#i haven’t changed my ao3 handle in twelve years in case someone wants to find me

[swordsmans]

just spent over an hour trying retrace blogs from when i was deeper in the one piece / zolu fandom eight or nine years ago. it’s really weird and emptying to realize there are people who i still think about regularly that were my friends only for a year or so in 2015-2016 and then we completely stopped talking when life started to get really out of control for me. deactivated or inactive blogs, urls i don’t even really remember anymore, hundreds of deleted asks, phone numbers and skype handles that are completely gone—but tons of conversations i still remember having. we’ve all changed. we’ve all grown. we’ve all moved on. same goes for old jjba and homestuck friends, too. we all grew up. i hope everyone is still doing okay.

[seagreen-meets-grey]

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 17

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

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“I’m in love with you.”

Fresh raindrops were hitting the windscreen in an increasing rhythm, the backdrop to her thoughts.

“I’m in love with you.”

She turned on the wipers.

“But I can’t be your friend anymore.”

His voice was haunting her, words replaying in her ears over and over, accompanied by an electric jolt stopping her heart for a beat every single time. She almost anticipated a flash of lightning on the horizon, a crack of thunder rolling through her chest.

The drive back to Berk had never felt this long, the allowed driving speed never this slow. Eyes on the road, she fumbled for her phone, managing to connect it to the car one-handed. There was a call that absolutely could not wait.

It rang a few times, then cut off. Did she have no reception here? Didn’t he? Did he decline her call? Nervously tapping her steering wheel, Astrid flung the phone onto the passenger seat. She would try again if she got stuck at a traffic light. But traffic flowed freely and not much later, she parked in the same spot as mere hours before. She couldn’t believe so little time had passed since she had gotten ready for her lunch not-date (that had totally been an unofficial date).

Dashing through the rain, she quickly made it to the front door and rang the doorbell. But after fifteen minutes of repeatedly pressing the button, she concluded that he either wasn’t home or really did not want to open the door. She tried his phone again, but it just kept ringing and ringing. Which was weird, because he had specifically asked her to call him back, hadn’t he? Why would he not answer her calls now? Had he changed his mind, was he mad that she’d just left like that?

She racked her brain for where he could be, but the weather wasn’t leaving her a lot of options. He couldn’t be at work because it was a Sunday. She didn’t know where any of his friends lived. Hell, she only knew two names, maybe three if she counted the ex-girlfriend. Perhaps he’d gone to the forest again, despite the weather?

But his car was still parked to the side. Was he home after all? She tried the doorbell again, then rang for his neighbor. They could let her in so she could pound at his door, just in case his bell wasn’t working.

“Hello?” came a grumpy voice out of the speaker.

“Ah, yes, hi. I’m trying to get a hold of your neighbor, but he’s not opening. Could you let me in, please?”

“No.”

Briefly taken aback, she blinked a couple times. “I really need to–”

“I don’t know you. If they’re not opening, I won’t either. Good day.” The speaker crackled and went silent.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” she mumbled. “You got great neighbors, man.”

He still wasn’t answering her calls. At this point, she didn’t know whether to be annoyed or worried. Texting him a quick ‘where are you????’, she returned to her car and deliberated her next step. One option was to just wait here for him to get back. Call him over and over again until she got a reaction.

“Ugh!” With a frustrated groan, she threw her head back and closed her eyes. There was a way for her to reach someone who knew him, but even if she was successful, it would be a mighty awkward phone call and she would have to swallow a bit of pride.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Dammit!” She hit her steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn. Hopefully, it had made Hiccup’s neighbor jump.

The next call went unanswered as well, but that only boosted her determination. There was no stopping her, not so close to her happy ending. She wanted to hear his voice, wanted to look into his wonderful eyes and scream at the top of her lungs, let out all her suppressed feelings that she’d been harboring for him ever since the moment his presence had first struck her like lightning. Three words, one breath. The clear answer he needed to hear from her, the one she needed to speak out loud.

She found Dagur’s contact in her list and sent him a short text, hoping he would help her out first and ask annoying questions later. And lo and behold, twelve minutes later, she had Heather Oswald’s number.

She picked up after the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Hi. This is Astrid Hofferson, um... We’ve met a couple times, I’m–”

“Yeah,” Heather interrupted her in a tone Astrid couldn’t decipher, “I know who you are.”

“Oh, okay. Great. Uh, I’m looking for Hiccup, actually, and he’s not home or answering his phone. You’re the only person I could get a hold of who might know where he is or…”

“I have no idea.”

“Ah, well then, do you have an idea where I could look?”

The line went silent for a moment. “Without a clue about what’s going on, it’s hard to narrow it down.”

“Oh. Well, maybe–”

“Look, Astrid?” Heather interrupted her. “I know it’s not my place to say. But Hiccup is one of my best friends and he’s been pretty depressed because of you for the past two years. He… cares about you a lot.” Astrid tried to get a word in, but Heather didn’t let herself be interrupted. “I know you two are friends, but you’re not doing him any favors as long as you’re not honest with him.

“Heather, I-”

“Whatever it is you want from him, please tell him so he can stop driving himself crazy.”

“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m looking for him!”

“You are? Good. You might not be aware of it, but you have the power to absolutely break him. I’d rather you didn’t.”

Astrid gulped. “Yeah, believe it or not, he actually has the same power over me. Why do you think I’m calling his ex-girlfriend for help?”

Heather chuckled. “I haven’t heard from him this weekend, but I can think of a few others who might have. I can give you their numbers.”

“Thank you, seriously!”

“I’m doing it for him. Good luck.”

The line went dead and Astrid let out the tension in her shoulders with a sigh of relief. She didn’t have a new lead, but she had gained new options. And she’d just gotten the dad talk from her ex’s best friend’s sister.

Her phone buzzed with a few messages from an unsaved number, sending her a few contacts. She assumed the two people with Hiccup’s last name were his parents and decided to make them her last resort since there was no need to worry them about their son being uncharacteristically unavailable. Besides, they didn’t even know her.

Discovering she actually knew the other people Heather had referred her to, she decided to call Fishlegs first, hoping for not another lecture on how to treat one of his best friends. The one had been uncomfortable enough. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Hiccup, even unintentionally. He was way too important to her, had taken root inside her heart the moment he’d first smiled at her.

She still remembered how he’d been able to make her forget about the sea of people around her in a matter of seconds, joking around about something trivial, grasping her full attention so easily she’d even blinded out her own fiancé, who’d been right there next to her. Looking back, she could only shake her head at her own stubbornness in admitting her immediate attraction and the connection that had been there from the moment their eyes had met. Her skin tingled at the memory of that bolt of lightning striking her to the core…

With a wince, she pulled herself from her daydream, concentrating on the task at hand and making the next call. Fishlegs picked up almost immediately, voice a little wary of the unknown number calling him on a Sunday evening. The horizon was darkening gradually, the last rays of sunlight drowning in the incoming wave of night, the streetlamps outside flickering on one after the other.

Fishlegs didn’t know where Hiccup was. “Maybe his phone is dead? He sometimes forgets to charge it before it’s too late.”

“Nope, it’s ringing. The signal’s getting through. Which means that’s not it.” She didn’t want to waste her time theorizing about why he wasn’t picking up. She wanted to find him, then she could ask him and punch him for leaving her hanging like this. “But do you know where he could have gone on a Sunday night while it’s raining?”

“Hm. You say his car is home?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Snotlout lives nearby, that’s an old friend of his–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know him.” Tucking her phone between her jaw and shoulder, she started her car. “Where does he live?”

Fishlegs gave her the directions and offered to stay on the phone so she could keep him updated, but she quickly thanked him and hung up before pulling out of her parking spot. This was the worst scavenger hunt ever. At least she could cross calling Snotlout off her list.

Severely hoping to either catch Hiccup this time or at least get a solid lead, she pushed the doorbell ten seconds long and then hit it repeatedly in a short span of time until she heard the static of the receiver.

“Whoever the fuck you are, fuck you. Hiccup, is that you? I want my jacket.” Well, so much for finding Hiccup here.

“No, it’s Astrid, we met once, I think you tried to flirt with me.”

“Wait, the Astrid? Hot Astrid? Hot-strid?”

“Call me that again and you’ll find out how hot my fist is!”

“Okay, okay.” She noted with satisfaction how he was trying to cover up that he was intimidated. “What are you doing here? Came here to get a taste of the Snotman?”

Deciding to ignore his immediate new attempt at flirting (she would handle that another time, for sure), she just rolled her eyes. “Have you seen Hiccup?”

Expecting the same answer she got from everyone else, she was surprised when he said, “Yep. He was here.”

“When?” She jumped on the information, leaning closer to the receiver.

“I don’t know, some time in the past couple hours? I was busy, I don’t check the clock on a Sunday.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Out.” Oh, she wanted to break the door in and slap him.

“But where, Snotlout?!” A dog started barking very closely to the intercom, making Astrid flinch away.

“Shut up, Hookfang! I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. Sit, you dumb dog! He just came by for a jacket, he was kinda drenched. Pretty stupid, actually, because he had an umbrella and it wasn’t even raining when I looked outside.”

She bit her lip and frowned. So he was out somewhere, probably still in the rain. Great, so she just had to drive through town and search all the streets of Berk until she found him. At least she had some kind of solid plan now.

“Thanks, Snotlout.”

His answer was drowned out by the barking dog, then the intercom fell silent with a crackling static, but she was already sprinting back to her car. She tried calling Hiccup again, but then gave up with a groan; she wouldn’t reach him. He hadn’t read her text yet, either. So what now, call his parents if he had walked there? She didn’t even know if they lived in Berk.

Reaching for her phone again, she replayed his message. The butterflies tumbled through her stomach again when he said the five words she would never grow tired of hearing. There was the sound of traffic and rain in the background, but that didn’t help a lot, so she replayed it again. And there it was, another lead – he said he’d been at her parents’ place, looking for her. Of course! Maybe he’d mentioned more to whoever had answered the door.

She sped through town, parking right in front of the front door, something her father hated. But right now, she couldn’t care less. Fumbling with the keys for a minute, she pushed the door open and yelled into the house.

“Mom! Dad! Anyone?!”

Her father stuck his head through the door to the living room, glass of wine in hand, wearing his comfy couch pants. “Hello, daughter. We were wondering if you were still showing up for dinner.”

“Sorry, I forgot to cancel, I had something important to do.” She trudged down the hallway to the living room, leaving dirty footprints on the floor.

“Astrid, your shoes!” her father chided her, but she ignored it.

“Was Hiccup here?”

“Who?”

Her mother turned around on the couch. “Yes, your boyfriend was here. He was looking for you.”

Astrid scooched by her dad who almost spilled his wine. “When? What did he say?”

Wilma clucked her tongue in disapproval, shaking her head at her daughter’s wet shoes, two steps from the new carpet.

“Mom.”

Frederick put a hand on her shoulder, holding his glass out of her reach. “Why don’t you take your shoes off and join us? This crime thriller is very entertaining and there’s more wine in the fridge–”

“Mom!”

“Like I said, he was looking for you. I don’t remember when, but it was still light outside. He didn’t say what he wanted, though, and left as soon as I said you weren’t here.”

“Who?” Frederick repeated, confusion written clearly on his face. “The young man you spoke to earlier? What was that about a boyfriend?”

Astrid didn’t have time for explanations to be exchanged. “Which direction did he leave in? This is very, very important, mom!”

“What’s going on, dear? Why don’t you–”

Astrid rolled her eyes with an impatient growl, contemplating threatening to wipe her feet on the carpet if her mother didn’t just come across with the information, but figured that would only spark an entirely different discussion. “Mom, I swear – please just tell me, please!” The desperation had to be showing in her eyes because her mother gave in with a sigh.

“Down the street to Marram Lane, he was on foot so my guess is he was heading for the bus.”

That didn’t make her chase any less frustrating, but it was better than nothing. “Anything else?”

“No–”

“Okay, thanks, bye!” She dashed past her dad who took a surprised step back. Before the front door closed behind her, she could hear him complain about his spilled wine on the new carpet.

