#i sobbed for the last like thirty minutes just ugly tears and snot

[andromeddog]

dads of war

[cheemken]

Another thing about Drayton that I've latched onto is his line about how 'you don't want to see me ugly cry' when you battle him. It makes me wonder how he'd cry exactly.

I'm torn between two types. One is that he's the sort to get really quiet when he cries. Just suppressing it full force, shoulders shaking and tears just sliding down his face. In private too cause it's not cool to be caught like that, and maybe he'd grab a pillow or something to muffle sobs but after like 5-10 mins, it's like a switch flipped. He calms down, washes his face and proceeds with his day normally. Sidesteps any and all questions about why his eyes look red rimmed and puffy.

Another is that he is an ugly crier. Just full on sobbing, snot and tears going down his face. Trying to wipe away but it just keeps coming. Kinda lashing out at people who try to get close or comfort him. He hates feeling this way, hates having others see him like this but it's just too much to pretend that he's fine right now. When he's calmed down, just rough scrubs to his face and then quick exit, ignoring people calling out to him.

Now what would make him cry like that is the big question haha

Oh bet he represses everything, and I mean every single thing lmfaoo

But I also imagine him being a mix of both in a way, like, he doesn't show it to anyone else ofc, he would never ever cry in public, that's so uncool in his words, but once he's alone it just,, it's a gradual thing, it builds up y'know, it's like the feeling of anxiety, where your chest feels tight and your throat feels dry and you can feel every nerve in your body almost pulsing just beneath your skin, and suddenly every little problem starts to pile up on him, until it reaches its peak and he just,,, tears up, tries to stop them, trying so hard, so hard he's trying so hard why can't they see that I'm trying and until he starts to really ugly cry, like, his chest hurts y'know, broken sobs echo within the room as he tries so hard to calm himself down, until his pokemon come out to try and calm him, until he lashes out on them, until he falls to his knees, falls to the floor, his Dragonite nuzzling close to him, hoping it's enough comfort without really hugging him, without having to risk him panicking again from being held too tight

And they wait for him y'know, wait till he's the one reaching out for them, wait till he's the one clinging to his pokemon, holding them tight, closer, impossibly closer, at least they won't leave him

Ofc, his process is still slow, after his tears were shed, he'd just,,, sit there or lie down and look up at the ceiling, letting the last remnants of his tears to fall before he takes a deep breath, let's it out, and sits upright again, chuckling to himself, saying shit like "well, that was something, huh?" And after he makes sure he looks presentable, he goes on his day as if he didn't just cry for almost thirty minutes

Low-key tho but other than being compared to his fam, I think his academic record would kinda haunt him, cause like yeah, he knows he's a strong trainer, he has no doubts with that, but he knows he's struggling w class and while he's so chill abt it, repeating his school year kinda messed with him a bit. Maybe that, and maybe the whispers abt him too ofc, how he knows other people doubt if he really wants to be a Dragon Master like Drayden and Iris, he is from a family of Dragon Masters, so why isn't he making more of an effort to become one? Idk but yeah hahaha

[raendown]

Day 2 entry for @madatobiweek! I wanted to combine both prompts for alternate universe and office shenanigans and somehow this is what I came up with.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Rating: T+ Word count: 3392 Summary: Ten years is a long time to be gone. It's amazing how much has changed - and how much hasn't.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Wounded Lips and Salted Cheeks

“If I didn’t know better I would say that was Senju Tobirama underneath that hat.”

With the side of his mouth quirking up in a hesitant smile, the man in question raised his head to peer at the figure casting shadows in the doorway to his office.

The newcomer cut a dashing figure in what must have been a very expensive outfit before it was coated in soot and salt water. His fitted black trousers and knee high leather boots were a delicious treat for the eye of their beholder, although most of Tobirama’s admiration was focused on the large swath of chest visible through the gaping neckline of his billowing shirt, clasped shut with a very intricate belt. Raggedy black hair fell to the man’s waist, riddled through with braids and beads, and Tobirama wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers within it.

“But that can’t be; the last time I saw Senju Tobirama he was naught but a cabin brat looking up to his betters with stars in his little demon eyes.”

