what finally got him to change up his schedule. “He’d be an expert in all of them after a semester. Sometimes less. He got a free ride to several places, but—he stayed behind. He cared more about staying with us.

“He lied about that,” Eren added. “He’s not usually good at it, but he was then. We wouldn’t have let him lose out on something like that. We both tried to get him to go when it all came out, but he wouldn’t. He—we kept trying, but he just wouldn’t. He staged—” The flash of the kitchen lights flashed against the counter, hiding the reflection he knew was smiling. “He staged an intervention for us. A whole PowerPoint on why we had to stop, because the only one who knew what was best for his education was him.”

Historia walked over to the sink, squeezing her rag dry. “Did it work?”

“Of course it worked,” Eren said, grabbing a fresh towel. “You can’t argue with the smartest person you know.” That was why people always tried beating him up; that was the only thing they could come up with.

For a while, that was the only thing Eren could come up with for dealing with himself. Mikasa would have thrown him over her shoulder and told him to stop hitting things. Armin would have devised his own twelve-step program, devoted to all facts about Eren he’d picked up throughout their years of friendship, and handed him a copy.

Historia took the paper towel roll off the counter, watching him with the subterfuge of someone who’d maybe read a summary of the concept in a book.

Eren balled up his washcloth and landed it in the sink, giving up the pretense for a moment. “What do you think I should say?”

Historia’s gaze took a small detour to Benjamin’s tank. “You’re the one who knows them.”

“You’re the one here who knows what it’s like to be screwed over.”

The storm cloud darkening her countenance was very specifically aimed at him, but it cleared fast. Historia sent her rag into the sink after his, frowning. She waited on the words for a few moments. “They still love you,” she said, “so… love them back?”

It sounded like a nicer version of what Ymir said, and he was about to say so when it struck him that comparisons to Crystal Wick were the last thing that would be helpful today. Or any other time.

“Would that be enough for you?” he asked.

Laughter barked out of Historia, surprising both of them. She shook her head and leaned against the island. “Eren, seeing her again would be enough for me.” She reached out and tapped his shoulder in an odd, noncommittal pat. “Just be you.”

Eren watched Benjamin’s lazy circles. “I’m not sure he’s around.”

“Oh,” Historia said.

“Oh,” Eren echoed.

Historia turned around to lean bodily over the sparkly clean marble, nudging Eren’s elbows with hers. Benjamin reacted to the extra viewership with a flourish as he rounded the rock he had decided was this week’s favorite.

“…You could try smiling more?”

Eren looked over at Historia’s unsmiling face. “You think?”

“Maybe?”

It was the sleep deprivation, maybe, that made him smile.

They both still sucked at this.

----

When Eren was little, there were few things in his life he enjoyed as much as sci-fi B movies. Zeke would let him and Armin watch the worst, implausible action adventures, all about mutated sharks that were part dinosaur and sludge beasts that lived in the Arctic. Horror movies were bundled in, but Armin wasn’t allowed to watch those because he’d keep his parents up with existential life questions about good and evil that they hadn’t wanted to discuss with their seven-year-old.

Eren didn’t have that problem with his parents. He would sit in Zeke’s lap while they went out wherever, chattering loudly about all the things the monster’s victims were doing wrong, and how he’d do it better. He’d be a good monster slayer, he told Zeke. He wouldn’t die first.

Zeke had always said if the scientists hadn’t been so careless, and the other humans hadn’t bothered the monster so much, none of them would have had to die.

He was the worst person to watch movies with. He’d also been the only babysitter Eren had who would let him watch those ones.

Some of Eren’s chief complaints about the screaming people in the movies had been how they handled doorways. They’d run into places and open doors without a second thought about where it would land them.

There was a knock on the door.

Eren dropped the plate he was fussing with and almost tripped over Historia bolting for the doorknob. He threw it open before any sort of sense had a chance of reestablishing itself, and met the alarmed eyes of the delivery girl with heavy breathing and

Historia pulled him back by his shirt. He stumbled back into the apartment, socks sliding on the wood.

“Sorry,” Historia said, plastered, rigid fake smile in place. “We’re expecting—”

Mikasa.

Armin.

Sound fell away to only Eren’s heartbeat. Historia pulling out her wallet and overpaying the delivery girl was barely a blip.

They were standing in the hallway. Behind the bright uniform. Standing there. Outside the door, like they’d never been anywhere else. Like he’d never left. Like Armin had forgotten his key when he brought Mikasa over for game night.

Ten steps away. Nine. Five.

“Ah,” Historia said, loud and echoey, “you must be Mikasa and Armin?”

A hiss came from the space below Mikasa’s elbow.

“And Rivaille,” Historia said. “Hello.”

No one said hello back. The cat’s perturbed mreow could have counted in another life full of hallucinogens. This one had Mikasa and Armin, standing in a doorway as the heavy apartment door heaved itself shut in their faces. Historia hurriedly blocked it with her foot, attention darting between the human statues she was surrounded by.

Eren wasn’t even sure which one he was staring at. Armin, caution and hope bursting like a newborn star all over his face. Mikasa. Mikasa. Somehow still standing and still there despite every horrible thing he’d thought and shouted and thrown.

“Mreow,” Rivaille said again.

Historia, having abandoned the bags carrying their lunch to the floor, pushed the door open more properly. “I could—take him, if you would like?”

Mikasa’s eyes snapped to Historia with such mechanic efficiency that Eren’s blink missed it. Her iron stare added one more statue to the scene as Rivaille continued to prowl about his enclosure. For an eternity, she and Armin were both staring at Historia. Slowly, that stare turned, very directly, back to Eren. Eren felt halfway to blitzed. Being all the way there might have been the only thing that could help to decipher the new looks they were giving them.

“Thank you,” Mikasa said at last. Talking like a Mikasa who hadn’t lived through the last year. She handed Rivaille’s carrier off to Historia. “He’s very well behaved. It should be safe to let him out. As long as you watch him around—Benjamin?”

Eren nodded. His head felt like it was on a string.

She nodded back, and addressed Historia. “I don’t know how he is around fish. He also shouldn’t be jumping, but I can… I will take care of supervising him.”

Historia held the carrier gingerly, and miraculously, Rivaille wasn’t screaming at the loss of his stable pedestal that was Mikasa’s arms of steel. “He hurt his paw?”

Armin interrupted before the storm cloud on Mikasa’s face could start thundering. “The neighbor’s dog did,” he said.

“Right.”

“Rivaille prefers his space.”

“Okay.”

Mikasa and Armin still hadn’t stepped inside. Their food was going to get cold if they left it on the floor. Rivaille was only a moment’s distraction as long as he was in his carrier. Eren felt like he was in the center ring of that circus Armin’s parents had taken them to when they were small enough to need to climb up on their shoulders to see anything.

He didn’t have a script or any pies to throw in his face. Just him and whatever that meant.

He was reminded, and he didn’t want to be, of another family meal. Back when his father had been alive, and there was a family. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren, all sitting around the table with his parents, candles lit, fancy tablecloth set out.

Someone had knocked on the door.

Zeke. Uninvited, unaware that anything was going on, and wondering if Eren would like to go see a movie.

Eren found himself echoing their father.

“Do you—want to come in, maybe?”

He hoped he sounded more like he wanted his guests to say yes.

Mikasa and Armin both relaxed their shoulders so much, for a moment, it looked like they were melting. Armin’s instant smile was so heartfelt and earnest that Eren wanted to scream, and he didn’t know how he was going to exist with Mikasa one step closer when all he could think was how many apologies he owed and how many they’d never let him finish because his friends were too damn kind and too damn perfect and he had missed them so much.

They hadn’t been here five minutes and he already felt like crying. He was fucking this up right out of the gate.

But everyone else knew that, too, so they were going to keep talking around him. Door collapsing shut, closing off the one path of retreat, Mikasa briefly stopped dissecting him with her eyes and turned her focus squarely on Historia. “You are Eren’s new roommate.”

Not really new, anymore. Just not Armin. Eren reached to the floor and picked up the food bags. At the same moment Armin stepped forward to reach for one. Their hands bumped and snapped apart.

“Yes,” Historia said. “Hi. I’m Historia Reiss.”

There was a pregnant pause of evaluation and judgment before Historia seemed to think to stick out her hand. It shot out from its place on Rivaille’s carrier like one of Zeke’s pitches.

Mikasa took it. “How is it you two know each other?”

Fussing with the food was suddenly a really convenient way to not be looking at any of them, but Armin had never been great about hiding his sharp draws of breath when he thought one of them was throwing a first punch. “Mikasa, that might not be the—”

“NA,” Historia blurted. “I’m a heroin addict.”

Eren didn’t know why he looked at Armin, but Armin was already looking back, dismayed panic as clear in his face as all his emotions always were. No one really wanted the door to drug-addled pasts thrown open. Not today, not now, not ever until they were all sure they were sticking around and not running off again to live with strangers.

“…You have a lovely apartment,” Mikasa said.

Historia was nodding in his peripheral. “Inheritance. From murdering my father. Self-defense,” she clarified in a hurry. “Maybe. I’m not—I am a murderer, but it was only that one time. I’m not going to do it again.”

Frieda should not have left the apartment.

Eren froze in the middle of setting the boxes out on plates. Armin, gathering the bags and folding them into a neat pile, mimicked him, and they both silently waited for the next thundering shoe to drop.

“I moved in because we had that in common,” would have been an honest response, and saved them all some of the silence, and it was at the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to start that. He didn’t want the shock or the tears, or the long argument that would all be kicked off with, “You didn’t kill Dr. Yeager.”

Maybe. Like Historia had maybe killed her dad in self-defense. Eren had still felt his heart stop. Eren’s hands had helped that along, and no one ever wanted to hear it.

Mikasa saved the moment. Calmly, like a modern day superhero whose qualities were eternally called out to balance Eren’s failures. “I have a cousin who went through something similar,” she said. Smiling. With her eyes, but that was where her best smiles were. “He’s less reluctant about repeat offenses.”

Armin coughed a chuckle, catching Eren’s eye. Another knot in his chest loosened.

“We should eat before it gets cold,” he said.