Jumping into her car, she deliberated showing Hiccup’s profile picture to every bus driver she could catch, until one of them remembered him and where he got off the bus. But chances were he’d taken the route home and was already back there while she was looking for bread crumbs all over Berk. So she decided on one last attempt. If he didn’t open his door now, she would go home and probably not sleep all night.

If it hadn’t been for the red light near the park, she would have missed it. Tapping her finger against the steering wheel, she absentmindedly glanced outside while waiting for green.

It was the jacket that caught her eye. Chipped print of faded red flames climbing up the dark sleeves, wide and short on a body too tall and lean for the cut. It was him.

The umbrella shaded him from the light of the streetlamps, but she immediately made out the wild auburn hair, the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, eyes cast down. He was heading for the park, on a shortcut to his house that she couldn’t take with her car.

A honk from behind her alerted her to the green light and she stepped on it, crossing the intersection and pulling over onto the sidewalk as soon as she got the chance to.

She ran, only just bothering to lock her car. The rain was coming down in buckets and she splashed her entire right leg when she stepped in an overly large puddle, but that wouldn’t slow her down.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Hiccup! Wait!”

He had almost disappeared behind the next corner and a few trees when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “Astrid?”

Panting, she came to a stop. “Finally. I looked- I looked everywhere for you.”

“Oh- oh yeah. I’m so sorry.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her the screen. There was a large crack right down the middle and her unsuccessful calls finally made sense. He hadn’t been suddenly ghosting her, after all. “Did… Um, did you get my…”

“I got your message.” Her instincts told her to just grab him and haul him in for a kiss like she’d wanted to for so long, but he’d asked her to talk and she wouldn’t make any rash moves; there was just too much on the line.

For a beat, he looked at her nervously, before he noticed the water running down her face, darkening her hair and clothes. He stepped closer, holding his umbrella over the two of them.

“Thanks.” She wiped wet strands of hair out of her face. Every now and then, a gust of wind blew cold rain underneath the umbrella like a lawn sprinkler that had lost its rhythm. She was exhausted. She’d had a very long day.

It didn’t escape her how his eyes briefly dropped down her face, awakening the memories of his lips brushing hers earlier that day, numbing the tips of her fingers for the fraction of a second, before he averted his face. “I’m sorry if I sprung all this on you, but…”

“No, I’m the one who has to apologize.” His eyes settled back on hers and the shiver running down her spine had nothing to do with the weather. “You were absolutely right, I had been running from my conflicts, and my feelings. I went home to talk to Eret.” She took a deep breath. “We decided to break up.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I… Was… Was it true, then? About him and…”

“Dana? That wasn’t what I thought it was. You were right about that, too.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I am always right about everything,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug and the hint of a shy grin.

“Hmm, sure.” Her lips were twitching and the invisible string attached to her heart was pulling at her chest. The rain was cold and the heat his body was emanating was driving her insane. The proximity to him, the way he was looking at her, the light of the streetlamps reflecting golden specks in his deep green eyes sending a parade of tingles over her skin. “He hadn’t been cheating on me any more than I cheated on him.”

His brows furrowed; head cocked to the side ever so slightly.

“Emotionally. Not with Dana. And that’s only one of the reasons me and him didn’t work out.”

Shaking his head, his frown deepened. “So… What does that mean now? Astrid, why are you here?”

She mirrored his expression. “Because you wanted to talk–”

“No, I mean, why are you here? In the rain, soaked to the bone? You could have called later, or tomorrow, or any other time.”

“No, I couldn’t,” she replied, trying to lay all the sincerity she felt into her voice. “Like I said, I’ve been running away for way too long.” The world began to blur around her, the traffic and the rain faded, vision narrowing in on him, capturing his gaze so intently, it caused her palms to sweat and her hands to start shaking from the intensity. “I love you. Okay? I love you! I want to be with you, Hiccup! I- I love you.” Her heart was rapidly pumping liquid lightning through her veins from finally saying the words out loud.

The earth stopped spinning as she looked at him, waiting for a reaction. His lips were slightly parted, eyes posing as windows to his soul, alive and starry, burning into her like fireworks into the summer night. With bated breath, knees weakening under his gaze, she felt the electricity buzz around her, charging for the final blow. Seconds passed, small eternities, in which she couldn’t move, the current pinning her to the spot.

Then, he suddenly surged forward, grabbing her face with both hands, and lightning crashed through her as they finally connected in a blinding flash of blue and white. Her chest exploded; high voltage was coursing through her every nerve, every vein, blood alive, heart pounding in sync with his; it was like their souls were magnets, caught in each other’s magnetic field, too strong to disconnect.

Her heart was soaring, quaking, pulsating, the world empty but for them. Their heavy breaths and the deafening thunder in her soul the only sound reaching her ears. Space and time became foreign concepts, the universe narrowing down to where they stood, hands roaming over shoulders, necks, limbs and through hair, unable to linger, always seeking out more, lips chasing lips.

She had to hold onto him as the ground disappeared underneath her feet and she went falling, flying, tumbling through the clouds. Her stomach was doing somersaults, backflips, pirouettes; the lightning strike had left her blind. She couldn’t get enough of his touch, lungs screaming for air, but she couldn’t care less about breathing, reconnecting with his lips after every hasty intake of air, drowning in the feeling of wonder, of pure euphoria.

The only thing she knew to be real was the warmth of his body, the passion that let their lips collide over and over again until she felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the intense electric current running through their bodies like one.

Eyes still closed, they eventually parted for much required air, their foreheads touching, breaths mingling. Her hands were slowly sliding from his neck, resting over his erratic heartbeat, mirroring hers. His fingers trailed down her spine, settling around her waist.

“Did you feel that?” Her voice was shaking.

“The lightning?”

Her eyes fluttered open and her chest swelled with affection at the raw emotion in his eyes and the fact that he felt as much for her as she did for him. She nodded with a gulp.

“I did.” He lifted a hand to her face, gently wiping something hot and salty from her cheek that she hadn’t even noticed herself. “Is this real?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Hey, if not, at least we’re stuck in the same dream, right?”

“Right.” Getting lost in his gaze again, she blinked when he suddenly cleared his throat and looked around, as if remembering that there was a whole universe out of their wonderful, perfect little bubble.

“We should probably go someplace dry.” The umbrella was discarded somewhere on the ground, dirty and forgotten. “I keep getting drenched today, how is that?!”

The laughter breaking out of her and the look he gave her in return were nothing short of breathtaking, and she wondered if she was ever going to get used to that, already addicted to everything about him, everything he was doing to her. “My car is back there.” She pointed in a general direction over her shoulder.

“Okay.” He leaned down and softly pecked her lips again, followed by another toe-curling, heart-stopping, world-shaking kiss, slow and deep, her fingers clutching at his soaked shirt. Their noses brushed, wet and cold. “Okay,” he repeated himself in a whisper and stepped away enough to entwine their hands, starting towards where she had pointed.

The skin of their interlaced fingers was frigid, but Astrid did not feel the cold. She just felt… free.

His thumb brushed over her knuckles as she steered him back to her car and the contact crackled through her nerves like an inextinguishable fire. Just this morning, she’d been shaken by her own confession to herself, still anxious over the fight she’d had with Hiccup the day before. Entire lifetimes had passed since then.

Glancing at him, she caught his eyes and the blinding smile on his lips. Oh, those lips. She had discovered a new drug and she was already high on it. With a weak fist, she punched his shoulder. “That’s for breaking your phone.” He blushed, rubbing his neck with his free hand. With her own, she fished her car keys from her uncomfortably wet jeans, pushing the button and glancing over him once more. “And what the hell are you wearing?!”

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- End of Part 2 -

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[inactiive-shit]

Life As A Sanders

LAAS Masterlist

Read On AO3!

Part 1: The Adoption

((Next Part))

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any for this chapter!

Pairings: Familial DLAMP, in the end

Words: 3,333

Summary: Through the years of Virgil and Logan getting adopted by their Dad, Patton, and some of their major milestones in life.

Author’s note: So! It is the first Friday of the new decade, and I’ve decided I’m going to start posting this story. There are twelve parts, and I will be posting every Friday until it’s finished. Hope you enjoy!

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Patton couldn’t deny that he had a weak spot for kids. But really, who didn’t? They were so adorable, and eventually they got bigger - but still adorable! - and then you could hold conversations with them about such simple and mundane things that seemed so important to them. It was a nice break from the stresses of adult life, okay?

So, yeah, when Patton had been with a man he had thought was his soulmate, and when both of them wanted to adopt, they went for it. Why not? They loved each other, they loved kids, they were financially stable, and they both wanted the experience of raising kids and seeing them go through life, learning everything they could.

Everybody told them things changed when you brought kids into the mix. But they knew that! Of course it changed things! Sure, they would have different disagreements, different types of disagreements, but they still loved each other. They could still work things out. They could still compromise.

Until they couldn’t.

When they were talking about adopting, talking about the things that they would and would not accept in a child, there weren’t very many limitations. They agreed that no disorders would stand in the way. They were stable enough to be able to afford treatments or equipment, and Patton’s cousin Emile was a child psychologist. He dealt all different sorts of kids everyday and knew a lot about different disorders. If the pair fell in love with a kiddo who had special needs, they could ask Emile for help real time while they learned all about it on their own.

They had a small disagreement on age. Patton wanted to have it open to kids of all ages. The probability of older kids being adopted shrank with every year the child aged, and that wasn’t right. They should be open to older kids too, Patton insisted, because they were still kids. They were still young and in need of families. They still needed to be raised. They still needed to be loved.

Patton’s partner, however, wanted the experience of raising a child from infancy. It was part of the experience, he would retort. You’re not really raising them if they already have their own ideals and they’ve never even met you.

In the end, they agreed to have it open to all ages, but with a preference for the younger adoptees.

It didn’t quite sit right with Patton.

Looking back, Patton supposes that argument was one of the first warning signs.

However, they both agreed that gender was a non-issue. Who cared if the child was a boy or a girl? They were still a kid. Plus, the designation might not be accurate. The child could always turn out to be trans or nonbinary or agender or genderfluid or demigender or any other gender out there.

Since they agreed so heartily on that point, the previous argument was mostly forgotten.

Next was number of kids. Patton, as was his way, excitedly said that he would love to have as many children as they could afford. His partner laughed good-naturedly, and insisted that they should only start out with one. Like a trial run.

That didn’t sit very well with Patton either. They were talking about people, not apps. There was no free trial here.

Still, Patton pushed it aside. He’d heard other people use similar phrases when having their first kid, and he convinced himself that it was just one of those commonly used analogies nobody ever thought about the real implications of. They didn’t really think of their kids as a trial. Nobody would actually say that about their kids.

Patton had nodded slowly, though. It did make sense to start with just one. Get a feel for the job, learn how to handle the different things that having a kid can throw at you. This was especially important when adopting, because Patton didn’t ever want his kiddo to think they counted as less than someone who was biologically related to their parents, or think they weren’t good enough for their birth parents. And Patton knew that even if they did everything right, their baby would eventually have questions about who had them biologically. Who wouldn’t? It was a natural question.

Also, there was the hurdle of being a gay couple with kids. They would have to learn how to navigate all that, too. People were more accepting now, but not all people.

So, Patton could see where he was coming from, even if the phrasing of the concern was unfortunate.

However, Patton had insisted that they not entirely rule out having more than one kiddo. After all, he wanted to keep siblings together if he could. Patton didn’t know what he’d do if he hadn’t had Emile, his cousin who was more like a sibling, growing up. He didn’t want to deprive anyone else of that opportunity, either.

So, they had compromised again. Open to siblings, but preferring just one.

Most other things had been agreed upon. Race and ethnicity was irrelevant. Their reason for being given up didn’t matter. How long they’d been in the system didn’t matter. Behavioral problems didn’t matter. Birth defects didn’t matter. Any physical deformities didn’t matter.

Finally, after months and years of talk and forms and waiting, they were ready. The pair went from foster home to foster home, orphanage to orphanage, hospital to hospital, looking and meeting and talking to all the kids. There had been more than one that Patton’s heart had cried out for (or maybe more like all of them), but his partner had disagreed on most cases. There was one girl they were going to adopt, but they had talked it out first, to be sure, and she had been adopted by someone else instead.