“A lot of things have changed since you left, Madara.” Tobirama lifted his brows until they threatened to disappear under his admiral’s hat. “Clearly much has changed for you as well. Gone a decade only to be arrested for piracy by the very cabin brat you so loved to torture. Many would call that irony.”

“I’d call that the sea gods having a laugh,” Madara chortled. There was an empty scabbard hanging from his belt and one of his sleeves was stained red.

“You look just as you did then.” The words came out quiet and filled with the shadows of a decade spent wondering. Madara shrugged, an easy gesture for a man whose wrists were bound in iron.

“Can’t say the same of you,” was all he said in return.

Tobirama turned his red eyes to the uniformed pair holding his new prisoner by each arm. “Clean him up and have his wound seen to.”

“Aye, Admiral!”

He tried not to, but Tobirama couldn’t help but notice that Madara gave no protest as he was pulled away and led towards whatever awaited him for his crimes. Nor did he look back despite the fact that Tobirama was left staring at the empty doorway for quite some time after he left.

-

“My brother searched for you.”

He had never been very good at casual. Bluntness yes but not the practice of saying a thing without the weight of all his meaning behind it. A soldier must say what he means or stay quiet and say nothing; such had been his philosophy for many years and it had served him well in reaching every goal he had ever set for himself. It was his honesty and intelligence which had shot him up through the ranks of the Queen’s Navy to find himself a decorated Admiral before reaching thirty years of age.

It did little to serve him now when faced with a man who had always been able to read him better than Tobirama wished him to.

“I figured he might,” Madara admitted from where he was lounging by the window.

“Very likely he would still be searching if he hadn’t fallen in love with an Uzumaki princess and settled down in the Whirlpool Islands. Last I heard they were expecting their second child.”

“Truly? Good for him.”

Madara didn’t even bother to look over at him, still staring through the glass with the slightly distant expression which had been hiding just under the surface of his every emotion since his ship was downed and he was taken prisoner aboard the Hidden Leaf. As much as Tobirama hated to admit it, even all these years later, he still had no idea how to read the man.

Prisoner he might be but volatile he had proved he was not and so Madara was allowed to wander the ship at will so long as he was accompanied at all times by at least one guard, for which the admiral himself most certainly counted. There were no counts of murder or undue violence against him, only the vague charge of “piracy” to which he freely pled guilty at first accusation, so he wasn’t viewed as much of a threat.

Thus began Madara’s habit of spending quite a bit of his time in the cabin which served as Tobirama’s office. It was also his sleeping quarters, although you would have to squint to find the tiny cramped sea bed among the books and papers and the innumerable maps.

Sometimes they spoke and other times they sat in silence as Tobirama worked, writing correspondence and a log of their journey, drafting essays on the scientific studies he often completed on his travels at sea. The days in which they spoke were the ones Tobirama preferred even if he would never have admitted to such a thing out loud. Although it had been a full decade since they last saw each other, there were still too many memories in his eyes whenever he looked at the prisoner in his window.

“Did he ever find anything other than a wife?” Madara’s voice broke through his thoughts and in the privacy of his mind Tobirama begged the older man to look at anything but the fading horizon.

“No.”

He knew exactly what Madara was really asking, the treasure he hoped that his old friend might have found, and Tobirama truly hated to be the one to deny him.

“Is he happy where he is?”

“Yes. Every letter that reaches me is happier than the last.”

“I’ll bet they’re absolutely covered in tear stains too. He always was a sap.”

Free to smile fondly as he continued to go unobserved, Tobirama let his eyes drift over to the small frame bolted down to his desk and the photograph contained therein. “He got worse with age, trust me. The last time I made port in Uzushio it took him half an hour to stop sobbing on me. Ruined a very good jacket.”

Madara gave a startled bark of laughter and finally turned to sit with his back to the window, raising his arms to tuck both hands behind his head and play with the braids in his hair.

“I hope it was expensive,” he teased. Tobirama sighed.

“My favorite, actually. But after he covered it in snot I couldn’t bear to put it back on.”

“Ah.” With his eyes now staring at the ceiling above him, Madara’s expression looked no less distant as he murmured, “The sea gods take as they see fit.”