“We should,” Armin agreed, handing Eren one of the napkins set out.

Eren took it quickly and gratefully, swiping away his tears before anyone else could see.

----

“He’s gorgeous, Eren,” Armin said softly, peering so closely at the aquarium that with his old haircut, he would have already been drenched. Benjamin wasn’t swimming as close as he did with Historia, and not used to people saying hello from up above unless they had food, but he wasn’t hiding away in one of his caves, either. “Have you thought about adding to the tank at all?”

“Some. There are a few eels that might be a good fit, but he should have some more time to settle and grow before we give that a try. The tank could also use a sturdier hood first.”

“I’ve read they can be escape artists.”

“Yeah. I told Historia nothing that can get out and crawl around, but—” he wasn’t going to relapse, and Armin didn’t need to hear about how recently he’d doubted that—“it’s a big tank. Benjamin could use some company.”

“A predator tank suits you,” Armin said. He floated his fingers above the water, clearly tempted to give petting Benjamin a shot.

Eren shrugged, leaning his hip on Benjamin’s table. “If you say so. I can’t handle the live feeding. Too squeamish. I’ve got tank duty on the chore wheel while Historia does the heavy lifting.”

Armin was quiet. A thinking sort of quiet where he was about to say something that made more boring people want to hit him. He glanced at the kitchen counter. Mikasa was sitting on a stool. Historia, with Rivaille’s prompting, had been encouraged to sit on top of the counter.

The cat hadn’t left her lap.

He’d hissed when Eren had tried to say hello.

With Historia, he nuzzled her cheek and purred like a chainsaw. Only less literally than what Eren had seen from those claws. Even Mikasa was taken aback by how gently Rivaille was behaving.

They were getting along. They’d all survived lunch past Eren asking who had won Levi’s MMA tournament this year (Annie, and Armin had immediately switched the topic to movies while Mikasa stabbed the floor with her eyes), Eren had a few lines on his hands from where he’d grabbed his knife and fork too hard, but none of him or the silverware was broken.

“Moving out helped after all, didn’t it?”

Eren’s hands gripped the edge of the table. “Armin…”

“I’m happy,” Armin interrupted. “I’m really glad, Eren.”

“Don’t.”

The low hum of conversation from the kitchen stopped. Rivaille’s warning meow was quickly stifled by Mikasa getting up from her stool. Historia grabbed her arm before she could take a full step. It was a surprise to everyone that Mikasa let that be enough, but Eren couldn’t think about that right now.

He wanted Armin to be hurt. Betrayed. Upset.

Not relieved that the person who caused all of that was better. Not putting some piece of disloyal garbage over—

“Don’t act like it’s all okay now,” Eren growled. Speaking to the floor because the floor did the right thing when he fell on it and gave him a damn bruise. “I—” he wasn’t supposed to do this Petra had told him to take it easy it didn’t need to come out all at once to be progress—“You can’t just be happy I’m not breaking everything I touch anymore and act like that’s the end of it.”

Armin was the weak one, in kindergarten. That’s what everyone thought. Lied to about themselves so they didn’t have to think about why this one kid made them all want to beat him silly instead of listening to him.

He was the bravest person Eren had ever met. “Well, why not?”

“Why—what?”

Armin pulled away from Benjamin’s tank. He patted his hands with the towel Historia had started leaving out. “If you think you messed up that badly,” he said with a forced, careful steadiness, “why do you think it’s up to you to say how we feel about it? Isn’t it more important for us to get a say?”

Eren had fallen back into looking at him. Armin looked back earnestly, months upon months of frown lines meeting his words and promising that this wasn’t someone who said things he didn’t mean. Someone who didn’t think for hours on end before he worked up the nerve to blow everyone’s mind with his confidence.

He’d had months of Eren not being ready to be his audience.

“Eren I don’t think—” Armin shook his head, his shorter hair not flurrying the way it used to when he did that. “I don’t think anyone here would say things went well. It was awful.” Understatement. “As happy I am that you’re doing better, I think I’m even happier none of us are back in that place.” Nothing gave Armin the right to say things Eren agreed with even when he was so angry he could barely see straight. “But if you’re going to be angry over us wanting you back—you should understand, shouldn’t you? How painful it is that you don’t blame us for missing everything you went through?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Eren said. “Those are still my mistakes, Armin. You can’t take on the blame for that.”

Armin kept shaking his head. “You’re my—you’re our best friend, Eren. That should mean you never have to go through anything alone, but you did,” he said softly. “We were right there. We saw you every day. And we missed… everything.”

He smiled his crooked, unhinged smile that their middle school D&D club had voted to ban. “You’re so busy being angry at us for being happy we didn’t ruin you that you’re letting us get away with being really selfish. Of course we want things to be fixed. We’re the ones who let them break.”

Eren could feel more tears waiting and burning under the pressure of his own heartbeat building up behind his skull. He’d heard that kind of blame in his head, once. Right before he screamed it at Mikasa. Hateful and full of everything he never wanted to be while he threw up his organs.

They were crap. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“We wanted to do more right,” Armin said. “Didn’t you?”

“You can’t argue with the smartest person you know.”

Hell. Oh hell.

Historia had said just seeing that girl of hers would be enough. Even after she broke her heart. She still thought about her all the time. They couldn’t have known each other that long if they met in juvie. Not anywhere near as long as Eren had known Armin and Mikasa. They had years of friendship backing up one really, really inexcusably awful year.

They wanted him back.

He’d known that. That was why he was so pissed. They deserved so much better.

Armin was standing right in front of him, earnest, brilliant eyes telling him that all over again. Staring at his idiot friend who’d ruined their lives and hoping, more than anything, the idiot would take him back.

He had known that’s how they felt, right?

This whole time?

Eren didn’t want to start sobbing in front of Mikasa. Not again. He thought that every single time it happened. It was maybe the one thing about him that none of this had changed.

Armin, his first friend, the guy who’d taught him all about why dinosaurs were the best and how to stick to a study plan, took pity on him, and moved in to grab him before the crying could really start, catching his shoulders and head in his hands and not feeling, or not caring, that this was closer than they’d dared to be for over a year.

And Eren hated crying, hated that he spent so much of his life now doing it, but Armin’s tears rolling down his neck felt too much like home to hate anything properly. He grabbed Armin right back and held him as tightly as he’d never let himself after the funeral.

He had missed him too. So much.

----

Lunch had technically been over for hours by the time Mikasa and Armin left.

None of them wanted it to be. That was why Armin had finally said they should get going.

“It won’t change just because we head out the door,” he said. “We’re doing better than that, now.”

None of them wanted to talk about how that was still a hope, not a fact, either. Eren felt more clingy than he ever had in his life. For maybe the first time, he fully understood why Mikasa had to be talked down from looking after him all the time. Some hurts didn’t ever let you think things could go back to being okay.

Armin was still the smart one.

Historia was helping to coax Rivaille back in his cage. Eren didn’t make the repeated mistake of trying to be friendly with the cat. His hand still hurt from earlier. Armin was standing out in the hall. Ready to go.

Mikasa was lingering in the threshold. Halfway between helping Historia with her cat and not leaving Eren.

Eren had only had half the talk that needed to happen so far today. Drilling Armin on his studies and Mikasa on her judo students and Historia on anything that wasn’t her family or drug habit had soaked up the time. Maybe too much. Armin and Mikasa’s questions about school had sounded very sincere and gentle, but Eren wouldn’t be surprised if Armin already had another PowerPoint project playing out in his head about what they now knew about Eren’s new friend.

Armin caught his eye as Historia finally, without a mark on her, convinced the devil cat that he wanted to be back in a box.

Eren couldn’t help one last scowl at the golden eyes leering at him. Rivaille returned the expression with interest. “He’s never done that for me.”

“You’re too rough with him,” Mikasa said.

“You used to pick me up like that all the time.”

“You are not a cat, Eren.”

Armin laughed and even the appearance of a grudge had to fall away. Mikasa smiled softly at him. Eren doubted his expression looked much different. “We should take him back downstairs while he’s still settled. Historia, would you like to carry him?”

Eren did his best to roll his eyes at Armin. The attempt wasn’t great. Ymir or Annie would have laughed themselves silly at him. …Ymir would have. Annie probably would have kicked him and told him to work on it.

Historia followed the leading question and flicked her eyes between Eren and Mikasa, catching on way too fast. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll… follow you down, then.”

To her credit, she raised her eyebrows questioningly at Eren before she actually followed Armin. Eren shrugged a shoulder, which she took to be good enough reason to abandon him to be an adult on his own. Petra would probably hug both of them if she ever got the full story out about today.

He and Mikasa watched their friends trot off.

The renewed silence wasn’t that awkward, but Eren was starting to feel it. Armin was the talker of the three of them. He took all of the twists and turns of Eren’s temper and made sense of it.

Mikasa didn’t talk as much.

They’d had a long time of not talking. Even the old kind didn’t feel right. He wanted to say something. Anything. As long as it included an apology.

“She’s very pretty.”

Eren’s readied words stopped short. “Huh?”

Mikasa had her scarf pulled up over her mouth. It didn’t quite cover the red in her cheeks. She wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was still on the now empty hallway.

Comprehension, hitting Eren over the head like a loud, embarrassed gong, rang out in his mind. The expected start would have been bad enough.This was different. This was Mikasa confiding in him, and he’d had too many talks about his and other people’s feelings to miss a cue like that. It wasn’t a year ago where he could be confused and move on with his life while Armin came back home five hours later and told him that his people skills needed work.

They did still need work. But Mikasa was his friend, and deserved the effort.

“I could get you her number,” he said hesitantly, “but she’s pretty hung up on this girl she knows.”

Mikasa’s face went so red that he knew for a fact that they both wanted anything else to be happening.

“I—see.”

He had to try. For Mikasa, he could do that much. “You two got along really well.” Or Historia got on well with her cat, which was like the same thing. No wonder Mikasa was asking. “I don’t know—she’s not… she’s really not available, but you could probably be good friends. Or hang out at Zeke’s games; he conned her into subbing for a few, and she could use someone besides me to practice with.”