After such a long time searching and not agreeing on kiddos, Patton was beginning to become hopeless. He wondered if maybe they’d jumped into this a little too fast. Were they ready for kids? Were they honestly prepared to deal with everything a kid could throw at them, all the unique challenges every kid presented, and figure out the different parenting styles they were likely to have if they couldn’t even agree on a child to adopt in the first place? It wasn’t rocket science, Patton knew.

It was something much more important, that required a much steadier hand.

It was a cloudy day when Patton’s partner woke him up, far too early. Patton, never the early waker, had been slow to come. But his partner had been excited. They had a visit to the hospital today, to see a bunch of babies that were still too young to go into the system, and he just knew that today was the day. His excitement was infectious so, with a quick kiss, Patton jumped in the shower and then let his partner cook him a nice omelet for breakfast.

Patton wasn’t much of a cook.

They reached the hospital right on time, and immediately a woman by the name Dr. Abioye showed the men into the ward. It was the same place the rest of the babies stayed, but the ones that were available for adoption had a green marking on the side of their little boxes. (Were they called boxes? Cradles? Bassinets? That had certainly not been covered in any class Patton had taken in preparation for this.)

“These babies are all six months old or less,” Dr. Abioye told them. “The green markings indicate that the parents, for whatever reason, have relinquished their rights. Some babies are kept here because they are sick and in need of intensive care, and others because they are newborn and the system prefers they be with trained professionals day and night rather than a foster family.” She smiled at them, then looked at the papers in her hands “I see here that you haven’t marked anything down as a hard no, so I will leave you to it. If you have any questions, I will be making my rounds in here as will the other nurses. Feel free to get to know our little ones.” With that final remark, Dr. Abioye began going around the room, cooing at the babies and tickling them, eliciting giggles and shrieks.

Patton’s partner suggested that they go alone, because he felt that it would be easier to see all the babies that way. Patton hesitantly agreed, and they split off to opposite ends of the nursery.

For the third time, it didn’t quite feel right to Patton that they split up. He wasn’t sure why, though, so he kept quiet, forgetting about his own problems as he got see all the babies.

There were big ones and small ones sleeping ones and crying ones and giggly ones. There were so many to choose from, and they were so small! Even the biggest baby there could easily be held in one hand. There was so much to take in, and there were so many different babies to look at.

For a second, Patton felt hopeless again. What if they could never choose? Worse, what if they did, and then found out they were horrible parents? What if they couldn’t do right by the little one they wanted to take home?

But Patton took a breath, and let it out, and then smiled down at a two week old adoptee. She was tiny, utterly minuscule, and absolutely having the time of her life. Patton was reassured, as that baby smiled at him, that he wanted kids and that he would do whatever he could to keep them happy and safe.

Patton kept walking along, looking at a few more cribs (Patton still didn’t know the right title, and cribs was close enough, right?)

Then, a little baby just started wailing. Patton hurried down a few cribs to find the little guy. Once Patton saw them, he couldn’t help but coo at them and picked them up. Patton bounced the baby up and down a few times, and it seemed to calm them a little. They kept having strange little hiccuping noises, but Patton figured that normal.

After a few minutes, the baby was entirely calmed down, no longer crying, and Patton gently set them back in the crib. Except, as soon as the baby felt the sheet of their tiny bed and not Patton’s hands, the crying immediately rose a few decibels. So, like any good father would do, Patton picked the baby back up, and kept shushing him, waiting for the crying to become sniffling and the that to become even baby breaths.

“You’re pretty good at that,” an unfamiliar voice said. Patton jumped, but turned slowly so he didn’t upset his baby.

“Aw, thanks, kiddo! I may be new to parenting, but taking care of ‘em is old hat.” Patton grinned down at the one in his arms.

“I can tell.” The man laughed. “And to tell you a secret? I’ve been working here for years, and I have never heard a baby cry as much as this little boy has. As a matter of fact, nobody here can get him to stop crying. We’ve tried feeding and diaper changes, everything you can think of. But this baby always has something to say.”

Patton bounced the little boy in his arms a few more times. “There’s always a reason when babies cry. They need something. They’re too little to be crying for no reason just yet.” He glanced around at the attendants. “I’m sure he just wants some cuddles. The smaller they are, the more cuddles they need! You could say they’re cuddle fish.” Patton winked at the nurse in front of him, who burst out laughing even though it was a bit of a stretch.

Patton’s partner came over, and the nurse left, still giggling about the pun. Patton smiled. A hard day’s work for a full day’s smiles!

Patton’s partner told him that he hadn’t had any luck, and asked about Patton. Patton grinned quietly, and proudly showed off the little boy in his arms. “I think he’s the one,” Patton said. They had a brief discussion, and quickly agreed that yes, this was the baby they wanted. So, they told Dr. Abioye, who smiled warmly and went about getting all the proper paperwork.

“This is the last step of the adoption process,” she told them. “You sign all the proper paperwork, we give you all his information, and then you take him home. Of course, there’s a one week waiting period for taking the baby home, so that you can take care of any last minute preparations you may have.” Patton nodded quickly, sad that he wouldn’t be able to take the baby home now, but knowing it was for the best. There was a few more baby-proofing items they’d been waiting to put up.

“Now now, what’s this little guy’s name?” Dr. Abioye asked. Patton blushed, said he’d go check, and ducked out of the office. He had forgotten to check when he’d picked the baby up. Foolish of him, but at least he remembered which crib he had come from.

Patton found the crib, and giggled. If he was unsure about the baby before, there was no doubt now. The paper on the box read Virgil Xanders - two months of age - four pounds three ounces - up for adoption. Well, Xanders was practically the same as Sanders, which was Patton’s last name, and they had already decided that their children would be taking Patton’s last name. They had decided, if they got married, that they would use Patton’s name. It was important to Patton that he was a Sanders, and his partner didn’t particularly care about his own last name one way or another.

Patton slipped back into the office and announced Virgil’s name for the doctor to hear. Virgil fussed a little when he did it, and Patton cooed about him already recognizing his name.

“Now, because you’re adopting him, you can change his name to whatever you want,” Dr. Abioye said, flipping through a file cabinet. She pulled up another folder, and glanced through, then frowned.

“What’s the matter?” Patton asked, hugging Virgil a little closer.

“Well, Mr. Sanders, according to this it says that Virgil has a twin brother. Logan Xanders.” Dr. Abioye looked from Patton to his partner and back. “I will step out, and let you two discuss what you want to do.”

As soon as she was gone, Patton’s mouth was working. “We can’t split up siblings. Please, we have to take them. Both of them.” And Patton worked on begging his way into convincing his partner to adopt two little boys because they needed a good home where they could be together.

So, after a few minutes’ discussion, they decided to adopt both. The papers were signed, and Patton struggled because he didn’t want to risk holding Virgil with his weaker arm, so he had to sign with his non-dominant hand.But the whole thing turned out well, and Patton could not have been happier.

Back in the main nursery, Patton hesitantly set Virgil back in his crib. Virgil stared at Patton with wide, curious eyes as he moved around. Then, Patton checked the name on the next crib over. Patricia Vidales. Well, that was not Virgil’s brother at all. Patton checked the crib to the other side of Virgil, and there was Logan Xanders. Happily, Patton cooed over him before picking him up, and Logan immediately began squirming around. Patton kept mumbling to him, trying to placate him, but Logan did not seem as easily soothed as his brother had been.

Then, he looked to the side and saw Virgil. Logan gurgled and it seemed like he tried to throw himself out of Patton’s arms and into his brother’s crib. Patton giggled and lowered him down so that they were face to face. Despite the fact that it was nearly impossible for the babies to recognize each other, they both began making tiny baby laughs and kicking at each other. Patton squealed with delight, startling the babies, and his partner laughed. Then, they put their boys back and left, knowing that they’d be there bright and early the next Thursday to take home the newest members of their family.

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

Things went from bad to worse. The first month was fine, and the second was alright. But by the third month, both of the men were reaching the end of their patience. Neither of them had gotten a full night’s sleep since before they’d brought the boys home, and while Logan’s sleep pattern had started to lengthen, Virgil was still waking up every few hours.

Patton dealt with it most nights, but they were both always woken up by it. During the day, the boys were golden. Logan was inquisitive, looking at and eating everything he could get his hands on. He squinted a lot, though, and Patton was beginning to wonder if he needed glasses. Virgil was a little fussier, and he wanted to be held at all times, but he was usually okay when he was with Logan.

Things went way sideways when the boys were six months old.

Patton and his partner had been taking care of them for four months. Virgil still couldn’t sleep through the night, and Logan was starting to become just as clingy as his brother during the day. And Patton’s partner got to the point of wanting to tear his own hair out.

Then, the worst thing happened. Patton’s partner suggested that they should take the boys back. Put them back up for adoption because they were not prepared to deal with everything the babies brought along. They wouldn’t remember being with them anyway, so there was no harm done and they could go back to getting a full night’s sleep.

Patton’s jaw dropped at the words. It had become a fight, in which neither man was willing to back down. At the end, Patton’s partner had stormed out of the house, leaving Patton to deal with the boys, who were crying from fear and hunger.

A week later, the other man had packed up his stuff, signed papers that said Patton had full custody, and left. Patton was devastated. He’d thought they were soulmates, in it for the long haul, and absolutely nothing could tear them apart. To be proven wrong was agonizing. And for months after the fact, Patton took care of his boys the best he could, lost in a fog of depression and stress.

He brought them to the bakery with him, where the other workers would play with them throughout the day. He offered to pay them for babysitting, but they all refused. He brought them to the store with him, where they sometimes got odd looks. He took them anywhere he had to go, because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them with someone else.

And then, when his baby boys were almost a year old, when Patton had had them for about ten months, when Patton had been taking care of his boys alone for six months, something absolutely astounding happened. Logan stood up, and took two little, tiny baby steps and then fell promptly on his butt and started crying. Virgil crawled across the rug at the speed of light to get to his seventeen minutes younger brother, but Patton sat for a moment, looking in awe at the tiny baby.

Logan had taken those steps toward him. He’d been walking toward Patton, his Dad. And Patton was suddenly shocked right out of his fog. He didn’t need his ex. These boys, these two beautiful, loving boys were everything Patton could ask for, and he was lucky enough to have found them.

It would take more time to get completely over the heartache he had experienced, Patton thought, picking up the crying Logan and letting Virgil crawl onto his lap, but at least with his precious boys, it wouldn’t be nearly as hard.

[violetsmoak]

Appetence [2/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn’t expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: N/A

First Chapter

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): Enter Tim. And Tim's investigation. And Tim's tendency to make bad decisions.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

Red Robin crouches on a rooftop in the Bowery, watching the thief he was just interrogating scramble from the alley. He was a bit harsher than usual tonight—the full ‘hang ‘em by the feet’ routine that’s more Batman’s thing than his, but he’s getting frustrated now.

Dante’s been missing for a week now, and in this town, that’s never a good sign. And if no one’s seen him…

His gut and five years of stalking the night as a vigilante are telling him he shouldn’t get his hopes up about finding his friend, but he can’t work up the courage to stop. To just, pack up and head back to California.

Things between him and the Family are…tense.

Bruce hasn’t quite been able to look at him without suspicion since the whole incident with Captain Boomerang and Freeze. Dick’s as focussed on Damian as ever, and whatever attention he has left over has been going to mentoring Duke. Steph and Tim are in another extended “off” period of their on-and-off-again relationship, Damian’s…Damian. And Cass isn’t around often enough to mitigate any of that.

As much as Alfred assures him it’s not the case, Tim’s been feeling more and more like Gotham doesn’t have anything for him any longer.

He never thought he’d ever feel like that.

Gotham is dank and dark and terrifying, but it’s home. It’s flying through the air and running across rooftops and diving into trouble at the last second to save the day. It’s everything he wanted when he was a kid, secretly following Batman and Robin around with a camera almost as big as he was.

But every year now, it feels like the city is a little danker, a little darker, a little more terrifying. A lot more hopeless.

Part of him thinks that hopelessness started growing following Jason Todd’s murder. Tim did his best to be there for him, but it’s been an uphill battle. And every year, the fight for Gotham’s soul becomes an even bloodier war of attrition, consuming more and more innocents.

Reminded of his goal tonight, Tim decides to involve himself more directly.  