Tobirama had little to say to that. It was clear that he would have no luck breaking the pensive mood his prisoner had fallen in to today and so he turned back to his papers and told himself to concentrate on nothing else. Across the cabin, Madara barely seemed to notice.

-

“How long until we make port?”

Madara tossed the letter opener in his hands up and watched it spiral through the air before catching it by the tip as it came back down. Then he casually tossed it up again as he had been doing for the past fifteen minutes.

“A few weeks yet,” Tobirama replied absently.

“I thought you said that two weeks ago.”

“Mm. That was before the storm pushed us so off course.”

The frown on his face deepened and Tobirama rolled up the map in frustration. His charts simply didn’t match up and he felt nothing so much as a failure. How could he have missed anything after searching the area as many times as he had? It didn’t make sense. And yet…

“So a couple of weeks more and you’ll be free of me then?” Madara tossed the letter opener up again. “I’ll have to talk to my wonderful guards about how to properly get under your skin. Someone needs to be up your ass once I’m gone and pull your head out of those maps you’re always staring at. Don’t you know where you’re going?”

“Of course I do. They’re not maps of this area; they depict somewhere else.”

“You’re not going to tell me where though.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Tobirama looked over his shoulder to lift an eyebrow at his prisoner with a wry smile, more pleased than he should be to see it returned.

Catching the letter opener yet again, Madara twirled it idly between his fingers. “Right, right. Little Tobi with his big brain. You always did have to know more than everyone else around you.” He laughingly dodged the empty cup that came flying towards his head for that comment. Tobirama huffed at him.

“Doesn’t take a genius like me to see how impatient you are to face the queen’s justice. I think it’s you who is looking forward to being rid of me.” If the universe was kinder then it would not have been obvious how much pain the truth of that statement caused him. But the universe had never been very kind and, although Madara refrained from sending him a look of pity, he didn’t hold out much hope that his emotions had gone undetected.

“Think you’ve got me all figured out, eh?” Madara shot him a cocky grin but all Tobirama did was sigh.

“Not then. Not now.”

He turned back to his desk and reached for the account he’d been trying to match up with his charts. If he could only work out where he might have missed something then his life’s work would finally see its end and at last he could rest.

Behind him, Madara remained suspiciously quiet.

-

“He isn’t here.”

Only just managing not to leap in to the air with fright, Madara swiveled his head round until he laid eyes upon the young woman standing next to Tobirama’s desk. She had long hair twisted up in a vicious looking topknot and her uniform was a tad sloppier than most. The size of her arms, however, said that this was someone he definitely shouldn’t mess with.

Madara had never been good at backing down, though.

“Does he know that his crew skulk around in here while he’s gone?”

“He knows that you do and he has a hundred times more reason to trust me.” The woman’s face twisted in an ugly expression. “The world likes to think he’s changed – he likes to think he’s changed – but he hasn’t. Still the same old Tobi, hopping ship to chase after you and that rat brother of yours.”

Madara was across the cabin before he even registered that he’d moved, his fingers twisted in the collar of her shirt. “One more word about my brother and I’ll beat you black and blue no matter your rank.”

“What does he see in you?” she continued. “You’re nothing but a deadbeat who ran away from home. You haven’t taken anything seriously since you came on board, you look down at him like you always did, you walk this ship from end to end and think nothing of the liberties he gives you. So tell me, pirate scum, what did he ever see in you that could possibly have driven him to sail the world over so many times just for your sorry ass?”

“For – what?” Anger seeped away in favor of confusion the longer she talked until he hardly noticed when the woman batted his hand away from her throat.

“Don’t act coy, Uchiha. You think he joined the queen’s navy for fun? The cabin kid with salt in his pockets and science in his head? Ten years you’ve been gone and he’s spent the whole time out here on the waves, looking for you.”

“No. That’s not – why would he do that?”

The woman snorted as she shoved him away, watching him stumble with a disdainful curl to her lip. “Beats me. You’re not worth looking for.”