He couldn’t tell if he was helping. He and Mikasa didn’t do this, and the unfamiliarity alone would probably be enough to make her face that color, because she knew as much as he did that this was not how they were them.

“Zeke stopped asking for my help,” Mikasa said, picking the closest side of normal to engage with.

Normal wasn’t safe. Pins and needles ran all up Eren’s spine before he went for it and took the damn plunge. “He was trying to be considerate, I guess. His version,” Eren added, more than aware what Mikasa thought about Zeke’s considerations. They were about what he thought, after all. “I… I’ll tell him he doesn’t need to do that anymore. It’s… better with you around.”

“…Thank you.”

The oppressive quiet came back. Eren’s fingernails were fighting to dig into his palms. The door was propped open by his back. He could imagine hearing Benjamin’s water filter if he just gave himself a second.

He didn’t want to put something this important off for any more seconds.

“Mikasa,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

Mikasa didn’t move. “I know.”

“The things I said…”

“Eren.”

“No one should ever talk to you that way,” Eren said. “I shouldn’t have—” He stopped short. His problems could stay with a different step. One that mattered less than his friends. Only one piece of it all really belonged here, and he said it again.

“I’m sorry.”

Mikasa had one hand buried in her scarf. Her blush had faded, as well as the gentle smile Armin had won out of her. There were tired lines in her forehead that only Eren could claim complete responsibility for.

“You wanted Armin to be angry at you,” she said.

Then cried all over him for sparing him that. “Yeah.”

Mikasa adjusted her scarf, pulling it tighter, but lowering it from keeping her mouth hidden. “It hurt,” she said. “You never say things you don’t mean, even if you only mean them for a moment.”

His mom had yelled at him for that. Many, many times.

He’d yelled back that moments were important.

That was another thing he and Mikasa agreed on.

“None of it was your fault,” Eren said.

“But you were right. We didn’t see it.”

“You were trying to give me space.”

“We didn’t.”

Mikasa had moved in for several weeks under the guise of helping Eren since his leg was broken.

“Your version of space.”

Another life would have seen that as a very strong complaint. Silent hovering was annoying and if Eren had been on a lower dose of painkillers or been less insane, it would have driven him nuts. But it stayed at silence. It stayed at a quiet hand helping him through the day and never asking how he was feeling because how he was feeling was so obvious.

“That still should have put us close enough to notice,” Mikasa said.

How she was feeling during all of that was pretty obvious, too. Even through the drugs. Eren just hadn’t been able to care. “My dad died,” Eren said, like it really was the accident Mikasa had never had any trouble seeing it for. “You knew something was wrong. You didn’t know I was making it worse.”

Mikasa wasn’t looking at him.

That should have made it easier than facing Armin, but he’d had too many years of getting annoyed over Mikasa always looking at him to finish the comparison just inside his head.

“It hurt,” she repeated, softly. “But what hurt most was thinking you might stay that way, and there was nothing I could do to help. Armin was right. We wanted to do more.” She frowned, a touch of irritation through the melancholy. “Zeke did more for you than we ever could.”

“Zeke didn’t stick around long enough for me to shout at him to leave,” Eren couldn’t help pointing out.

It almost got her to smile. The shadow of it faded too fast.

She did look up, and extensive cardio training as a way of life kept him breathing.

“No matter what happened, what matters to me now is that you’re okay. As long as that’s true, the rest is easy to forgive.” She closed her eyes and pulled her scarf tight. When she opened them again, they were the same eyes he’d seen when he woke up in the hospital.

“Are you okay, Eren?” she asked.

“Are you really?”

He’d gotten sick of that question long before he’d been anything close to the angry yes he kept snapping at his family. His mom had kept asking. Petra had always known better than to ask, but only because she’d been there. She had almost bit her lip through when he and Historia showed up with his black eye.

Who wanted okay, anyway? What kind of life was an okay one? Why would that be worth anything? He’d always been just okay. Armin was brilliant, Mikasa was perfect, and Eren was okay enough to lag behind them.

Until Eren wasn’t.

Until he couldn’t remember what okay or being a person even felt like, and someone had decided that the worst thing about him made him the best choice for a roommate. For a friend.

Armin had hugged him today.

Eren looked Mikasa straight in the eye, the weight of all their baggage nothing next to her being a few steps away and still caring. “I’m getting there,” he said.

She did smile, then. One of her real ones, with too much warmth to be anything but embarrassing when they were young. The step between them almost vanished, all of her starting to move forward before she remembered how many times Eren had actually called her embarrassing.

Armin had moved first with him. Fair was fair.

Eren took the step and wrapped Mikasa in the best hug he knew how. His chin bumped her forehead and their shoes snagged together, but he tried to hug her like he was never going to let her go again, and she hugged him back so tightly that his ribs creaked.

“I’m glad,” she whispered into his shoulder. “That you aren’t alone.”

He was not going to cry again. He squeezed her tightly. “Me too.”

----

Hours later, Eren was on the couch. Breathing into a cushion. Not on purpose, that was just where his face had landed after everything wound down.

“Thanks,” Historia said at some point.

“What for?”

“Letting me meet your family.”

Eren flopped his cheek against the side of the pillow. Historia had done her collapse under Benjamin’s tank. She looked as exhausted as he felt, drooped against the table. Benjamin blubbed away over her head.

Frieda had offered to drop some of her dinner off on them. She said she made too much for just her, and she had no room in her fridge. They’d have to help with the leftovers. One last visitor for the day.

“Yeah,” he said. “No problem.”

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

11 notes · View notes

panda-noosh · 6 years ago

Text

See You Again {Ben Hargreeves x Reader}

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Klaus’s powers are getting stronger, which works in your favour.

Genre: uhhhh, angst?

Warning: drug use

Notes: masterlist

Maybe you just wanted a tragic backstory.

None of it was planned, of course. You didn’t wake up one morning and relish in the fact that your best friend was dead. The tears you shed were real. The pain you felt was real. The desire to block out the world and everything in it was real.

Because Ben was dead, and there was nothing else left.

It was dramatic, but you were young. He was your best friend, your world. He was the one person in the world who you believed knew you inside out and vise versa - the fact that he was gone now was something you couldn’t bring yourself to admit. You needed to block it out. You needed to find a release.

For years, the release came in the form of self hatred. Yelling at your parents, refusing to go to school, refusing to leave your room unless absolutely necessary. You sometimes sit back and thing maybe you did all that because you were growing impatient; impatient to start the real numbing. Impatient to get your hands on the stuff that would make you forget about Ben for good.

You started the drugs when you were seventeen. They didn’t work, but your body enjoyed them. Your mind wanted to forget, and your body wanted a reaction, and so drugs were always the thing you came back to. Day in, day out, you would sit alone in your apartment, ignoring phone calls and life in general, and you just. . . melted away. You wanted to just melt away.

The first time you got checked into rehab, it was entirely against your will. You didn’t think you needed help. You were doing nothing wrong, hurting nobody but yourself. Sitting alone in your apartment and getting high was a victimless crime, so why did anybody else actually give a shit? They saw the state you were in after Ben died - why did they want to take away the one thing that made you feel better?

You remember kicking and screaming. You remember throwing your head back and crying to the ceiling as hands grabbed your arms and you were pulled left, right and centre. You were too far gone at that point, and it truly felt as if your head was going to tumble off your shoulders if they carried on. You begged them for mercy, and they told you they didn’t want to hurt you, but the pain was already there because you knew what they were going to do and the knowledge of that on its own was enough to hurt.

You spent three weeks there until you finally managed to bust out.

Gaining their trust, getting day-leave and then leaving for good. Your name had been all over the news for weeks, but at the end of the day, you were nothing more than a common drug addict. People gave up after a while. Some people said you weren’t worth the money to put out a search team, and eventually the police must have agreed.

You spent a few weeks on the run until you came across Klaus.

You knew Klaus. Of course you did. His brother had been the one person in the world you trusted; you’d heard all about him. His crazy antics, the fact that he can talk to the dead, the fact that his father locked him in a cell on countless occasions just to get a reaction out of him.

He looks like it now.

You tilt your head to the side when you see him sitting on the street corner with his knees tucked into his chest. His brown hair is a mess, curling into his eyes, in dire need of a haircut. He isn’t bothered by the person staring at him; he just continues trying to flick his lighter on, grumbling under his breath in the way all Hargreeves kids do; you’ve seen all of them get lost in their own head. It’s difficult not to when your father is treating you like a test subject more than a child.

You should feel nervous when you approach him, but you don’t. You haven’t seen him since Ben’s funeral, that god-awful moment where you could no longer hold yourself up and ended up falling to your knees in front of the casket. It had been Reginald himself who’d picked you up and hauled you away; to the untrained eye, he must have looked like nothing more than a concerned adult, but he’d whispered things in your ear that you still remember to this day. Curses. Warnings. Telling you to stay out of the way.

Klaus had watched you get trailed out of the cathedral. He’s here now.

“I feel like I should have brought a gift,” is the first thing you say, because you can’t think of anything more suitable.

Klaus looks up. His left eye twitches. He brushes some hair out of his face before gaping at you. You notice that tiny moment of hesitation as he tries to figure out who you are, but the pieces snap together eventually. His eyes widen and then he’s jumping to his feet, swinging his hands above his head as if he’s about to hug you. You step out of the way and he stops.

“Y/N L/N,” he says. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“How are you doing, Klaus?”

“Me? I’m - I’m better than ever.”

He’s drunk. It doesn’t take a professional to see it. Nonetheless, you force a pleasant smile on your face.

“How about you, though?” he asks, voice soft. He reaches forward and takes your hand in his both of his, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. “I haven’t seen you in years. Remember when we all used to hang out all the time?” He shakes his head. “What happened?”

“Ben died.” You nearly choke on the words. Even Klaus stiffens, his drunken state not being enough to soften the blow of reality. “I’ve seen Allison is doing really well for herself,” you continue. “Being an actress and everything. I always knew she was gonna go on to do big things.”

Klaus scoffs, releasing your hands in favour of trailing his nimble, scarred fingers through his hair. “She’ll still insist she did it all herself.”