He rappels down to the alley floor and resigns himself to several hours of canvassing a hostile neighborhood. Though fear is an excellent motivator for some, for others a different approach is needed.

People are unlikely to tell a stranger—even a rich stranger—anything worthwhile. Especially here in the Alley, where throwing money at problems get people’s backs up. There’s a sense of pride down here, and an us-versus-them mentality that even the most destitute ascribe to.

And vigilantes are pretty firmly in the ‘them’ column.

Tim has better luck than most here; Red Robin has been frequenting this place a lot over the years, almost from the moment he put on the cape and tights. The other capes never bothered much with it—except for Jason, who when he was Robin made a point of ending his patrols with a quick check of his former home. Tim sometimes thinks that maybe his tendency to come here is an homage to that, a way of keeping his predecessor’s legacy alive.

Of course, he’s never said anything like that to anyone in the family. Even years later, the grief is still too raw. If he’s asked, Tim maintains that he’s cultivated a careful network of informants and contacts in the Alley, and nothing more.

I mean, it’s not like I can go wandering around Crime Alley in the middle of the day.

Tim Drake-Wayne’s face is too recognizable, causes too much trouble. People are desperate here, might try to grab him and use him to extort money from Bruce—and he’d have to let him because he’s not supposed to be able to handle himself. Bruce would come, of course, or whoever’s nearest that Oracle can get on the comms, but it would mean interrupting actual crimes in progress, with actual people who are in danger.

A worse alternative would be if whoever has Dante—and Tim’s sure someone has him because the kid wouldn’t just vanish on his own—they might harm him. Because Tim is the adopted son of the man funding Batman, and if they think he might cause them trouble, most people willing to kidnap are also willing to murder.

All of which assumes that they haven’t murdered him yet.

Tim’s plan of approached hinges on the locals actually being in a helpful mood tonight, but he soon discovers that’s not the case. No one’s feeling talkative tonight, even when he ramps up the intimidation a little.

Either there’s someone out there they’re more afraid of, or they really don’t know.

It’s only in the early hours of the morning when he’s considering returning to his Park Row apartment in defeat, that one of the working girls finally takes pity on him.

“Watchin’ you go back and forth is makin’ me dizzy,” Rhonda says. She’s been working the corner of Park Row and Fifth since before Tim’s time, and though she rarely goes out of her way to get involved with the capes, she does tend to be bluntly honest if the situation is right. “Who you lookin’ for?”

“This kid. Or anyone who’s seen him,” he says, pitching his voice into his approximation of Bruce’s Batman growl. He holds out the glossy picture he’s been flashing around all night; he took it off a security camera and increased the size of. “He was working at the bodega on the corner of Parker and Main just outside the Alley.”

“A bit weird for a cape to give a shit about some kid from ‘round here. Don’t you freaks normally deal with the bigger freaks?”

“Have you seen him or not?” Tim insists, ignoring the jab.

“Who’s he to you, sugar?” she asks, glancing at the picture Tim brandishes. “And don’t give me no bullshit.”

Tim sighs, knowing better than to test her; she’s got Alfred levels of talent when it comes to lies.

“He’s a friend of sorts,” he explains. “Sort of…a protégé. I’ve been looking out for him the past few months.”

Which is sort of true, though not in the way he’s implying.

During WE’s years board meeting to examine the various applications for the Scholarship Program, Tim took note of an applicant whose overall qualifications were outstanding and whose even on paper looked like a major boon to the company.

But the Board of Directors took one look at Dante Garcia’s prior assault conviction at age twelve and decided to toss his application. Without even reading the excellent essay the kid wrote to explain the reasons he had been fighting (to defend a friend from a police officer with a grudge). Or how the experience made him want to become an advocate for those who couldn’t afford it.

It was a brave move, being upfront about the criminal record, but likely Dante knew it wasn’t exactly something he could hide. His record wouldn’t be sealed until he was eighteen.

Tim tried to argue that one mistake made for good reasons shouldn’t deny a bright kid the opportunity and that Dante was clearly of the same caliber as Tim, just without the last name to help him.

(He hadn’t mentioned that Dante reminded him of another boy from long ago, given a second chance and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.)

He was still outvoted.

From the way the old bastards were looking at him, Tim felt sure it was more because of who he was than who Dante was.

The petty bastards never did get over the fact they have a teenager for a boss.

In spite of the Board not agreeing with his vote, Tim already decided he intended to help Dante. He tracked him down to speak to him in person and get a better measure of him.

He was immediately impressed upon their first meeting, especially when he discovered how easy it was to converse with him. He has an intelligence that reminds him of Duke, but his attitude put him in mind of everything he knew about the second Robin.

“I’m going to figure out a way to get you a scholarship,” he told him two weeks into their acquaintanceship. “Even if it’s not from the Foundation, we’ll figure it out. I’d be willing to hire you on at the Neon Knights if you’re interested. Criminal records aren’t exactly a deal-breaker there.”

(Especially since most of the people working there were once part of or are in the process of escaping gangs.)

“That sort of thing will look good on a resume and open doors for you, including getting you into events and putting your name out there,” Tim continued. “The Knights also sponsors educational initiatives, so you can get your general credits out of the way and eventually transfer into a college program of your choice.”

Dante stared at him, suspicious. “Why you doing this, man? You don’t know me from Adam.”

“Because I was taken in by a man who didn’t think someone’s last name or financial background should be an obstacle to greatness,” Tim replied honestly. “My brothers and sister came from harsh backgrounds, but he didn’t let that stop him from taking them in and trying to help them achieve their potential. They’re all good kids that could have gone a very different way if he didn’t get involved. Because he had the ability to do so. Having influence means nothing if you don’t use it to do good.”

“So what’s the price of this?”

“That you’ll be expected to pay it forward. And you’re already going to be doing that when you get your degree and start helping people. You’llhave the influence. Just keep your nose clean and away from the gangs, and you have a real shot, kid.”

“Excuse you, white boy, you’re my age. None of that ‘kid’ shit with me.”

Tim laughed.

It had still taken time after that to convince Dante that Tim’s offer was legit, but once he decided he was trustworthy, they’d started hanging out more. What started with Tim sponsoring a kid with huge potential turned into an actual friendship—and he didn’t have many of those with people who weren’t in the caped community. There was something about that he wanted to protect.

When Dante’s mother called him one day in tears, explaining that Dante had never come home from work and the police wouldn’t let her file a missing person’s report until 48 hours had passed, Tim didn’t hesitate to get involved.

At first, he’d worried that Dante’s disappearance was related to Tim—had someone discovered his identity and then decided to use his friend as leverage? The likelihood of that was low, however; anyone who did know his identity would come at him more directly, or at least have contacted him with some kind of threat.

Which meant what happened to Dante wasn’t vigilante related, but simply bad luck.

That doesn’t make Tim any less intent on figuring out what happened.

His thoughts must be projecting through his body language somehow because Rhonda’s usually sharp eyes soften a bit and she sighs. Looking around, she ensures there’s no one nearby, and then says, “You need to talk to Salvatore.”

“Who?”

“He’s a pimp, hangs out down the corner. He hooks, too, which is fucking weird. Does it because he likes it,” she says, making a disgusted face. “He tends to be the guy that’s always the last person to see someone before they go missin’, if you know what I mean?”

“You think he’s involved?”

“Nah, he’s too paranoid to do that. Likes to keep his hands clean, or pretend to. But he’s right near where your friend disappeared. And…” She hesitates here, sizing Tim up, and then nods to herself, “He’s got a rep. Lures new boys on the street into the business. He’s got a scary success rate at it, too.” She shivers. “Makes sense, he’s a scary motherfucker. Lots of his kids go missin’, but he always had some excuse. Letters and texts and shit provin’ they left the city or somethin’. No one knows how he does it, so you get him to talk, you’ll find out what you want to know. But I don’t see it happenin’.”

“Still. Thanks for the information,” Tim says and digs into his belt for a wad of cash. To his surprise, Rhonda shakes her head.

“Anyone sees me takin’ that from you right before you go after Salvatore, they’ll know I talked. No one’ll think I’d be stupid enough to give anything up for free. You come back a few days after you deal with that bastard, I’ll take it then.”

“That’s oddly trusting for someone like you.”

“Honey, you’ve been watchin’ these streets long enough I know you’re good for it. And catch me or anyone else ever telling you jack shit ever again if you stiff me.”

Tim snorts. “Fair enough. What’s this guy look like so I can find him?”

“Trust me, you’ll know him when you see him. Just don’t tell that creep anything ‘bout me sendin’ you in his direction.”

She doesn’t wait for his answer before sashaying away, returning to her activities for the night.

Tim keeps to the shadows as he heads to the corner Rhonda indicated, thinking he might have to wait around for a few hours—or even return the next night—if he’s going to find his next suspect.

It turns out he doesn’t need to.

A man who can only be Salvatore is leaning against the wall at the mouth of an alley, fiddling with his very expensive looking phone.

He is a tall, muscular, almost impossibly good-looking man with high cheekbones, intense blue eyes, and a full, cruel mouth. There’s something in a way that mouth lifts at the corners that makes Tim’s stomach thud, memories of a similar grin and devil-may-care laugh he only ever got to see through the lens of a camera or across a crowded ballroom.

But this isn’t him. This guy looks more like a crocodile than a robin.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” the man purrs when Tim materializes beside him, eyes flicking up and down Tim’s form with a look that does nothing to dispel the predatory image. “Looking for a pick-me-up after a hard night’s work?”

Tim ignores the innuendo dripping in the man’s voice.

“I’ve been given the impression you’ve seen this boy,” Tim says coolly, holding up his photo. “That you were the last one to see him. I need to know what you know.”

“I’m sure you do, baby, but I don’t come cheap, and neither does anything that comes out of my mouth,” Salvatore drawls.

Tim shrugs; if it’s money he wants, that’s not a problem. “I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

“Oh, I know we can,” Salvatore chuckles. “But not here.” His eyes flick around like he’s scoping out someone watching; his irises flicker strangely in the dim streetlight. “Not where someone might see us talking. I could lose customers for talking to a mask—and I’m all about discretion.”  

“They’re already seeing us talking.”

“And as far as they know, you’re just asking about the price of the goods,” Salvatore purrs, moving so slowly as to telegraph his moves and stroking his fingers across Tim’s chest plate, and down. “Can’t imagine seeking justice satisfies all your urges, does it, little bird?”

Tim’s hand snaps upward, clamping around Salvatore’s wrist and exerting just enough pressure to earn and choked gasp of pain. “I am here for information. Nothing more, nothing less. Either you tell me what I want to know, and I compensate you, or you tell me what I want to know and leave here with a bunch of bruises that will definitely affect your bottom line. Assuming I don’t drag you to the nearest precinct in handcuffs.”

“Baby, I’m almost tempted to take you up on that,” Salvatore says, licking his lips. “But I also know there’s worse on the streets than me. Who knowswhat your friend might have stumbled into?”

Tim’s jaw clenches. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we’re doing this little info exchange my way, and that involves not being out in the open. This is private business, after all.”

This time Tim’s nose curls, sensing an implication there. Either this guy’s not too bright, practically broadcasting his intentions to a vigilante, or he knows something important enough he thinks Tim will do anything for it.

Tim considers him, trying to evaluate how he wants to play this. Obviously, he doesn’t trust Salvatore, but he needs information even if it’s the vaguest of statements.

Salvatore’s clearly unarmed—no weapon’s hiding anywhere with that little clothing. And Tim was trained by Batman and Lady Shiva.

Buddy, aren’t you in for a surprise.

“Fine,” Tim says. “Lead the way.”

Salvatore’s pupils dilate, once again catching the dim light in a manner that makes them seem like they reflect.

Then he jerks his head toward the dark, shadowy alley behind him.

Against every instinct of self-preservation that managed to survive the brilliant idea of a twelve-year-old becoming a vigilante, Tim follows.

⁂

Next Chapter

[ladykg]

{Yuri on Ice Mermaid!Au - MerMay Submission} Make a little sea

DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, THIS IS ALSO POSTED ON MY AO3 AND FANFICTION.NET - LINKS IN MY PROFILE (LADYKG.TUMBLR.COM)

'Ello lovely readers,

I know it's a bit late but this is my submission for MerMay, but really I've just been looking for an excuse to write and post a YOI Mermaid!AU because why not?