Madara reeled, unsteady for the first time since he was a child finding his sea legs on the boat that he and his best friend built themselves. Hashirama had been so happy with their tiny craft, barely more than a raft with a mast, but he’d called it the FriendShip and let his little brother sit on the back, called him cabin boy and yelled at Madara whenever he pushed the young thing overboard.

And then his own younger brother had found out and demanded that he be allowed to play with them too. When Madara told him there wasn’t room enough for a fourth body Izuna had cried and run home, swearing up and down that he’d build his own boat and that none of them could sail on it. A week later the sea had swallowed him and Madara had never seen his little brother again. Seventeen years old, full of desperation and guilt, his mind had refused to accept that Izuna could be gone and he’d done the only thing that made sense at the time.  

He fled their poor little fishing village and turned to piracy, using his freedom outside the law to search and search until the day his past caught up with him in the form of the Hidden Leaf.

“It wasn’t his fault,” he heard himself say. “It was mine.”

“You think its guilt that he’s hung on to all this time?” The woman snorted again and shook her head, slamming her hand down on the maps Tobirama spent so much of his time poring over. “He tore that cove apart inch by inch trying to find Izuna for you. He caught the first passage out of town against his brother’s wishes trying to find you. He joined the navy and he did his time until they gave him a ship of his own and all this time he’s been looking for you!”

Madara flinched. Why Tobirama might have entered the queen’s service never occurred to him. Sure it had seemed strange that a mind so wild and curious as his had always been would have subjected itself to the rigid rules of the navy. But as he had for the past decade, Madara had thought only of himself.

In truth, his heart had given up a long time ago and admitted that his brother lay buried beneath the tides. Only stubbornness and a lack of anywhere else to go had kept him at the helm but now he wondered: had he always had somewhere else to go? All this time he had been longing for home, had home been searching for him?

Both he and the woman before him startled and whipped around when the door to the office opened. Tobirama stepped inside with sea spray still wet on his boots and glistening in his hair, a suspicious expression immediately falling across his face when he spotted them there.

“Touka,” he nodded shortly to the woman.

“Cousin,” she replied to Madara’s surprise. That would explain her familiarity with Tobirama’s motives.

“Did you need something?”

“I was just leaving.”

And she did leave but not without sending Madara a look full of acid. Tobirama caught her eye as she passed him and returned the look with enough venom to quicken her pace, leaving the two of them alone as they usually were.

“Have an interesting conversation with my first mate, did you?” As always, he failed to sound as casual as he would have wished to. Only this time Madara finally understood what he had been hearing since they were all just little boys sailing the bay of a tiny fishing town.

“No,” he lied. “We didn’t talk about much.”

The words tasted strange in his mouth.

-

“Where did you say your brother dropped anchor, again?”

“In the Whirlpool Islands.”

“Ah.”

Madara fidgeted and shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing up against Tobirama’s where the other man stood perfectly still at his side. Although he was certain that a week ago he wouldn’t have noticed, it occurred to him that in all the time since he’d come aboard this vessel, this was closest they had been to each other.

They watched the horizon together for the first time as Madara contemplating the noose soon to tighten around his neck. Shore was in sight and despite all the many weeks he had spent in this very room it still felt as though he hadn’t had long enough.  

He’d thought he wouldn’t care if he died. He’d also thought there would be no one esle left in the world who would care if he died. Apparently he’d been wrong on both counts.

“I hear Uzushio has really nice weather all year round,” he murmured.

“So it does,” Tobirama replied, his confusion at that statement as clear as day in his voice.

“Will you settle down there with him?”

Shifting his own weight, although he was more careful not to brush up against the man beside him, Tobirama kept his eyes pointedly forward. “I don’t know that I ever will settle down.”

“Not even if there was something to keep you there?”

“Perhaps then, yes. But I don’t truly belong to Hashirama’s family, although I’m certain brother would be more than happy to see me. His princess would not take kindly to me inserting myself in to their lives in such a manner as I would without any other attachments.”

“Ah.” Very carefully, Madara leaned sideways just until their shoulders touched and held there. “I also hear that Uzushio won its freedom from the crown and is no longer considered a part of The Colonies.”

“That is true, yes.”