You raise a brow. “She didn’t?”

“Of course not. She heard a rumour.” He rolls his eyes. Your hazy mind struggles to catch on to what he means, but the memories piece together slowly; Allison could make people do what she wanted. You remember it, the way she’d always somehow manage to persuade you to make her a sandwich, or wash her sheets, or clean her clothes - Ben always told her to back off when she did it, but you remember the feeling of needing to please her when she said it.

“Oh,” you manage, before looking up. “What about you? What have you been up to?” It’s such a casual conversation piece. You want to give yourself a pat on the back for being so calm and collected right now.

Klaus’s light eyes flash. “I’ve been doing drugs, in and out of rehab, trying to block out the voices in my head - the usual.”

You falter. “You’re still on drugs?”

“Aren’t we all?” He laughs weakly, spinning on his heel in that dramatic way that has always been so Klaus, before he reaches behind a crate and grabs a bong. Your eyes widen, stomach lurching at the sight of it. Yoru fingers itch. Sweat begins to coat your palms, and you force yourself to look away before you shut down completely.

He takes a puff from it and sighs in content. “There we go. Everyone’s settled.”

“The voices still follow you around?” you ask.

Klaus shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but the sweat coating his collarbones and the psychotic glint in his eyes tells you a different story. “Not as much as they used to. The drugs keep them away. Only for so long, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Why don’t you just learn to control them?”

Klaus closes his eyes. “I am learning to control them.” He waves the bong. “I learned how to make one of these things out of a Pringles can. I learned how to roll a blunt. That’s my way of learning control.”

You stare at him. You’ve always known Klaus to be a rare specimen, always lost in his own head, always with his own bizarre outlook on life, but this is a completely different end to the spectrum. He looks crazed. Although he tries to hide it, he looks unhappy.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words never get a chance to leave your mouth before Klaus is talking again.

Only this time, he isn’t talking to you.

“Would you shut up? They’ve literally only just walked up to me. I’m not going to freak them out by telling them you’ve popped in to say hello.”

You flinch back. “What?”

Klaus ignores you. Can he even hear you?

“Oh, boohoo. Let me play you a song on the world's tiniest violin. Get a grip. They’re not gonna want to be my friend if I pass your message along.”

Your trembling by now. You reach out and grab his arm, startling him out of whatever stupor he was sucked into. “Klaus, who are you talking to?”

His eyes meet your own. They soften for only a split second before he sucks his lip between his teeth and starts chewing, a nervous habit you’ve seen him partake in for years. “Nobody.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not-”

“Just tell me who you’re talking to. I thought you blocked out all the voices with the drugs.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “God, I wish I could block all of them out with just a single puff. But no - Benjamin’s a stubborn one. I’ll have to overdose before he leaves me the hell alone.” His head snaps up. “Yes, I’m talking to you!”

You block out the rest of his rant. Slowly, your fingers uncurl from his arm. Your knees feel weak again. Your body is on the verge of giving out, and not even the drugs pumping through your veins are enough to keep you from losing your mind right now.

You stare at Klaus, the way his arms move, the way he talks so animatedly and you know then and there you believe every word he is saying; he’s talking to Ben. There’s no one else he argues with quite like that. You’ve seen it before, and this is what you remember.

It makes your throat close over. The realisation is too much. For years, you’ve struggled to come to terms with his death, the happenings behind it, why no one would give you answers you deserve. But he’s here; he’s with Klaus, and he’s here.

“What did he want to say to me?” you ask. Your voice is quiet, and Klaus can’t hear you over the sound of his own ranting. “Klaus!”

He looks up, whirls around to look at you. “What? What is it?”

“What did he say?” you demand.

“Who?”

You’re going to strangle him. “Ben!”

Klaus’s eyes spark. “Oh, him! He’s just being an emotional little bugger again - nothing new. Telling me that he thought you were dead and all this. Dramatic.”

Your lower lip trembles. “He thought I was dead?”

“Well, we all did,” Klaus replies. “You disappeared off the face of the Earth after escaping rehab. Diego went out looking for you for weeks but couldn’t find a trace of you anywhere.”

You close your eyes, wanting to hear Ben’s voice. It’s one thing having Klaus translate for you ,but you need something more - you need to hear him, to see him. You need to tell him face-to-face that you’re fine, even though he can clearly see that you’re okay right now.

You curl your fingers until your nails are biting into the palm of your hand. “Tell him I miss him.”

It’s such a simple request, but Klaus hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Please.”

He bites his bottom lip and repeats your words back; he doesn’t start speaking again until it is Ben’s words he is translating.

“He says he misses you too. He says he’s sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“For all of it,” Klaus clarifies. “He thinks it’s his fault you went off the rails.”

The phrase should hurt your feelings. Off the rails, like you’ve lost your mind, like there’s no coming back from it. It should hurt, but it doesn’t, because you know it’s the truth. You lost yourself after Ben died, and you didn’t make the effort to put things right.

You duck your head down and nod. “Is he okay?”

Klaus is silent for a moment before he says, “I think so.”

----

That night, you stay with Klaus.

It’s not the wisest decision, and you know that even as you sit slumped beside him, back pressed against a rubbish bin, the pungent smell of weed heavy in the air between you. Sirens echo overhead, a sure sign that the crazy kids are out and about, getting drunk and falling off curbs. You and Klaus are hidden away in a dark alley, passing a blunt between each other with little to nothing else buffering the silence.

You want to ask about Ben. It’s an eerie feeling, because you know he’s there. Every now and then Klaus will flinch and shake his head, as if swatting a bug away, and you just know it’s him - but you’re too scared to ask what he wants, and you don’t want Klaus to feel used. You genuinely like Klaus, enjoy his company, and you don’t want to make him feel like a third wheel.

You, him and the dead guy.

Your muscles relax as the night goes on. You laugh at every little thing, giggling when a rat scurries over Klaus’s foot, giggling when a plastic bag gets caught on the open door of a nightclub. The effects of the drugs are settling in, loosening you up for a night of heavy conversation.

“You know,” you begin, tilting your head back to look up at the stars. “Ben would kill me right now if he knew I was doing this with you.”

Klaus scoffs. “He does know you’re doing this with me. He’s right here.”

You wince. “How is he taking it?”

Klaus pauses, no doubt waiting for Ben to add his two cents into the conversation. “He’s gone quiet, so I can only assume he’s a little bit pissed off.”

It hurts to hear, but you laugh anyway. Klaus giggles along with you, passing you the blunt for the final drag; you take it, savouring the burn in your lungs and the instant haze that settles in your brain. Klaus grits his teeth, shaking his head.

“It takes a good user to be able to inhale like that.”

You shrug, squishing the end of the blunt into the concrete. “I’ve been using for a long time.”

“Sad. You had a lot of potential.”

Was that an insult? You’ll ponder over it tomorrow.

“Ben told me you wanted to be a neurosurgeon,” Klaus continues.

You wince. “That’s embarrassing.”

“He says it’s one of the reasons he loved you so much.”

“Love is a very strong word,” you point out, even as your heart thunders in your chest. “I don’t know if you can call what Ben and I had ‘love.’”

Klaus frowns, looking at you through the corner of his eye. “Ben always calls it that.”

You’re not sure how to answer, so you don’t. You pick at the rocks at your feet and hope Ben isn’t looking at you right now, even though he is, and you know he is. He’s right beside you. For the first time in years, he’s there and you’re sat with his brother getting high.

Even with the drugs in your system, the thought makes you shudder. You remember your childhood, sitting with Ben in his living room, organising a life for the two of you that would surpass what you were left with - you would become a neurosurgeon, and he would become a chef. A head chef. You remember talking to him about Klaus’s drug use, when the two of you would watch Klaus light up a blunt at the dinner table; you would look over at him and the two of you would shake your heads in a silent understanding - that will never be us.

But then Ben died, and it didn’t seem to matter. None of the plans you made mattered, because Ben wouldn’t be there to help you get there.

Klaus hums. You toss a rock a few feet in front of you, watch it skip along the ground before landing in a puddle of oil.

Finally, Klaus speaks up. “You know, if there’s anything you ever want to say to him, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Thanks, Klaus. I don’t really know what I can say.”

“Anything.” Klaus looks to his left, raises a brow. You know he’s communicating with Ben, and it makes your heart constrict. He finally looks back at you. “I think he’s a bit desperate to talk to you, to be honest.”

You smile, looking off to the left. If you concentrate hard enough, you can almost imagine you’re making eye contact with him. “I’ll think of something.”

---

Reginald Hargreeves dies a few days later.

Klaus takes you along to pay your respects, even though you say no in the beginning. The two of you have been wandering the streets together and Klaus says he doesn’t like the idea of leaving you on your own - so he takes you to the Hargreeves household, where memories ooze from the walls and the dead Umbrella Academy flourishes back to life.

They’re all there. Allison, Luther, Diego - even Vanya. Number Five makes his unexpected appearance, but you’re sitting on the toilet seat with a blunt when that happens, so you don’t see him until later.

The only one of them who isn’t there is Ben, and the reminder is breaking you apart.

Allison is awkward when she asks if you’d like to stay in Ben’s old room. You smile, tell her you won’t be able to stay before Klaus abruptly cuts in and says you’ll be happy to stay in Ben’s room - memories! That night, you barely sleep, because you’re certain you can still smell him on the covers, even though they’ve been washed and it’s been years. The drawings of horses you and him carved into the leg of his desk are still there. You cover them up with a blanket before laying down to sleep.

You wake up the next morning to Klaus barging in through the door.

You sit upright, rubbing your eyes, mumbling the words “Shut up,” before you can even comprehend your mouth is moving. Klaus is yelling, dives onto the end of your bed and grabs your wrists. He yanks you out of the covers and starts towards his room without giving you any time to wake up.

“Klaus,” you grumble, stumbling after him. “Klaus, slow the fuck-”

“In here.” He pulls you into his room and slams the door closed. His eyes are frantic, immediately quietening you because you’ve never seen him look so hysterical. You’ve seen Klaus Hargreeves on the hardest party drugs, but none of them have made him look like this.