Anyway, onto the story, I hope you all enjoy and please review!

The first time his parents take him ice skating he marvels at the fact he doesn’t grow fins. He is so shocked that the water - frozen as it is - doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t care to pay attention to the girl he was about to collide with. They both go down hard, sprawling across the ice and setting his glasses askew - his grandma had insisted upon getting them, saying that his vision will always be worse outside the water.  

She is loud and hyper - the first thing he notices without being able to properly see - to the point he can’t keep up with her babbling as she hefts herself off the ice like their fall was nothing.

 “-I haven’t seen you here before,” her voice goes on, cheerful even as Yuuri feels the bruises form on himself, more than certain that she has gained some purple blotches as well. “What’s your name? I’m Yuuko!”

 “Yuuri,” his voice came small and less over-taking than hers. The second thing he notices is her beaming, teeth-filled, eye-closing smile.

A year older and two more than Yuuri on the ice gives her a grace he wishes his stubby limbs could have outside the water. She becomes his friend - declares it herself as she helps him rebalance on wobbly blades.

It becomes a day of many firsts.

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

Two years later his grandmother dies, taken by the foaming waves.

She was the only one in his family that shared his ‘gift’. The one that taught him how to swim, and all the rules about being part merperson. Like how often to shift, or that just because you can eat fish easier when you transform doesn’t mean you should. Like the fact that other kids don’t grow fins when submerged, that Yuuri was different and he shouldn’t despair.

She was the only one who didn’t give him worrying looks when, at the age of three, his tail replaced his legs during bath time. She had smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eye that was filled with equal parts glee.

It takes a month for his parents to coax him back into the water. Not because he fears he too will be swallowed whole by its gaping vastness, but because it is not the same alone. He hates swimming alone.

It takes Yuuko another week to convince him to skate again. (A week and several long rants about how they will never be able to impress Viktor if they don’t practice).

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Viktor Nikiforov.

Yuuri fills his room with posters of the man, a star brighter than any he has ever seen. Something to connect with Yuuko over, turns drastically into Yuuri’s own fantasy of sharing the ice with Viktor one day. Of sharing with this beautiful man the closest he can get to water without shifting - something precious.

One day, he tells his parents, one day he’s going to meet Viktor and give him a bouquet of blue roses.

His parents smile those indulgent smiles that always trick kids into believing they trust in the achievement of their wishes. They say, “Of course, Yuuri.”

And when he begs them for a poodle, “Viktor has a poodle!” They indulge him. Allow their child with dreams too big for his fins and stars in his eyes to reach for heights that no one thinks he can grasp. (Or perhaps the ‘no one’ is just Yuuri). Watch as he practices relentlessly each day, feet bleeding, body bruised and legs aching from lack of shift. Look on, and smile, and support, and tell Yuuri that they believe he can achieve whatever he puts his mind to. That everyone gets stage fright. That his anxiety will wane with more time in front of a crowd.

Those smiles change when he starts to win competitions - pride, now, and a sense of not-understanding. They support him. Celebrate each victory and do not question as he brings home more and more posters of a silver-haired skater with ocean blue eyes.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Yuuko finds out the truth she is angrier than his parents.

It was been an accident, really. Even if he does, at times, contemplate telling her everything he knows that he shouldn’t. He is different, other people don’t grow fins when they enter water, and although he shouldn’t despair that doesn’t mean he plans to tell anyone of this difference either. Both because he heeds his grandmother’s old warnings and because he is scared of what they might do. What they might say. How they might react. (That Yuuko won’t want to be friends anymore).

She did. Want to be friend that is. Despite Yuuri’s fears and tear streaked face as he rushes home after finally, finally, drying off enough to regain his legs. Despite the fact that he cries to his parents, eleven years old, that he just lost his best friend all because of this stupid ‘gift’. Despite the fact that he skips practice for three days.

Despite the fact that she feels like she has been betrayed.

“How could you not tell me?” Yuuko huffs, face set in a pout, arms propped on her hips.

Yuuri blinks up at her, Vicchan’s fur clutched in his fist for support as his still-best-friend stands outside his house and rants about how cool it was to have a mermaid - “or would it be merman, merboy?” - as a best friend. That Yuuri will have to bring her all the prettiest shells and that he will have to swim them to Russia to meet Viktor. And can she see his tail again?

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minako doesn’t find out so much as his parents decide to tell her - twelve years old and only a few months since ‘The Yuuko Incident’ as the adults call it. They don’t need someone else discovering it by accident.

What if someone besides Minami sees?

What if Yuuri starts to be careless?

What if the authorities get involved?

What if-

Yuuri sits next to his sister. His normal, finless, shiftless sister who can go swimming with everyone else. Who doesn’t have to worry about gills and glasses and legs that ache if he doesn’t go in the water for too long.

Sits in the dining area of their home and listens to his parents as they talk in hushed voices from the kitchen. They discuss his future and how worried they are, how someone might ‘find out’ and that he could be taken away. That it is dangerous for him to live so close to the ocean. That Hatetsu is a small town and someone was bound to notice.

He hates his ‘gift’ sometimes.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He leaves his little town by the ocean for America, college, and training under a new coach. It terrifies him. He knows no one, the area is foreign to him in a way he hasn’t experienced when living in a small town. Even when they traveled for competitions it had always been with Yuuko or Minako by his side. Neither of them are with him now, and stepping off the plane into this new world sets his anxiety to a level he can barely handle. But he is determined, because it had taken a year of coaxing to convince his parents it is the right move.

There are no oceans close enough to Detroit that he parents have need to worry - one of the main selling points for his transition here. But the great lakes surround him and even if they are colder than what he is used to it affords him everything he needs in life.

Water.

Ice.

Skates.

And the next push to become a good enough skater to meet Viktor.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting Phichit changes more than just his skating schedule or rooming situation. His fellow skater helps push Yuuri to try more daring jumps, to dare to dream even bigger - to aim for the stars when he has never been able to reach much higher than the sea.

Their friendship is, in Yuuri’s opinion, one for the books. They enable each other and indulge in more jokes than Celestino permits during practices but they have fun. They excel.

They become so close that Yuuri can hardly imagine a time when Phichit wasn’t in his life - doesn’t want to because it seems terribly lonely, even with Yuuko and Takeshi and Vicchan. They have become so inseparable that Yuuri can’t even pinpoint the time when he found out, just that he did and that from then on out Phichit had joined him in skipping a class every two weeks to rent a boat and take it out onto the lake.

Phichit is also the first person beside Yuuko that Yuuri decides to tell about his dream of skating on the same ice as Viktor. Yuuri doesn’t know what he is expecting, but it isn’t the enthusiastic cheer and suddenly serious consideration of clocking more hours at the rink behind Celestino’s back.

It takes a weight off of his chest.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years tick by faster than he wants.  The anxiety never goes away, the panic right before getting onto the ice still fresh every single time.

Five years and he has finally made it to the GPF.

Five years and suddenly he is sitting in a stall with tear-streaked cheeks, twenty-four years old, and crying to his parents about how sorry he is to have disappointed them. To have messed up. To have missed Vicchan’s death.

To have failed so miserably in front of Viktor. To know and finally be forced to realize that his dreams really are too big for him and that fish are better left to swimming that trying to jump for the stars.

The sudden and forceful smashing of his stall door brings him up short, and with no small amount of trepidation - what if it’s Viktor, what if he has come to tell Yuuri how disappointed he is? - he slides out of the stall.

“Sorry,” he is able to force out, voice small as he tries to seem less panicked than he actually is facing off Yuri Plisetsky. They call him the “Russian Punk” and with his already frayed mentality Yuuri is less than inclined to be running into him.

“Oi,” the younger boy starts out with, and with the look in his eyes Yuuri irrationally thinks that he has been discovered. That his parents will face not only disappointment in competition but another case of ‘The Yuuko Incident’. “I’m competing in the senior division next year,” is what comes instead, “we don’t need two Yuri’s in the same bracket.”

Oh, is all that comes to mind, because he had been thinking of-

“Incompetents like you should just retire already.” And suddenly the punk is right in his face screaming an insult and walking away faster than Yuuri can really process. Cutting short his thoughts and making him feel more and more justified in his decision. There are plenty of talented skaters, what use is having an older washed out dreamer on the rink?

Even with the encouragements of a reporter he can’t see reason to continue.

Especially when Viktor asks if he wants a commemorative photo. Especially as his heart sinks so low that he can’t even feel if it’s beating anymore.

Plisetsky was right. He really is a moron.

An idiot to think that Viktor would recognize him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He waits out the rest of his semester, attending class and focusing on his grades. Attending practices to create a new routine becomes an afterthought - what use is it to train if he doesn’t intend to compete? He takes that time to study, and those weekends normally spent with Phichit in the rink see him in the lakes.

He gains weight. It has always been easy for him to do - when he was younger he had chalked it up to the waters being cold and the fat acting as a layer of insulation. But thin or not the chill has never bothered him and his mother suffers from a similar dilemma.

By the time he returns home he is more than ready to sink back into the anonymity of a small town and spend a week doing nothing but swimming. Perhaps he’ll even visit his grandmother’s grave.

He does not expect Minako-sensei to be there, waiting for him at the train station - nor does he expect her to be so excited in the face of his failure. His mother’s good mood at his arrival doesn’t do anything to lift his spirits - she is happy for his return but cannot seem to understand what it has cost him. (He can’t begrudge either of them, though).

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing Yuuko again after five years settles a strange weight in his chest, he would like to call it nostalgic but he would be wrong. She watches his ragtag performance of Viktor’s skate with shining eyes - like he could be more than he is. And when it is over she is more than happy to push her triplets onto her husband in order to join him by the beach. A private section that they always trekked to when Yuuri wanted to swim without anyone but her knowing - not even his parents have been told of this particular tradition. They sit there talking. Yuuri’s tail, a pretty mixture of darker blues and greys with hints of black along the edges of his fins, in the water enough that he stays shifted.

When they were younger Yuuko would always trace out small patterns like other children would give shapes to clouds.

She doesn’t this time, too busy chatting away about all that has changed since he left. And although she doesn’t sound hurt anymore, Yuuri knows that his disappearance has taken its toll of his best friend.

That night he falls asleep, legs no longer aching and a strange tightness in his chest. (Trying to force yourself to fall out of love is the hardest thing he has ever done - even if it is with skating and what it represents. Perhaps he’ll be able to convince his heart that simply teaching classes will be enough. Even if what he really wants is to, someday, skate once more with Viktor).

When he wakes the next morning it’s to a buzzing phone. He had ignored the notifications the night before - too busy catching up with Yuuko and too exhausted after to care for what they said.

“Hello,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry Yuuri,” Takeshi says over the line. “My kids uploaded the video, and it went viral! Everyone is freaking out, and it’s been retweeted all over the world!”

It seems the universe just won’t catch him a break.

He leaves his parents a note, quickly written and Yuuri isn’t even sure it makes sense. But he’s out the door before he can really think about that, racing down the steps and skidding through town with his hood drawn up over his head. Before he knows it he’s stripped to his underwear and stuffed the clothes he hastily threw on into his pack.

His and Yuuko’s escape still has the same tree with a wide enough opening to hide his belongings for at least three days. Any longer and his family will start to worry, even with the note.

The water bites against his skin right up until his body catches up with his shift and all he can feel is the need to go deeper, go further, not stop swimming until his life is left far behind.

Sometimes he doesn’t hate his ‘gift’.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He spends four days in the water, letting the ocean wash away each budding feeling until he is more fatigued from his emotions than the actual act of swimming itself. Yuuko is waiting for him when he surfaces, eyebrows raised and foot tapping against the sand - her sharp expression makes it clear that his note was not enough. She helps him beach himself and towels his hair as he tries to dry his tail enough to shift back.

It’s not painful exactly, but not comfortable either.

Yuuri thinks that Yuuko not telling him is her way of revenge. Because as he walks up to the house a poodle too big to be Vicchan but so very similar tackles him to the ground. Yuuko laughs. The dog barks. And Yuuri’s brain tries to comprehend what is going on.