You raise a brow, the fear creeping into your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you - I need you to-” He tilts his head. “Is that door closed?”

“Yes.”

“Jiggle the handle. Make sure it’s properly closed.”

You don’t. “It’s definitely closed, Klaus.”

He waves a dismissive hand through the air and turns on his heel. He approaches the far wall, his eyes locked on a single spot in front of him. You watch as he picks up a bowling ball (why has he got a bowling ball?) and launches it into thin air.

“Klaus!” you gasp, slamming your hands over your ears in preparation for the shatter that will surely come with a bowling ball falling onto a hard wood floor - but it never comes.

It hovers for only a few seconds before the air around it ripples, and suddenly there’s somebody holding onto it. Somebody you don’t recognise, but somebody who is so familiar that it makes you want to cry.

He looks so different. His hair is still black, his chin still pointed, the apples of his cheeks still rosy and high on his face. He’s wearing a long black coat that you would have made fun of him for earlier, but the sight of him stuns you into silence.

He’s looking around like he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know you can see him.

Klaus slowly steps back, nodding to himself. “Good. This is good. So, so good.”

“Ben,” you choke out.

His dark eyes snap up, immediately finding your own. His fingers go white around the curve of the bowling ball. “Y/N?”

“How is this happening?” you ask.

“Magic, baby!” Klaus yells before Ben has a chance to reply. The two of you are staring at each other, not daring to break the eye contact even when Klaus starts dancing between you. “My powers are getting stronger and stronger by the fucking day, and this is the start of it! Look at this!”

You shake your head. “This isn’t possible. How can I see him?” You turn to Ben. “How can I see you?”

Ben swallows. His Adams apple bobs. “I don’t know. We figured it out this morning.”

Klaus rubs his jaw and pouts. “He punched me. That’s how we figured it out.”

“Y/N,” Ben says, voice shaking. “Come here.”

Part of you is hesitant. This is too strange, too good. You’re going to get your hopes up and then everything is going to shatter because there is absolutely no way in hell any of this can be real.

But you step towards him anyway. Your feet can’t carry you fast enough, and in two seconds flat you’ve crossed the room and your hands are over his own, curled around the bottom of the bowling ball. His breath leaves him when he feels your flesh against his own, and your throat closes over with the sudden urge to cry.

“I want to hug you,” you whisper. “But I don’t want you to go away.”

Ben laughs, real and genuine, a hint of relief tucked into the noise. He turns to Klaus and clicks his fingers. “Pass me something smaller. Something a little lighter that I can hold with one hand.”

Klaus hands him a packet of weed. Ben rolls his eyes, tosses the bowling ball onto the bed, and before you have a chance to ask what he’s just done, he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.

The world is right again.

It’s like you can feel it falling back into place, a strange feeling. It overwhelms you to the point where tears drip from your face and land in his shirt - you don’t know if you’re dampening his coat, if that kind of thing can even happen to ghosts. You don’t care. At this moment in time, you care about nothing but Ben’s arms around you, his chin resting on your head, the memories that floor you in a matter of seconds, because even though he’s grown and he’s aged and you can see him, his embrace is still the exact same as you’ve always remembered it.

Home. His embrace is home.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” he whispers back.

“Everything. For being the way I am. For ending up the way I ended up.”

Ben pulls back at this. You stumble, the unexpected movement leaving you breathless and craving more, but Ben keeps his hands on your shoulders as his eyes rake over your face. You look into them, trying to guess what he’s feeling but Ben has always had a skill when it comes to hiding what he’s truly feeling; he had to growing up in the Hargreeves household.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, and he sounds a little out of breath.

“We had such high hopes for each other,” you mumble. The tears are pouring by now, your voice shaky. “I should have gone on and done what I always said I would do. I should have tried harder to make you proud.”

“Y/N,” Ben whispers. “Y/N, there’s absolutely nothing you can do that would make me love you any less.”

Love. There that word is again, sending your heart into spirals because you don’t know how to comprehend it. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt love. You’re unfamiliar with its terms, how to identify whether you truly love something or not.

But you think about it now, as Ben’s words filter in your head and you let a warm silence take over for just a minute. Love is always described as the best. People talk about how great it is when it works out, how it changes lives and personalities, how it saves people. It’s always seen as this big and obvious thing, and maybe to normal people it is. Maybe to normal people, it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

But you and Ben Hargreeves are far from normal, so you force yourself to look at it from a completely different standpoint.

When you were with Ben all them years ago, you didn’t want to leave his side. You were happiest sitting in his room, ignoring your parents frantic texts and phone calls inquiring where you were. You were closer to him and his siblings than you were to your own family. When Ben held your hand, you felt safe.

When Ben died, a part of you died with him. A vital part. The part that kept you sane - it disappeared, leaving behind the shell of a human you think you are today.

But now, as Ben’s hands rub small circles into your shoulders, his dark eyes burning into your own, you realise with a jolt that those feelings haven’t entirely gone away. You’re brought back to your childhood, sitting cross-legged in his room, practicing your first kiss, pretending you hated it when he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. He had pulled away, beetroot red when Reginald came storming into the room in anger at the antics he just witnessed; you’d been told to go home that day, but you appeared the next day and things were forgotten.

Ben continues to stare at you, waiting for your response. His eyes trace your own, and you’re too afraid of shattering this moment to look away.

You swallow. “Will I be able to see you for good now?”

A tiny smile crawls onto his face. “I think Klaus and I got it figured out.”

You close your eyes, letting your head fall forward to rest back in the crook of his neck; the relief you feel is indescribable. It takes up every space in your body. Feeling his warmth against you gives you a surge of hope that you once thought you lost for good.

His hands trace circles into the small of your back as he pressed you closer to him. The tears don’t stop. His words don’t stop circulating your head. You ignore Klaus as he makes gagging noises behind you, instead choosing to focus solely on the feel of Ben pressing against you once again.

---

“You look a lot better today.”

You smile, wiping sweat from your brow. Ben and Klaus have come to visit; Klaus is busy in the corner somewhere, chatting it up with one of the men from the centre next door - he’s called Mr Benson, an alcoholic who has been in this place for three years now, in and out and in and out. He’s one of your main sources of inspiration - you don’t want to end up like him, so you’re trying your best to wean yourself off the bad stuff.

Ben sits in front of you, tossing a bouncy ball between his hands. It’s this bouncy ball that is keeping him tethered to Earth, and you watch nervously as he carelessly throws it around.

“You know if you drop that, you’ll disappear,” you point out, picking up another dumbbell. “That’s gonna be pretty difficult for us to hide.”

Ben glances over his shoulder. The only other people in the gym are Mr Benson and Klaus, and neither of them seem interested in what you and Ben are doing.

Ben turns back and shrugs, finally flopping onto his back and tossing the ball in the air above his head. “It’s fine. We’re getting better at this thing, anyway.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s gonna be seen as insane. My boyfriend disappearing into thin air is gonna be quite difficult to explain.”

Ben’s eyes light up. “I’m never gonna get used to that, you know.”

“Used to what?”

“You calling me boyfriend.” He shakes his head. “It’s weird.”

“You can always tell me to stop if you want.”

He scoffs. “I never want you to stop. You know that.”

You grin, because you do. He’s told you time and time again, exaggerating each time with a kiss that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

“I meant what I said, though,” he continues. “You do look better. Is the treatment working?”

“It’s getting easier,” you reply. “I don’t crave a smoke every few seconds. I’m still struggling to sleep, and being sober is still exhausting-”

Ben scoffs.

But,” you say, “it’s getting easier. You and Klaus are keeping me sane.”

“Me. Just me. Fuck Klaus.”

“I’d much rather fuck-”

Ben snaps up, grabs your hands and pulls you down on top of him.

It all happens so fast, you barely have time to process what is happening before his lips are on your own in a kiss that starts out more passionate than you are prepared for. Your heart skips a beat, and it’s instinct when you reach up and tangle your hands in his soft black hair. He grins against your mouth, just like he always does because the disbelief of being able to do this is still so new, even three months on.

You giggle, pulling away. You lean your palms against his chest and look down at him, raising a brow.

“What was that for?”

“You were about to say something vulgar,” he replies, trailing his hands along your hips. “I can’t have Mr Benson hearing something vulgar.”

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itsreallylaterightnow · 5 years ago

Text

Sometimes I Feel Like I’m Being Pulled In So Many Directions (Irondad Fic Exchange 2019)

Summary:

Peter knows he did poorly on his final, and he feels bad enough. Then May finds out. Peter doesn't know how to handle all the pressure of being a normal high-school teenager on top of trying to balance the responsibility that comes with being spider-man.

Thank fully he has Tony Stark and May Parker to keep him in check- and comfort the stressed teen along the way.

Notes:

Hey guys! Ok, so rant coming:

I poured my heart and soul into the two pics that I did for the Irondad Fic Exchange. I spent so long outlining and writing and re-writing the two works that I signed on for. I tried to craft them for the enjoyment of the two wonderful people that I was writing for. Then someone came onto my last fic and called me "Laughably stupid". I just.. I don't understand pointless hate. I'm all here for constructive criticism. But blatant hate on something that was a gift for someone else is just... not okay. So, if you have anything rude to say, keep it to yourself. All you are doing is discouraging me. It was quite hard for me to build up the courage to post this after that. So, please just be positive.

The prompt I chose from Whimsicalethnographies was "May grounds Peter for something non-Spider-man related and Peter sneaks out to the Tower, cue co-parenting." I hope they enjoy this fic! I loved writing it!

also the title and the line in this fic that follows the name of the title are from the BBC show Merlin, which everyone should watch!

Warnings: Mild Depictions of a Panic Attack (Nothing too serious, but take care of yourselves babes)

Tags:

@irondad-fic-exchange @whimsicalethnographies

Peter had felt sick for the past three hours. He had done really, like really bad on his Chemistry mid-term. He had been handed the results and he felt hot tears pricking in his eyes. Peter had ignored Ned and MJ the rest of the day, hiding behind exhaustion and his hoodie. Peter knew May was going to kill him. Ever since she found out about his extra-curricular activities, she had insisted he could continue as Spiderman as long as his grades and mental health didn’t suffer. He had been able to maintain a fairly solid mental health situation, I mean sure, most of the time it came from him just pushing back all of his real feelings. But, up until now his grades hadn’t suffered. Peter had been able to do keep up his schoolwork and web-slinging, but last week had been a huge arms bust, and Peter had gotten so carried away that he had completely failed to realize that he had his chemistry midterm coming up. He had thought he could have scraped by with a C, but Peter got the test back with 1 point above an F. He had passed, barely, but his entire grade was going to be trashed.

Peter rushed out of school the second the bell sounded, finding the nearest ally and slipping into his Spidey gear. “Good afternoon, Peter.” Karen’s familiar voice greeted him, and Peter sighed.

“Hey Karen.” Peter began swinging his way to the top of the building.

“Peter, you appear to be in distress. Would you like me to call Boss?”

“What? No- no, Karen I’m fine. Just, just mute.” He would deal with this disaster later when he needed to. Peter heard someone yelling in the distance and all thoughts of his stress went away.

Peter moaned deep in his throat as he slipped in through his window. He could smell May’s tragic cooking coming from the kitchen as he tapped the spider emblem on his chest. He tossed his backpack onto his bunk and slipped out of the uniform. His right shoulder was killing him, but he knew the strain would be healed in about an hour, so he ignored it as he pulled a Midtown sweater on.

Peter looked down at the test peeking out of his backpack. The infuriating D- making him want to scream. He rolled his eyes and left the room, finding May standing over the stove and stirring burned rice. Peter grimaced as he popped onto the counter, munching on a grape.

“So, I’m guessing you want me to order our usual?” May just huffed, turning to Peter and pushing her wide-frame glasses up on her nose. She began sniffing and made a sour face.

“What I would rather you do, is shower before you come into my kitchen after spidering around Queens!” She exclaimed, tossing her dish towel at him with a grin on her lips. Peter caught it as he slid from the counter, hands raised in defeat.

“Alright, alright. But I expect Martin’s Thai to be on their way with our order by the time I get out!” He quipped back before slipping back to his shower. The second the door closed behind him; Peter felt a tension release around his shoulder. It had become too normal for him to have painted a mask of being “okay”. May thought he was handling everything fine, but Peter knew he had just perfected the art of faking it.

The heat of the shower on Peter’s sore muscles had him sighing. It was little moments of peace like this where Peter could catch his breath. It took him longer than normal to finish his shower, and when Peter slipped into his pajamas his stomach growled. Okay, so the single grape he had eaten wasn’t enough to curve his hunger. He was really hoping the Martin’s was already here.

Peter ducked out of the bathroom, using his towel to dry out his curls. He passed by his room and tossed his towel without looking in there, on his way to the kitchen, when May cleared her throat. Why is May in my room? Peter turned back around, sliding into his room before his feet froze on sight. May was sat on his bed, Chemistry test in hand, and an unreadable expression on her face.

“Hey, May- Uh”- She held up a hand, mouth in a grim line.

“Save it. I’m not going to talk about it right now, because I know I would start yelling, and I don’t want to have to apologize for that.” She took a deep breath and stood up. “Do your homework, finish all of it. Study for whatever you need to study for, I’ll bring your food when it arrives.” She turned to walk from the room and Peter huffed.

“So, you’re just going to ignore me, then?” May laughed, in a way that made Peter know that she did not find the situation funny.

“Peter, you hid this from me. You know our deal, and you lied to me. I’m not ignoring you; I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do about this. I’m still learning how to do this whole parent thing, so a little grace would be very appreciated!” She stated, her hands flying in exasperation. Peter felt his nerves grating against one another, and he should have kept his mouth shut, but he had never been very good at that.

“You’re right. You’re not my parent. So, I made a bad grade, alright? So, let’s just forget about it, it won’t happen again.” May was fuming at this point, Peter knew the nonchalance that he had laced into his voice was really driving her crazy, but he couldn’t seem to care.

“Peter. Benjamin. Parker. I did not sign on for this. I was thrust into having you. And I would never change that, but I am still learning. I don’t have Ben anymore, and he was always so much better at this than I am. I give you more freedom than you know what to do with, and you’re still a kid. I can’t expect you to know how to handle yourself. No kid your age should have this much responsibility. For now, no internship, no spider-man.” Her voice was firm and Peter was fuming at this point.

“Well I’m just sorry that this all got thrown on you! But you can’t take away the internship and you can’t take away Spiderman! They’re all I have!” May recoiled.

“Don’t you dare think that I am mad that you’re mine, but you are mine and you will behave! I don’t know how long this will last, but you best believe yourself that there will be neither of those things until you get yourself together. And I am here to help and to talk, but you have to take responsibility for your actions.” With that, May strolled from the room, shutting the door behind her and Peter ran his hands through his hair, anxiety crawling up his throat. What- how- what was he going to do if he couldn’t be Spiderman?

Call it a lapse of judgement or teenage stupidity, but Peter pulled his mask on, activated his web shooters and peeled the window open. He climbed onto the fire escape and leapt to the building across from his.

“Karen, tell Mr. Stark I’m going to use the lab tonight.” The AI obliged as Peter began his web-slinging to the tower. The crisp breeze of the night air on his body helping to zone him in, and he imagined all of his stresses being left on the ground behind him.

The tower came into sight and Peter zeroed in on his window. He feet connect with the top panel, and the second the trapdoor closed behind him peter pulled his mask off, leaving him right next to a private elevator in his pajamas. He pressed the call button and waited on the “ding” that was so familiar to him.

Peter hopped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the lab before he put in his pin. Very few people had access to the lab. Tony, Peter, Happy, Rhodey, and Pepper. That was it. Peter leaned against the glass wall of the elevator, his heart still pounding. The anxiety he had been feeling all day was slowly clawing away at his heart and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Peter made it to the lab, and he sighed, before standing by his table and running a hand through his hair. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, the safe place around him having Peter wiping at the tears.

He pulled up the new web formula he had been working on and began to mess with the equations and holographs on it. He let himself get lost to time. Peter was so caught up on working on the tensile strength and the weight of the new formula that he didn’t realize Tony was in the room until he heard the man clear his throat.

Peter turned suddenly; eyes wide. “Mr. Stark! You have to let me know when you’re behind me!” The boy’s anxiety began to race again. Tony just scoffed, looking at the work on Peter’s table.

“What, your Peter Tingle stop working or something?” Peter grumbled out something about how Tony wasn’t seen as a threat and to stop calling it his tingle!

“Yeah, well- on another note, what are you doing still here at three in the morning?” Peter’s head whipped up, fear clutching his heart. Holy sh- May is going to kill me! “If you are currently thinking about the wrath of May Parker, then you’re on the right trail. I got the most interesting phone call from her.” Tony said as leaned on the table across from Peter, who suddenly found everything but look at his mentor interesting. “She calls me, freaking out, before explaining to me that you weren’t home, your suit was still on your bed, and that you had been in the middle of a big argument. She tells me she woke up to get water and found your room light still on at 2:30 am and went to check on you. And that’s how I get a call, waking me out of the little sleep time I do actually get. And May, May tells me the most interesting thing. You aren’t supposed to be here. And she wants to know why I allowed you over the tower when you’re royally grounded- which is news to me by the way. So, you have-” Tony looks at his watch. “Five minutes to explain yourself before Happy gets here to take you home.

Peter takes a deep breath, his heart pounding. He turns his face away from Tony, wiping at the tears forming in his eyes. Angry at his emotions for slipping.

“It’s nothing- I just got a bad grade. I shouldn’t have snuck out.” He began to pack his stuff up, before standing, but a hand pushed his chest, forcing him back down onto the seat.

“Nope. Explain better. Since when do you forget about a midterm?” Tony is concerned, Peter knows that, but he doesn’t want to open this can of worms. But Tony’s eyes don’t leave his, and Peter sighs. There is no way out of this.

“I- um- listen last week was just, it had a lot of Spiderman related problems, and I just forgot.” Peter shrugged, looking up. The look in Tony’s eyes making Peter realize that he wasn’t going to worm his way around this one.

“Then we need to cut back your-”

“No! Why does everyone think the solution to this is to take Spiderman away from me?” Peter finally erupted, standing up hastily. Tony put both of his hands in the air, eyebrows raised at the outburst.

“Listen, listen- I’m not talking about taking him away, I’m talking about reducing hours.” Peter just shook his head hastily, panic building.

“No, you can’t- you cant!” He gripped his hair between his hands, shaking his head and backing into the wall behind him. Tony’s face radiated concern, but the monstrous ball of anxiety that had been sitting in Peter’s chest was finally going to claw its way out, and it was going to do it viciously.

“Pete, just calm down and let’s talk this out.” Tony moved forward but Peter held out a hand.

“Stop, I can’t- you guys don’t get it!” The teen was screaming at this point, breaths short and he couldn’t control anything climbing its way out of his mouth.

“Then explain it to me, alright?” Tony sat on Peter’s work table, leaving the teen against the wall, giving him his required space.

“I just, I can’t lose Spiderman, he’s all I have! I do so much, and I work- I work so hard, and college is coming up, and school is hard, and no matter what I do, whenever I turn the corner there is always something else! May needs me, and MJ and Ned, and you, and sometimes, between bad guys, tests, paper, and saving people’s lives I feel like I’m getting pulled in so many different directions that I don’t know what way to turn!” Peter was sobbing now, his breaths choking out in harsh gasps as he slid to the ground, shaking hands wrapped around his knees.

“FRIDAY, tell May I’ve got Peter for the night.” Then, there were arms around Peter, warm strong arms and the teens just sobbed harder. “You hold too much Peter. The weight of the world isn’t for you to bear.” And Peter curled up on Tony’s side, burying his messy face into the man’s shoulder. “And, don’t get me wrong, you’re definitely still grounded, but neither May or I are ever going to take Spiderman away, but we want to avoid these meltdown things as much as possible, and if you constantly feel this pressure on your shoulders and you never take a moment for you, well it’s going to crush you, Pete. So, let us help.” Peter just cried and gripped onto the man holding him. Tony leaned his head down, placing a kiss on Peter’s head. “Let us help, kid.”