With a little struggle he manages to get up and open the door enough to see his father caring a tray of tea and small snacks past, “I’m home,” he calls out because what else can he say?

“Oh, Yuuri, you’re back!” His father pauses, “And I see you’ve met one of our new guests. Looks just like Vicchan doesn’t he? A good-looking foreigner brought him, nice fellow.”

His father is still talking, but everything has become static - and the next thing he knows is that Viktor Nikiforov is walking by in nothing but a green robe.

“V-Viktor?!” He exclaims, unable to hide his shock, because this is the same man that asked for a commemorative photo. The same man that Yuuri has been chasing after since he can remember. This is the same man that had choreographed the program Yuuko’s daughters had made into a viral video. “What are you doing here?”

“Yuuri!” The accent is thick, even more so than at the GPF, “Starting today, I’m your coach. I’ll make you win the Grand Prix Final.”

Yuuri’s life changes in that second, the one that comes right after Viktor winks. (Winks. At him). And all those emotions he had been able to wash away with his four day swim come swelling back up even worse than before. Confusion leads, right before disbelief and then panic so thick it clogs his throat.

He takes a step back, eyes wide and more than ready to run back to the water. Yuuko, his devilish best friend, places a hand on his back and shoves - more than willing to take advantage of his tired state and the way his legs feel sluggish.

He stumbles into his home, jolted from his shock just enough to get out a rough, “What?”

The end of the day comes and Viktor is sleeping on their floor with Makkachin. A sight so surreal that Yuuri doesn’t even bother to pay attention to Minako-sensei has she rushes into the house, rambling about rumors.

“Yuuri!” Minako practically yells into his ear, “Why is Viktor sleeping in one of the inn’s robes?!”

“He soaked in the hot spring, had dinner, and then he fell asleep…” he tells his old teacher plaintively.

Minako rants again, explaining off rumors and things she had read up on and things that Yuuri already knows.

Knows but definitely does not believe.

Because there must be some mistake, this must be some prank. Viktor would never decide to leave skating just to coach a washed out skater from Japan that fumbled his way through a program. It’s simply not possible.

“They’re also saying that when he saw the video of you skating his routine it inspired him to become your coach!”

That’s new, “Huh?”

“He chose you,” she tells him, bulldozing on like she doesn’t notice his disbelief. “You brought him here!”

His heart flips in his chest, unable to keep from hoping even has his rational mind tells him not to. A mistake. It’s all just an elaborate mistake, he tells himself, nothing more.

Viktor wakes with a sneeze, distracting Yuuri from his thoughts with claims of hunger, “As your coach, I’d like to know what your favorite food is, Yuuri.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pig is what Viktor calls him. Yuuri has heard a hundred and one different insults, pigs often included - he has moved on from letting them affect him. There are much worse things that people can call him, after all.

But hearing Viktor say is makes a knife pierce right through him, gutting him like a fish. It hurts. Hurts in a way that not even losing the GPF so badly had. Not even having Yuri Plisetsky tell him to retire can compare to the sheer embarrassment.

The embarrassment only worsens when the man seems to flirt with him. And Yuuri says seems to because clearly it’s just Viktor’s personality and he shouldn’t take the advances seriously - why would the man want anything to do with him anyway? What right does Yuuri have to think of him in any other way than his coach, than an idol?

But it makes him nervous, makes him scared to be close, and so he flinches. Flails. Runs. Dodges questions and heads to his room because Yuuko will kill him if he tries to go for another swim.

(He’s happy, even if the embarrassment and hurt still linger under the surface, even if the unsure nature of the situation makes him sure it’s all just a dream. He’s happy, because Viktor is here and even if he realizes how hopeless coaching Yuuri is and leaves at least Yuuri had him for a small while. And Yuuri will be damned if he doesn’t use that time to try and convince Viktor to stay).

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second time he meets Yuri Plisetsky it’s when he about to tell Viktor that he’s fit enough to skate. Yuri kicks him, harshly, in the back - sending him sprawling onto the floor with new reporters just outside the rink.

“It’s all your fault. Apologize,” the blond tells him, aura threatening and a look in his eyes that spells danger even if he is only fifteen. “He promised me that he’d choreograph a program for me.”

This is how he learns the Yuri is completely underestimating him, entirely self-assured in the fact that he won gold in his division the year before. This also is how he learns that Viktor can’t keep a promise - whether forgetful or just uncaring he can’t really tell.

A competition comes out of it though. One that pits him against the newly dubbed Yurio in order to win Viktor’s favor. He’s nervous despite himself.

He’s nervous that he won’t be enough to keep Viktor here. Yuri has more potential, more confidence, more comfort with Viktor and more history as a fellow Russian skater. There is little reason for Viktor to stay and coach him instead when there is more support for leaving.

But that doesn’t mean he’s about to take losing Viktor sitting down - he spends most of the night at the ice rink, going through figures and getting the feel of the ice once more.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eros. Eros. How is he supposed to do eros? He has no skill in seducing people, is not appealing in such a way. Why would Viktor think this is a good idea?

But he tries; works hard with Minako and Takeshi and Yuuko. Goes to every practice and listens to every bit of advice handed to him. He is not about to let Yuri take away his only chance to truly skate with Viktor, even if it is just in practice. He’s not about to let himself lose. Not again.

It’s more embarrassing them he lets on to announce that his eros is katsudon of all things. Embarrassing to watch Viktor’s face, embarrassing to see the laughter and disbelief in Yurio’s. So he runs, runs until his lungs ache and then runs some more, runs until his legs take him to the side of the ocean and he all but dives into the water.

All the same he goes to practice the next day.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No,” is the first word out of his mouth when he sees what Viktor wants him to do. The first time he has said it to the man since this competition has started. The first time he has refused to do something for their training.

“What?” Yurio says it first, “Already giving up, pig?”

And as Yuuri stares at the waterfall all he can think is that there are sadly more important things than trying to one up Yurio even if it is to gain Viktor’s favor. There are things that have been pounded into him for years - since he was three. The one thing his parents were truly strict on.

No one must know.

And although that rule has been broken with Yuuko, and with Phichit, that was after years of knowing them. He has barely known these two for a week.

He shakes his head, “I’m not giving up. But I’m not getting in the water.” With that he doesn’t even bother to explain. Because the consequences of saying no are not nearly as dire as those should his secret be revealed. A secret he has not given much thought to since Viktor has arrived - distracted as he has been losing weight, distracted as he has been trying to win Viktor’s favor and attention. So he turns, slips past the two shocked Russians and breaks into a sprint once he is sure he is out of sight even as he hears Viktor call out his name.

Because he hasn’t given much thought to Viktor finding out, but now that he is thinking about it he can’t stop. What if Viktor thinks he’s a freak? What if Viktor laughs? What if Viktor refuses to coach him anymore? What if it makes Viktor leave for Russia?

Each question makes his chest tighten. He stops a passing car and asks for a lift back to the onsen. By the time he gets home he is more than ready to hide in his room for the rest of the night. But he doesn’t get more than ten minutes of quiet before there is a knock.

With a sigh he opens the door only to go wide-eyed at the sight of Viktor standing there, frown on his face and arms crossed.

“Yuuri,” the Russian accent comes across thicker when he’s frustrated Yuuri notes. “What was that?”

“I don’t do well in water,” Yuuri says curtly, because there are many things he will let Viktor convince him to do. Skate to eros, go through a competition against Yurio, not eat katsudon. But this is something that Yuuri will stay firm on, even as his comment earns him a surprised look.

“You’re scared of water?” And an assumption makes way for the perfect out, even if it’s not true. Even if it may come back to hurt him later on.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wins. He wins. Viktor is staying. Viktor is going to be his coach. His heart can barely keep up with the amount of happiness that is flooding through his veins. Sudden and desperate and so very intoxicating that he can hardly understand.

Viktor is staying. Alone. With Yuuri. Which means…

Which means he’s going to be spending more and more time with Yuuri.

Oh.

He spends the next week hiding, more fearful of Viktor seeing his faults than anything else. (His secret kept well within that list). Just because he won Viktor over in that competition doesn’t mean that Viktor will want to stay once he gets to actually know Yuuri. Really gets to know Yuuri.

A week of avoidance and a heart to heart by the cherry blossom tree brings them closer than Yuuri could have ever imagined.

But that closeness means they are practically inseparable. They eat together, sleep in rooms right next to each other, practice together, go to and from the rink together, and travel together from the preliminary competition. Yuuri barely has time to breathe. And with Viktor thinking he is afraid of water now it means the most Yuuri can do is take a shower - not nearly enough to shift, he needs to be at least half submerged.

And it goes like that, day in and out. Two weeks turn to three and then four and soon a month and a half has passed without a shift and Yuuri’s legs ache. Practice becomes difficult around the fifth week, but he refuses to let it show.

It’s the sixth week that has his legs shaking, and with more determination than ever he hits the ice, Yuuko nearby to watch as she does from time to time. It’s a simple jump, he can pull it off without a thought normally. But now is not normally and now his legs are weaker than ever. He hits the ice hard. Harder than most falls but before he even hears his name be called he knows he’s not significantly hurt. Bruised? Most likely. Broken? Not even close.

Viktor reaches him first, “Yuuri?”

The concern hits him first. A gloved hand on his shoulder, another comes - smaller, Yuuko - to rest against his arm.

“Yuuri, are you okay?”

He gives a huff, aiming for frustration rather than pain, “I’m fine.”

“Your take off was perfect, you were tight with you spins and-“

“Yuuri,” Yuuko cuts into Viktor’s ranting. Her eyes are sharp. Sharp in the way that means Yuuri is in trouble and that he will be getting a talking to. He gulps but nods nonetheless.

“I’m fine, Viktor,” he turns to his coach - friend - and offers a smile as he forces his aching legs to move. “I can finish practice.”

“Yuuri, that fall-“

“Wasn’t that bad,” he insists but by the way Viktor’s blue eyes harden he can tell it was the wrong thing to say.

“As your coach I am ordering you off the rink for the rest of the day.” His jaw is set, hands on his hips and skates planted.

“Vikto-“

“No, Yuuri,” Yuuko taps her finger against his arm once. “You need to rest. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He meets her at their little section of beach, face sheepish and trying not to show how hard even walking is starting to become. She sees right through him.

“In the water, now.”

He obeys easily, all too eager to stop the pain and feel the cool lapping of the ocean once more. It’s his fastest shift yet, painful for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Kami, Yuuri, how long has it been?” Yuuko asks from her perch on the sand as he slides himself onto the beach enough to talk.

Thinking back he really should have seen this coming. “A month,” he says tentatively, because he knows that he should be in the water every two weeks, “probably more. But I’ve been busy! I need to train and Viktor-“

“You should tell him.”

“What?!” He feels his heart stop in his chest, not prepared for such a declaration.

“Viktor doesn’t seem like the type to go and tell everyone,” Yuuko continues as if she hasn’t just shattered his world. “Mari-nee-chan agrees, too.”

“You talked to my sister,” he wheezes out.

“And with how much time you two spend together it’s bound to come out at some point,” Yuuko taps her chin as if she is thinking all of this up on the spot. “The longer you wait the more he’ll feel betrayed.”

“But-“

“No ‘but’s,” she tells him with a wave of her hand. “Besides, if you don’t this could happen again.”

“Yu-chan,” he tries, because this isn’t about Viktor telling someone else. “It’s just…” he tries to find the words, the ones that will explain perfectly why he is so reluctant. Because he has considered it. Considered telling Viktor everything and dismissed it for fear of abandonment. He isn’t sure he can say that outload… but… But this is Yuuko. Yuuko who he can tell everything. “Don’t you think this is all a bit too much?”

“Too much?” Yuuko’s gaze goes soft with understanding. “Yuuri, this is the man that didn’t run after you said katsudon was your eros.”

He feels a blush run across his face, heavy and entirely not because of how cold the water is. “Who…”

“Mari, Minako and I have weekly get-togethers,” Yuuko says cheerfully.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I take it you and Yuuko talked.” He jumps at the voice, sputtering as his sister comes out from the shadows she was lurking in. “Is that why you’re loitering out here?”

“I’m not loitering,” he denies it, head shaking and arms flailing. It had only been ten minutes, really.

His sister hums, eyes shrewd. “I’ll support whatever you decide,” she places a cigarette between her lips. “Now get inside, fish-boy.”

He glances at her one more time, not in the least offended by her nickname. He shakes his head as he finally slides open the door nerves flaring bright and hot under his skin. What greets him is the sight of his mother and Viktor sitting together, Makkachin to the side seemingly content to just bask in his mother’s attention.

It makes him smile despite his anxiety. Despite the fact he is about to tell someone his deepest secret. Despite the fact that this is Viktor. Viktor who smiles and laughs and spends his time with Yuuri despite all his flaws. Viktor who Yuuri has idolized and chased since the first time he saw the man skate. Viktor who stole Yuuri’s heart with his skating and is doing it again with his everything.

He shuffles out of his shoes, “I’m home.”

“Ah, Yuuri, how’s Yuuko doing?” His mother smiles up at him, not bothering to stop petting the poodle relaxing by her knees.

“She’s doing well,” he gives a shaky smile. He can’t bring himself to look at Viktor, not yet. “Mom, are the hot springs cleared?”

There is shock first, his mom’s eyes wide as they skitter from him to Viktor and back. But understanding fills them all too fast, a smile brighter than Yuuri has seen from her since he came home. “Mari cleared them out a half-hour ago.” Of course his sister did. Yuuko and her have been talking, after all. He nods, perhaps for a few seconds too long because his mother gives him an encouraging look, “I’ll keep Makkachin company while you two talk.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Viktor,” he starts, voice small and questioning, “I- there’s… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Viktor’s ocean blue eyes are filled with more confusion than anything else, but curiosity and trust lay there too. With little fuss his coach - friend, more? - follows as Yuuri tracks his way to the largest hot spring they have.

“Yuuri, aren’t you scared of water?” Viktor asks him as Yuuri pulls his clothes off with shaking hands and butterflies twisting a monsoon in his stomach.

“Not really,” he gives a small smile, wrapping a towel around himself as he opens the door, the cool air thick with warming steam. He pauses, staring down at the water - he’s come this far, he isn’t going to back down. (But that doesn’t mean he can’t take a few moment to catch his breath).

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls out from behind him.

“Just…” he takes the first step in, “don’t freak out, okay?”

The next few steps are easier to take. He closes his eyes as he sinks lower into the water, closes his eyes and feels the shift take place. Knows what Viktor is seeing, and knows that the steam can’t hide it. Knows by the not-so-quiet gasp.

“You’re…” there is shock there, disbelief in his voice, and Yuuri isn’t sure if he wants to open his eyes but if he doesn’t then he will never know. He thinks that’s even harder than rejection.

Viktor’s face in that moment is something he wouldn’t trade for the world. In fact, he would trade the world to never forget it. Amazement, mixed so nicely with wonder and an emotion slithering in blue depths that Yuuri can’t quiet place. There is a smile, even as his mouth hangs open in surprise. His gaze wracking over Yuuri’s figure.

Yuuri moves closer to the edge that Viktor stands by, unsure how to continue from here. So he says nothing, waiting for Viktor to do something, anything.

“You’re part fish,” finally comes, soft but loud in the silence.

“Only if half of me is submerged in water,” he explains, trying to gauge Viktor’s next move - the man has always surprised him, though, and this time is no different.

“Yuuri, this is incredible!” He has never seen anyone strip so fast, but the next thing he knows the man is sliding in next to him, sea blue gaze shining like the stars. “Can I?” Viktor asks, hands hovering over Yuuri’s tail.

He nods, because he has never really been opposed to people touching his tail, “It might be-“

“Slimmy,” Viktor exclaims, excitement so thick in his tone. “So this is why you didn’t want to go under the waterfall.”

Yuuri’s tail twitches, “I’d only known you for a week.”

Viktor hums still massaging his fingers over blue and grey scales; Yuuri takes that as understanding for his reasoning.

“It’s also why I fell earlier,” he tells him. “My legs hurt if I don’t go in the water for too long.”

This time the hands do pause, and Yuuri looks up from the water to meet Viktor’s piercing gaze, “Why did you��”

“Wait so long?” Yuuri finishes with a half shrug, “We were always together, and I was too tired by the time we separated to do anything but sleep. Before I knew it I had lost track of time.”

“I’m disappointed,” the two words come and shatter the little window of happiness that Yuuri could just about touch.

“I- what?”

“You should know better than to ignore your health!” Viktor berates him, but his hand hasn’t left Yuuri’s tail and from the looks of it Viktor isn’t so much disappointed as angry that Yuuri would abuse his body so harshly. An athlete should do everything to keep healthy, after all, their very livelihood depends on it. And with career lengths so short for figure skaters there is not much else that takes such priority. “How often do you need to…” Viktor makes a gesture with his free hand, encompassing Yuuri’s whole figure.

Yuuri cracks a small smile, “About two weeks.”

“Then we’ll set up a schedule,” Viktor announces. “We can’t have you falling like that again. You could get seriously hurt! Then what? You won’t be able to win the GPF with a broken bone.”

“Hai,” he smiles up at his ranting coach - friend, more? - and lets the pounding in his heart spread happiness throughout his veins. Maybe jumping for the stars is possible after all. Maybe his dreams were never too big for his fins and maybe they didn’t come in quite the way he thought, but they came true. Because Viktor didn’t laugh. Didn’t leave. Didn’t call him a freak.

Viktor accepted Yuuri.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the rest, as they say, is history.

[elspethsunschampion]

Fact or Fiction: Chapter Thirteen

Rated M for abuse, sexual content, and discussion of rape/non-con.  Canon-typical violence.

Summary: It’s Ral Zarek’s sixth year at Hogwarts. And everything would be fine if Jace wasn’t totally occupied with his new girlfriend, to the point where it’s honestly kind of weird, and Ral’s starting to be concerned. Now if only everyone would stop telling Ral he’s just jealous and LISTEN to him…after all, he’s NOT just jealous, right? (Sequel to Send to Sleep.)

Ships: Jace Beleren/Ral Zarek, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Hermione Granger, Nissa Revane/Chandra Nalaar, Elspeth Tirel/Teysa Karlov

A/N: Many, many thanks to @paperclipminimizer for beta-ing and checking my timeline, as well as answering all my questions about Harry Potter. Thanks also to Juri, @dragons-suck, and everyone on Sketchydoodles’ Vorthos server for listening to me rant about this thing as it took shape.

Also available on AO3 and FFnet.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen: Seething Anger

Chapter Warnings:  Suicidal thoughts, self-loathing, dissociation, discussions of rape.  This chapter is really quite dark, please take care.

        Draco found Jace sitting, somewhat carelessly, on the edge of the Astronomy Tower with his legs dangling over the edge, the blue curve of his hood hiding his face, and Kallist hovering so close to his hair that he was almost brushing the wild dark locks. A dark blur hanging in the air beside him had to be Mirko.

           “Jace.” Draco announced himself softly from the doorway, trying not to startle the boy.

           For a moment, he thought Jace hadn’t heard him, and then, the head turned slightly, and Jace spoke, his voice monotonous but tight, as if he were trying to keep something back—tears maybe. “I could erase it,” he said. “All the things she did to me—I could make myself forget. It wouldn’t even be that hard.”

           Draco gingerly took several steps closer, one hand resting lightly on his wand, in case he needed to effect an impromptu rescue. The first question was one he needed to ask. Harry or Hermione would have been delicate about it, but Draco wasn’t much good at delicate, and, in any case, he wasn’t certain Jace would appreciate it. “Did she rape you?” he asked quietly.

           “Yes,” Jace answered, in a low voice. “Not the way you mean it, though. We didn’t have sex, just messed around.” He paused, and Draco was trying to decide whether to prompt him or not, when he spoke again. “Wasn’t this what Professor Potter was supposed to be teaching me to protect myself from?” Jace snarled. “She got into my head. She made me do things. She made me want her. And—and I was cruel to Ral. I don’t even know if I can blame her for that. I could’ve talked to him about some of the stuff, but she made herself more important to me than he was. She—she—” his voice was trembling. “Yeah, she raped me,” he snapped. “And no one even noticed.”

           The accusation was painful, but accurate. None of the professors had noticed anything particularly wrong. Jace had acted so very nearly in-character that the only person who had realized something was wrong was the boy that all the staff had written off as “merely jealous.” Although, Draco thought clinically, it was unfortunate that Ral flew off the handle so easily. It might have been easier to believe him if he’d been calmer, more rational. Still. Jace had a point.

           “Ral is very important to you.” That hadn’t been what Draco had been going to say, but something tipped the words out of his mouth. Jace nodded fiercely.

           “He—he’s the most important thing in the world to me,” he said, with a little wobble in his voice. “He’s the first friend I ever made. Of course there’s Ranna and Elspeth, they’re almost as important, but I haven’t hurt them the way I hurt him. They weren’t—they weren’t t-tortured. And—” Jace bit off whatever he’d been about to say and sighed.

           “Yes,” Draco agreed. “I’m afraid many of the professors failed you this year, Jace. There’s little to say in our defense. All I’ll say is that I’m sorry.”

           “You could have let me kill her,” Jace muttered angrily.

           “Well. Perhaps not.” Draco walked across to the ledge and stood beside him, but didn’t touch him. “When she stunned you, Luna was protecting you, not the witch. I imagine she’d have a justification like you being too young to kill, or it hurting your soul, but putting anything so metaphysical aside, you would have been in a much more difficult situation if you’d killed her. It might even have gone to trial, and although you’d undoubtedly have been cleared of wrongdoing, that’s not something you need to deal with right now.”

           Jace muttered something that sounded like, fuck that, but Draco let it slide. “Do you need anything?” he asked gently.

           “I need out of my head. I need to forget it.” Jace’s hands twisted in the cloth of his cloak. “I really could make myself forget it, but then I wouldn’t fucking know what had happened, and then I couldn’t even begin to fix this shit with Ral. How do you ask someone to forgive you for—for this?”

           “I don’t know,” Draco said. “How can I ask you to forgive us? Jace, this was not your fault.”

           “It feels like my fault.” He banged a hand into the stones of the wall, shook it out. “Maybe not my fault that I was—you know, in love with her—I guess—” he made a gagging face, “—but it was my fault I wouldn’t even talk to him. I—there was one day—I think he thought I was gonna break up with her, and I almost did. I tried, and she fed me more fucking love potion and—” He ran a shaking hand through his hair.

           “We don’t know all the spells she used on you, Jace, it may have been—and probably was—more than just Amortentia, which is incredibly powerful in its own right. I’ve been analyzing her potions. They aren’t identical to the modern-day versions.”

           “Then how can I ever, ever trust my own thoughts again?” He pulled his cloak around himself even more fiercely. “How can I even trust that the way I feel about Ral—” He stuttered to a halt and glared sideways at Draco.

           Draco raised his eyebrows. “There’s some basis, isn’t there?” he said. “You didn’t just wake up one morning and find yourself in love with him.”

           Jace blanched. “I’m n-not—” he stammered. “I mean, I—uh—” he sighed. “Okay, no, I guess. I guess not. I’ve—he’s—” He swallowed hard. “For a long time. I just didn’t notice. But I can’t—some part of me just doesn’t believe the feelings anymore.”

           “I’m so sorry,” Draco said again. “Jace, we really failed you.”

           Jace sniffed hard. “Yeah,” he muttered, swinging his legs against the stone. “I’m just scared. I’m just so scared. And—and I want to make it stop. I don’t want to be in my own head r-right now. Everything in here fucking hurts.”

           “Of course you’re afraid,” Draco said, putting a hand out and resting it on Jace’s shoulder when the boy didn’t move away. “Of course you are. You’re allowed to be scared, Jace. It’s all right.”

           “It’s not all right,” Jace mumbled bleakly. “It was easier before I was me again, and that—kind of scares me, too. ” He stared out over the grounds in a way that made Draco’s stomach twist.

           “It scares me as well,” he said quietly. “You’re important to me, Jace. You’re important to all of us. None of this was your fault. You shouldn’t have to feel like this.”