#irondadficexchange2019 #irondadficexchange #whimsicalethnographies

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starker-garbage · 6 years ago

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What about an AU where Tony can read peters mind? I don't know if he tells him or nah, but he keeps hearing Peter talk about how sexy, intelligent... Etc Tony is, and .... Or maybe thee other way around, and its Peter who reads Tony's mind(?)

i may have changed this up a bit, nonnie, but i got this idea and there isn’t anyway i couldn’t do it

soulmate au, you can read the mind of your soulmate.

Tony knew Pepper wasn’t the one. They both tried and say they had The Connection, the telepathic one someone has with their soulmate once they meet, it’s literally like the other half of you was found.

And as much as Tony wanted that to be Pepper, as much as Pepper wanted it to be Tony, it just wasn’t going to happen.

So, as he got older, he has just assumed he would never find his true soulmate. A bunch of people didn’t and they were in a similar situation, they would just conjure something up that wasn’t there.

And, that’s what Tony realized he was doing.That was until he met Peter Parker. The boy was so young, in fucking high school for God’s sake, but there was no mistaking it, Peter knew it, Tony knew it, they were connected. There were some sick fucks up in the universe that had decided this and now Tony was somehow going to have to deal with it.

Mainly, he just felt bad for the kid for getting stuck with someone like him.

It all happened when he greeted him when Peter got back home from school, Tony was waiting on the couch, only wanting to recruit him for the team, and it was an instant feeling of we’re connected, it was a way of knowing what the other was doing and thinking, without really knowing.

Tony knew that Peter wanted to go talk privately, Tony knew that Peter was confused - he could know his basic emotions like second nature - and that’s how he knew, that for some sick reason, Peter Benjamin Parker was his soulmate.

Yet, when they went in Peter’s bedroom, Tony did what he thought would be best. Pretended like he didn’t feel any different. He addressed what he came here to, speaking only of business, and then leaving, pretending nothing was different.

Tony was going to tell Pepper at first, it made sense. He had found his soulmate, it would only hurt Pepper to stay with her longer than he should. After thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t tell Pepper and he would stay with her, and his reasoning was good enough.

Peter was too young and it would only hurt the boy more if he did give into temptation. Pete deserved better than what Tony could give him, so no matter what, Tony was going to continue on as he was, he couldn’t be with Peter no matter how bad he wanted to.

And it wasn’t really a problem. Of course everytime when they were together it hurt. Because Tony knew. Tony knew this was the person he was meant to be with. Yet he couldn’t say anything because he wanted the best for the boy, and he wasn’t the best for his soulmate.

So, they worked together, working on new suits, upgrades on the tower and so on. And everything was bittersweet, Tony knew he was falling in love with the boy, but he couldn’t stop it. He could only hide it.

“Mister Stark,” Peter said one day as they were working on suit updates, Tony looked up at him with a smile.

“Yes?” He asked, turning back to the project at hand, however he was all ears for Peter.

“Can I ask you something… kinda personal?” The boy said, obviously growing nervously.

Tony let out a laugh. “I don’t see why not kid,” The mechanic leaned back in his chair. “What’s on your mind?”

Tony wished he would have said no then. He wished he would have told the kid personal things weren’t what they discussed at work, because he could read what Peter was thinking, and while it wasn’t an exact thing, it was pretty clear to see ‘Soulmate’ Was a thought, passing through the kids mind.

Tony had to start thinking of something to say, something for every possible outcome.

“Pepper,” Peter began, standing awkwardly in the workshop. “Is she your soulmate?”

Tony gave a bittersweet smile, “No,” He said calmly. “She’s not my soulmate, I’m not her’s. We both know it, we do love each other but -”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Actually, Kid-”

“Have you found your soulmate, or think you found your soulmate?”

The question was going to come up soon, Tony could read it on the other boys brain, but he still had no clue how to advert the topic. “I - uh-”

“Because, Mister Stark, I know this is going to sound crazy but I really think I’m your soulmate,” Peter said in one rushed breath. “I didn’t think it was true, but I feel something with you, something I’ve never felt with anyone before. I have thi feeling like I understand you I know you, I can see your thoughts. I know I can, and I also know this sounds crazy, but Tony I’m sure of it -”

“No,” Tony said quickly. “You don’t actually feel anything about this.”

“No! It’s not like that, Mister Stark, I swear! This isn’t some school boy crush! I really feel like we have a connection, an unbreakable one! I need you to believe me. I feel like I’m being pulled towards you! We have something, I just know it! You need to believe me, Mister-”

“Peter, you can’t feel anything. It takes two to be soulmates.” Tony said shortly.

“You’re trying to tell me that you don’t - you don’t feel anything between us?”

“Nope, nothing!” Tony said, a little more aggressively than he should’ve.

Peter was quiet. He didn’t know what to say. He knew there was something there, and how strongly Mister Stark was denying that, he knew that there was something. “Mister Stark,” He spoke up again after unscrambling his thoughts. “I know you don’t believe me, but just try a little, to open your mind to think that maybe, just maybe -”

“Kid-!” Tony began yelling.

“Tony! Listen to me! Please!”

“No!” Tony yelled, he was going to put an end to it. “No, I don’t feel something, you don’t feel something, no one feels anything. I’m not your soulmate. I’m not the man you’re destined to be with, I am your mentor, and only your mentor, nothing more. And most importantly, KID,” Tony made sure to put extra emphasis on that word. “I will never be nothing more to you. You’ll find your soulmate and realize you were wrong.”

“I know I won’t. We’re so-”

“Dont’ say it, Pete.”

“Tony, please.”

“Get out,” Tony said, throwing down the rag he was using to wipe his hands on the table.

“Mister St-”

“PETER! No. You don’t understand what this is yet, well of course you don’t, because there isn’t anything to feel, to understand. Nothing. So go. Tomorrow we’ll just pretend this didn’t happen. But as for now. Get. Out.”

With tears brimming his eyes, the other boy left, however, not without slamming the door behind him.

Tony broke down as soon as he was sure he was alone. He sat down, sighed, and cried. He knew the boy was his soulmate. And the Boy knew it too.

Peter stayed true to his word, the next day, he showed up for work and they ignored the elephant in the room. They danced around each other, they didn’t look at each other, not directly. Little touches they would usually share, little seconds where contact would be established as they worked ceased to exist, and they just worked, making shit upgrades, new weapons to protect the world, your typical things.

And so it continued all just like that. Of course Tony still had a extra motive to protect the boy, just because he wouldn’t ever be with him doesn’t mean he didn’t have the loving connection to be with him.

So, when Peter tried to do something on a boat, Tony was furious. He didn’t even need to be that informed of all the details, of how the boy literally tried to hold it back together, how dumb could one person be? Like sure, he’s a fucking teenager, but seriously? He doesn’t have enough common sense to know that his idea was a fucking DUMB one?

“Previously on ‘Peter screws the pooch’ I tell you to stay away from this,” Tony reasons. “And you HACK a multimillion dollar suit so you could sneak around my back, doing the one thing I told you NOT to do.”

“Is everyone okay?” Peter asks, dismissing whatever Tony was going on about. In all reality, Peter was mad at the guy, even after their whole ‘pretending to bury it’ ordeal, he very much had not buried it. It was a very present thought in his head. All. The. Fucking. Time. (As was it for Tony)

“No thanks to you,” Said Tony, emphasizing on the word ‘You’.

Not being able to keep a lid on his anger, Peter turns around. “No thanks to me?” HIs voice was already breaking. “Those weapons were out there and I tried to tell you about it!” Peter got closer to Tony, who was hovering above in his suit. He probably wouldn’t have the nerve to do all of this, the yelling and mild hand gestures, if Tony was actually standing in front of him, but chances were, the actual Tony Stark was somewhere in Italy or maybe Hawaii. “But you didn’t listen! None of this wouldn’t of happened if you had just listened to me!”

There was a beat of silence. “If you even cared,” Peter felt his arms go partially limp. “You’d actually be here,”

Cue, Tony Stark, actually being there, walking out of the Iron Man suit, fucking as intimidating as ever.

“I did listen kid, who the hell do you think called the FBI? Huh?” Tony began his rant. He didn’t particularly like his soulmate (Rather he would admit that being a fact or not) thinking that he didn’t care. “Did you know, I was the only one who believed in you? Everyone else thought I was crazy recruiting a 14 year old -”

“I’m 15,”

“No, this is where you zip it!” A year really didn’t make a fucking difference.

“The adult is talking! What if someone had died tonight? Hm? Different story right?” Tony asked, barely pausing to wait for Peter to respond. “Because that’s on you. And if you died,” Tony said, lifting up his palms. “I feel like that’s on me,”

Tony watched Peter’s face instantly. “I don’t need that on my conscience.”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry-” Peter apologized, losing his nerve.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Tony said quickly.

“I know, I understand, I just -” Peter sighed. “I wanted to - to be like you,”

Tony sighed, looking at the younger boy. Emotions of loathing, sadness, desperation? Flooded Peter’s thoughts. “And I just wanted you to be better,”

Awkward silence and diverted eyes.

“This clearly isn’t working out, imma need the suit back,”

“What!” Peter asked, looking up to meet the mechanic’s face. “For how long?”

“Forever,”

“No,” Peter said, he was able to do so much with the suit, the last thing he wanted was for it to be gone. It was kind of like the only thing he and Tony did together anymore. Make something for the suits. No matter what, he was down about the suit getting taken away, but everything that came with the suit was going to be missed. And, that was time with Tony.

“Yes, that’s how it works,” Tony said,

“No, No, Please,” It was like holding onto the one thing they’d shared and Peter really didn’t want that to go away.

“Let’s have it.” Tony said, not letting up on his decision.

“You don’t understand,” Peter began. “This is all I have! I’m nothing without this suit.”

Tony looked into Peter’s eyes and sighed. “If you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it, God, I sound like my dad.”

And any hope of keeping the suit and everything it stood for was gone. It felt like Peter’s mind was racing a mile a minute. He looked away, and back, trying to focus all his thoughts. Swallowing any pride he may have had left, he looked up at his mentor. “I don’t -” He stuttered. “I don’t have any clothes,”

“We can sort that out.”

And they did. Peter always had shit at Tony’s, so they both knew there was probably the best place to go. It was originally proposed for Tony to carry Peter shamefully across New York, as he did when Peter almost drowned when Tony was on vacation and was carried out of the water with the suit, but Peter shrugged the older man off and swung all the way to Stark Tower.

Once he arrived and was sitting in the living room, he had to wait for Tony to get there. Spidey Suit - 1, Iron man Suit - 0. Peter wasn’t even sad anymore at everything. He was mad, and fed up, and ready to just be fucking done. He got screwed over my the universe. Wouldn’t be the first damn time.

His soulmate didn’t want him.

Thanks, Universe, can you fuck with someone else now?

Tony flew into the living room, his suit removing itself from his body. Ha. Ha. Apparently it couldn’t leave Peter alone. Granted, this was Tony’s house and he was awaiting Tony, but still! Did he have to home at the exact moment he was contemplating the meaning of his life? No.

“I’ll get you some new clothes, then strip from the suit.” Tony said, walking into his room, most likely going to get said clothes.

Peter sighed and just stood in the large living room, listening to every sound Tony made in the other room. It didn’t take long for the billionaire to come back into Peter’s view, holding pajama pants and a shirt that read ‘I survived my trip to NYC’.

“Ha. Ha,” Peter said very sarcastically as he held his hand out for the clothing items. “Very funny.”

“I thought so to,” Tony said, smiling with a hint of sarcasm. “Go change.” The man gestured to the general direction of the rooms. Peter did as he was told. He took the suit off, knowing this would be the last time he did it, and then slid on the other clothes, which were comfortable, but he really wasn’t looking forward to going home in them.

“Here’s the suit.” Peter says as he walks out from one of the rooms. Tony takes the suit and looks at the fabric intently.

“Thanks,” Tony says quietly. He wants to say more, but what could he really say? ‘Can’t wait to not give this back to you and ignore you, see you tomorrow, kid!’ See? Wasn’t the best conversational piece.

Peter began walking out the door in the baggy clothing, but stopped himself. “So, is this going to be it?”

“What?” Tony asked, knowing ‘what’ already. Telepathic connections, remember?

“This is it? We’re not going to talk anymore, be there anymore, we’ll just drift away from each other, right? That’s what you want?”

“Of course that isn’t what I want,” Tony said quietly.

“I say something, something true,” Peter says, ignoring the mumbling Tony had just said. “And you don’t even attempt holding a conversation with me. What’s wrong with me, Tony? Honestly? Is it because I’m a boy? Too young? Just not for you?”

Tony had two choices. Tell Peter the truth, that was the first (and wisest) choice, however, Tony decided to go with the latter, which happened to be ‘Continue to lie’. “Peter, you aren’t pointing out something true, how many times do I have to tell you that?”

“See, I know you’re lying!” Peter yelled, walking away from the door and back towards Tony. “And you know how I know that? The same way, you know already how I know, because I can see what you’re thinking! I know it and you know it! Stop lying to me and tell me the real reason.”

Once again. Two choices, two paths. “Peter,” Tony began. “Stop trying to convince me there is something when I know there isn’t anything.”

“Just tell me why, before I leave, tell me why you don’t want to love me, to accept me, we could be - Mister Stark - we could be happy together.”

“There’s nothing to tell Peter. Whatever you’re feeling,” Tony lifted his hands as if he was presenting something. “Not real,” He finished.

“I’m tired of your bullshit, Tony, tell me the fucking truth!”

Tony was growing increasingly frustrated. “No! You don’t understand!”

“Try me!” Peter yelled back, getting closer to Tony, who wasn’t having any of it.

He could have chose to fight, like he always did, but he was done harming the boy. “Peter, just get out.”

No one moved, nothing changed, not even the AI’s.

“Now.”

And just like that, Peter was rushing out of Stark Tower, exasperated tears strolling down his cheeks as he made his way back home to seek out comfort in his aunt’s arms.

And that was it for a long time. They barely talked after that incident. It didn’t make sense. Peter did get his suit back, it was Tony’s way of saying ‘I’m sorry I was an asshole’ (Pepper, who had found out about Tony and Peter’s situation, had told the billionaire that his little apologies would sometimes manage to work on her) However, Peter didn’t see the charm in them and while they were now on neutral terms, they no longer hung out.

Tony hated what had happened to their relationship, if anything, it gave him just another reason to hate the universe. Tony wanted Peter, but didn’t want Peter, and he needed Peter, but at the same time, he wanted Peter to have a good life with someone better than him.

However, Tony is human, and sometimes thoughts like ‘Would the Universe really fuck Peter over and give him me for any other reason than the fact we would actually be really good together?’ but he dismissed those thoughts, because Peter was perfect. Tony? He was the textbook definition of a mess.

The next time Peter and Tony hold a conversation, there’s no time for awkward ‘So, how’s your life been?’ Because there’s this big Purple Grape with a nutsack chin running around, wreaking havoc.

At the beginning, it was about keeping each other and the rest of the world safe. It wasn’t about petty arguments on rather they should be together or not. It was about keeping shit together and not letting half the world disappear.

Then, things went up, Peter couldn’t breathe, he was told to let go. It was a blur, but he knew one thing, he wasn’t going to stay on Earth while Tony risked his life (again) for the Universe. Though, when a parachute surrounds you, it’s hard to hold on.

Peter managed to get himself stuck in some part of the spaceship. He stayed hidden for awhile, but then thought sitting there wouldn’t do anything. So, he made his way out to find Tony and the Wizard guy.

Obviously, Tony was furious. He told Peter to stay back, one thing, that’s all he wanted. He wanted to know that at least Peter was safe on Earth. Having him here would make it hard, extremely hard, he couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t face the fact Peter, the one thing he had to protect, was now with him on a one-way ticket ride on a strange spaceship.

“What’s your situation here?” Stephen asked, looking as the two arguing back and forth. “Is he like your ward?”

“What are we?” Peter said, looking at Tony, then Stephen and back and Tony. “Sore subject,” he said shrugging in Stephen’s direction.

“We’re not doing this now.” Tony said, walking away from the kid.

“Fine,” Peter said, obviously not fine. “Whatever, but if I end up laying eggs in you or whatever -”

“What?” Tony asked, a little snappier than he had to.

“I’m trying to say someone’s coming.” Peter rolled his eyes.

When the two were fighting side by side, all problems were still VERY present, but they were ignored so they could get their task done, and the two fought together really well. They accomplished a lot when they worked together as a team, unfortunately, as soon as the enemy was defeated, their adrenaline was pumping and they needed someone to take it out on.

So it would insure for fights, fights that brought out feelings they had been holding in, tears were shed a few times, and in the end, nothing got resolved, they just ended up getting so mad that they couldn’t even put it in to words, so they’d stop talking until it was repeated again.

When the fight against Thanos was lost, and he took the time stone and went off to collect the others, moral was more than a little low. Sadness, despire, defeat, all emotions both boys were feeling. Everything felt so hard and impossible.

Tension was once again growing between Tony and Peter. It was hard for it to not, once again, the two were adrenaline’s bitches. “This is it,” Peter said. No one else was around, only Tony, the others were out of ear shot as long as they kept their voices at a regular level. “This is where it ends, you know that right?”

Seeing Peter give up hurt Tony, the kid seemed more than ready to just die, and that was painful to see. However, what was Tony supposed to say. “Kid! Don’t worry about it! This won’t be the end!” Yeah, no that’s not an option. Instead, Tony just looked up at the kid sadly.

Tony’s reaction made it real, so Peter swallowed and sighed. “It’s really it,” He repeated. There was a beat of silence before the boy spoke up again. “And you still won’t admit it,”

Tony sighed. “There isn’t anything to admit, Peter.” It had become routine to just say it. It didn’t even upset Tony to lie anymore.

Peter leaned his head back and sighed. “I don’t want to fight about it anymore, Tony.”

“Then stop bringing it up.” Tony said.

“It’s just a little frustrating-” Peter began.

“And we’re fighting about it.”

“That you won’t admit it! Who’s going to know now? No one can judge you now? Unless it’s a you thing, or a me thing, maybe me isn’t good enough for you,” Peter tried to reason back and forth with himself, Tony wasn’t going to say anything anymore. He. Was. Done.

“I can try and understand. There are a lot of factors as to why you might not want to be with me. There’s the obvious one, the age gap. Then maybe it’s because I’m a boy-”

Still, Tony gave no reply, letting the boy ramble on to the same points.

“It could also be the fact I’m not Pepper or that I’m not hot enough for you, or maybe not smart enough. Is that it? I’m just not on your level?”

“Peter,” Tony sighed. “Please, just drop it.”

And, he did. He didn’t talk to Tony for the rest of the wait on Titan.

Until it happened. Back on Earth, Thanos had collected all the stones and snapped his fingers. It was done. Slowly but surely, everyone began fading, dissolving away into nothing. Tony looked around, watching as Strange, Quill, and even Mantis slowly became nothing but dust.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony turned around and faced Peter, his worst nightmare coming true. “I don’t feel so good.” Peter said as he stumbled on the ground.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked hastily, watching as his young soulmate practically feel forward.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happening,” Peter said, his voice breaking. He fell into Tony’s arms. Tony held onto the kid, shock washing over his body. “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go. Sir, please. I don’t wanna go,”

Tony slowly lowered Peter down to the ground, hovering over him slightly. “I don’t wanna go.” He said one last time before making eye contact with Tony. He had nothing but sadness and regret in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” He said finally. Tony still couldn’t react, shock was overtaking every other emotion as he watched the love of his life fade away and turn into nothing but dust. He sat back, looking at the spot Peter had once been laying, and then around to see he was the only one left. He looked down at his hand, waiting for whatever had happened, to take him also.

But it didn’t.

Now he was stuck, stranded, alone.

“…I’m so sorry,” He mumbled as he brought his hand up to rest his chin against it. “So, so sorry.”

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parkeer #ironspider #angst #original work #request

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