           “Maybe I shouldn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that I do. It doesn’t change the fact that I can’t even trust my own thoughts and feelings anymore. Where does that leave me, the literal Ministry experiment into legilimency?” Jace started laughing, but Draco couldn’t help but think it sounded like crying instead.

           “Jace,” he said, softly, as the laughter intensified and Jace buried his face in his hands. “Jace.” The words were useless. So, perhaps—“would a hug help at all?”

           “I don’t know,” Jace said, voice muffled and distorted, but he twisted around on the ledge and gingerly put out his arms anyway.   Draco leaned forward. This wasn’t exactly something he had much experience in, and he wanted to make sure Jace didn’t feel as if he were being forced into anything at all, but as soon as his hands touched the back of Jace’s head, the boy vaulted forward, burying his face in Draco’s robes. The laughter twisted further into gulping sobs.

           “It’s not your fault,” Draco said again, helplessly, stroking Jace’s hair. “Nothing that happened to you this semester, nothing that you did, none of it is your fault. It’s our fault for not seeing what was happening, and it’s Liliana Vess’s fault for doing this to you. There is absolutely no way in which anything that happened is your fault. Anything—anything you need from us we will do our best to make sure you have.”

           “But all I need from you is for none of this to have happened!” Jace’s hands balled into Draco’s robe. “All I need is for the memories to be gone and to stop feeling like this.” The words were almost incoherent.

           Draco’s hand tightened on Jace’s back. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I can’t offer you a permanent solution that will take it all away, but—if you’re still feeling like this when your head is a little more sound—you can pick someone’s head and stay in there. Temporarily make the memories go away. If you want.”

           Jace took a deep, gulping breath in. “Really? I could—get out of my head for a bit?”

           “It would have to be temporary,” Draco said. “We love you, and we don’t want to lose you, Jace. But—yes. I’m sure we could work it out.”

           “You wouldn’t mind me fucking about in there? You wouldn’t be—scared of what I’d do?”

           “I trust you, Jace. I won’t speak for any of your other friends, but I’d bet a lot of money that they’ll say the same if you ask them.”

           “Fuck,” Jace breathed, sniffing again. “Yeah. That might—that might help.”

           “Would you mind coming down now? People are a little worried about you.”

           “Can I at least not be in the Hospital Wing anymore?”

           “Where would you like to be?”

           Jace shrugged mutely. “I don’t really know,” he said softly. “I kinda want to be alone.”

           “Maybe the library? Or out by the pond?”

           “I—I guess the library would be okay.”

           “All right.”

           Keeping a careful arm around Jace’s back, Draco supported him as he slid off the ledge onto the solid floor of the Astronomy tower. Draco’s heartrate slowed slightly as he managed to move Jace to solid ground, but he tried to be non-obvious about it.

           “All right, then, you’re safe,” he said softly, half to himself, a vocal tick he hadn’t quite lost from the years following the war.

           Jace looked up at him, managing a jerky nod. “Right.”

           The sun was setting over the lake. Jace looked up wearily from the book in his lap to stare at it. Although it had been a warm day, he still felt chilled and sick to his stomach. He’d managed to nap for a few minutes at the lakeside, but he’d woken up again feeling dopey and scared. Kallist hovered nervously over his lap; the little cloud hadn’t moved more than a foot away from Jace since he woke up.

           Mirko had been checking on him throughout the day, so Jace wasn’t terribly surprised when he felt the chilly cloak of mist settle over his shoulders, and he glanced up to see the shadowy, washed-out face peering down at him. Perspective and Mirko didn’t always make much sense together, and Jace had to blink rapidly to force the features to resolve in a way he could vaguely make sense of.

           Mother, Mirko thought at him, along with a sense of warmth approaching, and the flickering vision of a long plait of white hair. “Ranna?” Jace said. “Ranna’s here?”

           “Jace!” her voice called a moment later, and he saw her waving at him as she hurried across Hogwarts’ vast lawn.

           “Oh, god,” Jace said blankly. The universe seemed suddenly too large, and he huddled in his cloak instead of getting up to greet her.

           Despite the sudden apparent inflation of the world, Ranna crossed the lawn quickly, then knelt in the grass in front of him and opened her arms. Jace stared at her, knowing he ought to move, knowing that the correct thing to do in this situation was to let her embrace him, but feeling somehow distant, awkward, and unable to react the way he should.

           His mother hesitated. “I’m all right, Jace,” she said softly. “It was just a befuddlement charm—I came to see you as soon as the healers let me out.”

           There was a long pause. “Yeah. Right,” Jace replied, because an affirmative response made sense, even if he wasn’t sure what kind of affirmative response. This was infuriating. It was like the way he’d felt calm when there was something wrong inside his head, and he knew it, but he didn’t know what switch to flip this time to make it go away, or to make the emotions come back.

           Awkwardly, Ranna folded her hands across her knees. “Are you all right, Jace?” She shook her head. “That’s the stupidest question I’ve asked in a while, of course you’re not all right.”

           “I think my emotions broke,” Jace said cautiously. He felt like a puppeteer pulling the strings on his own body, and there was a weird delay between deciding to speak and actually getting the words to come out.

           Even through the cloak, he felt the spike of fear that shot through Ranna, clear as a bell. It was gone as suddenly as it had come, and he tried to ignore it, because it was rude to read other people’s emotions without asking. “Is there anything you need from me?” she asked. “Would it be easier for you to stay here, or would you rather come home early? Professor McGonagall said that either was perfectly doable.”

           Somebody—not Jace, but somebody—didn’t want to go back to the little flat he shared with Ranna. It would be so empty and alone. Even when he was alone here, he was never very far away from crowds of people, and crowds of people were easy—he could lose himself in their minds, never come back out. If he really wanted to. A sob caught in Jace’s throat, then vanished frustratingly almost as soon as it had surfaced.

           “I’ll stay.” Long pause, too long. “Thanks, Mum.”

           I really want my emotions back. Jace shivered, moving closer to Ranna and gingerly resting his head on her shoulder. He thought about staring down from the Astronomy Tower and not wanting to exist. Maybe he didn’t want his emotions back. The state he was in right now was chilly and—it seemed to be a lot of effort—but it didn’t hurt, the pinching, terrifying pain in his stomach that made him want everything to just fucking stop forever.

           “There’s—something else.” Ranna was looking down at her hands, twisting a loose thread from her robes around a finger. “Your teachers should have told you, but I’m afraid—it got lost in all of the—well.” She paused for a fraction of a second, then pushed the words through her lips in a way that sounded like it took quite a bit of effort. “Emmara Tandris is dead.”

           Jace’s first thought was, I didn’t expect the Ministry to let her die that fast. His second thought was, She doesn’t mean Liliana. His third thought was a memory.

           The boy’s eyes are dilated, and his breathing is too fast. He’s trembling, one hand clutched around a wand he should already have used. She smiles, keeping her own wand pointed directly at him. The blue cloak he’s wearing stinks of Occlumency. It would tell her everything she needs to know even if she hadn’t been waiting for him.

           A pity he arrived so quickly, though. She knew he had made friends with the local girl; the two of them met when he and his mother were pausing in between sightseeing at the local café. A stroke of luck for her, since it gave her an easy way to summon him here. He’s just a bit earlier than she might have liked.

           She sighs. “Drink this,” she says, stepping over the still-warm body of the girl on the ground and holding out the flask.

           “No,” he whispers, and she’s not sure if he’s trying to tell her he won’t, or if he’s just talking the way people do, sometimes.

           “Jace. It’s me.” Casting the glamer spell without her wand is more difficult than she expected, but she thinks she manages to put up a reasonable facsimile of the girl at her feet. “It’s all right,” she says soothingly. “It’s a boggart. I was practicing some cosmetic charms when I found it.” She manages a light laugh and presses the flask into his hand. “I know it looks scary.”

           His brow furrows, and she smiles encouragingly. “I’m so sorry I frightened you.” The accent isn’t easy, and she’s probably doing it wrong. Damn him; damn that cloak. If he doesn’t take the potion, she’s going to be in trouble. And if she presses too hard—

           “Are you sure it’s a boggart?” he asks. “I’ve got quite a bit of experience with them.” Oh, thank Morrigan. He takes the flask and sips from it as he circles around the girl’s body. “I’m—I’m pretty sure—”

           “Jace. Look at me.” She sees the moment the potion catches him, his jaw going slightly slack and the muscles around his eyes relaxing. It’s a higher dose than she might give him normally, but not high enough that it’s likely to be dangerous. “You seem frightened.”

           “I—” He presses a hand into his forehead, blinking rapidly. His cheeks flush and his pulse increases as the potion takes effect. “I feel dizzy.”

           “Why don’t you sit down?” Putting an arm around his shoulder, she steers him gently away from the girl’s body and towards the door. “I think this really has worried you, has it not?” A kiss on the cheek, and he’s staring at her as if she’s the only thing in the universe. And—she restrains herself from wrinkling her nose—he’s aroused. Lovely. Teenage boys are such trouble. “You are so talented with your Legilimency,” she murmurs. “Why don’t you just erase this little incident from your head? Then you won’t have to worry about it.” Again that little frown. She manages a giggle as she pokes at his forehead. “Oh, frowny-face, I’d love to see you do some of your famous mind magic.”

           He couldn’t breathe. He had her memories and not his own. He wanted to carve them out of his head, he wanted them gone, he wanted to rip his own mind apart and scatter the pieces. Well, said a tiny voice in the back of his mind, your emotions are back.

           Emmara’d been his friend. He hadn’t known her very well, but they’d giggled together, and she’d asked about Hogwarts. They’d chatted about her life, about Potions, about—about Ral. And he hadn’t even noticed when it had all changed. If he’d just—run—maybe he could have saved her. Maybe he could have done something.

           His mind told him that she’d been dead when he got there, but then all he could think was, If she’d never met me, she’d be alive.

           There were warm arms encircling him, and Jace pressed his face into Ranna’s chest and sobbed. “I wish I was dead, I wish I’d never been born…”

           “Oh, Jace, don’t, please.” Ranna stroked his forehead, as if he was still a little boy waking up from screaming nightmares. “It’s not your fault. None of this was your fault.”

           “I hurt everyone.” Every breath he took was terribly shallow, catching in the back of his throat before it could make it down to his lungs. “Ev—everybody would be better off if I didn’t exist, Ral’s still in a fucking coma. What if he never wakes up? And Emmara is dead. Because—because of me. I shouldn’t fucking exist.” He slammed his hand into the ground with enough force to bruise.

           “Stop it, Jace.” Ranna’s soft voice grew harder. “Your entire life, people have exploited you. That is not your fault. None of it is your fault.”

           “I wish I was dead,” Jace gasped, pressing his hands into his to try and force the tears back in. Ranna had just recovered from a befuddlement charm; falling apart in front of her wasn’t going to help anyone. Wrapping his arms around himself, he tried to get his breathing to calm down. Above him, Kallist was crackling and shooting lightning in every direction. “Can I—can I please just—get out of my fucking head? Please, Mum, just don’t make me think right now—just—”

           “Jace—” Ranna sounded shaken, good job, Jace. “Let’s get you back to the castle, okay?”

           Somehow, he managed to nod. If he went back to the castle, even if he couldn’t get into someone else’s head, he could sleep. He could put a cauldron full of drowsiness potion above a candle and shut all the windows. Elspeth’d done that. She’d been fine. Right now, Jace wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to be fine, either.

           Ranna helped him to his feet, and he felt Mirko’s only partially solid limbs brush against his back. It was hard to stand, because he was trembling hard, and he was still breathing shallowly and rapidly.

           It seemed to take forever to cross the lawn, the world still huge and faraway, although the pinching pain in his stomach was back, and he no longer felt like a puppet—or at least not like a puppet that he was in control of. Professor Granger met them at the front doors.

           “Do you need anything?” she said, looking first to Jace and then, when he couldn’t seem to find words, to Ranna.

           “I think Jace could use a soporific, if he’s all right with that.”

           Miserably, Jace nodded. He couldn’t ask to be in someone else’s head right now, and everything was spinning, and he just wanted to curl up in a corner and wall off the rest of the world. “Potion of Dreamless Sleep?” he asked softly, and Professor Granger nodded. “I’ll get Madam Pomfrey to prepare one,” she said quietly.