Without looking away from the horizon he twisted his wrist until their fingers were touching, not reaching, not presuming, but presenting the offer and hoping that all the sea gods who could possibly be listening might hear his fervent prayers. “How would you feel about staging a mutiny and running away with the fastest vessel in the queen’s navy?”

He barely had time to blink before he found himself being spun around and shoved up against the wall of the office cabin. Tobirama left the man no time to question his intentions as he crashed their lips together and vented a lifetime of frustration and yearning, a decade of worry and pursuit. Pale fingers buried themselves within dark braided hair and twisted as though hoping to stay tangled there forever. Both of them groaned in to the heat of each other’s mouths, their bodies pressing together, rocking with the motion of the sea beneath their vessel and the tides within their souls.

Knowing they didn’t have much time, Tobirama forced himself to pull away before he lost his head entirely. His chest heaved as he pressed his forehead against Madara’s the way he had been dreaming of since they first set sail on the back of a barely floating raft together.

“We’ll pass in to the bay within an hour. If you want me to mutiny my own ship we need to get going now or we’ll be within canon range of the others at port before I can turn any of the crew to my side.”

“Right. So, Admiral.  Yo ho, yo ho?”

“It’s a pirate’s life for me,” Tobirama finished in a dry voice, trying to contain his smile and failing wildly. Madara laughed at his efforts.

“No regrets?”

“I went to sea to find you,” he said softly. “And now I have and I won’t let you go.”

“Been waiting for the offer?”

Tobirama looked rather dashing with a blush across his cheeks. “Hoping.”

“Let’s go then.” Madara skimmed his hands down the hard body pressing his against the wall until they rested on a set of gorgeous hips, displayed so nicely by the admiral’s uniform. He pulled Tobirama in for one more kiss before they tore themselves apart and turned to face the doorway.

Neither of them looked away from the door and yet both reached out at the same time to entwine their fingers together. As Madara reached for the handle, Tobirama reached for the saber at his belt, tossing it and trusting his partner to catch as he then reach for the pistol just inside the breast of his doublet. They shared a grin before Madara pulled the door open and they stepped out on to the deck together, facing the midday sun and whatever the sea gods had in store.  

[queenbvadva]

Day:6 AU

Mirror Verse by http://synapticfirefly.tumblr.com

Some mirror verse art by: http://sleepyeule.tumblr.com/

(Warning blood and gore)

Eric hated the normal in this town. It was cruel, hardcore and he was sure if he didn’t have Kyle to care for him he would have died long ago. Eric only wanted to spread some Christmas cheer this year and hopefully get a bit more than $10 worth of donations this year. Yes, this year he was determined! He had Kyle’s Christmas present wrapped and packed away ‘Kyle’ messily scribbled on the wrapping paper. He had it hidden under his countless ‘ugly’ sweaters he owned. Today he decided to go with his Rudolf one for the extra warmth. Today was going to be a good day! He could just feel it! Even if later tonight was purge night he could make the most of the day! He got his iconic blue scarf that he had gotten from Kyle and wraps it around his neck carefully. He sat on his bed slipping his feet into his snow boots before getting up grabbing his bag full of medical supplies. He checks to make sure he had everything before heading out of his room to the front door.

“Ma I’m heading out!” He didn’t hear a response so he assumed she was busy doing something. He shrugs and heads out the door, locking it behind himself.  Today was going to be great! It snowed last night so there was a layer of snow that covered the sidewalk and street. There was something satisfying about the crunch of snow under his boots and he smiled softly inhaling the sweet smell of pine. It was a comforting smell, a homely, safe smell. Though his moment of peace was ruined by the sounds of a car screeching down the road. Eric watched helplessly as he someone walking down the opposite sidewalk gets crushed against the truck and a lamp post screaming in agony. He covered his mouth with a shaky hand staring bewildered as he watched the girl flail under the truck trying to shove it off. An arm wraps around his shoulder forcing him to walk down his stairs and down to the sidewalk. He glances up at the arm seeing none other than Kyle Broflovski with a slightly annoyed sneer on his face. Eric glances down at his watch seeing that he was in deed late.

    “I-I’m sorry Kyle… It’s just… I was…” Before he could even manage to stutter out some sort of reasonable excuse Kyle cut him off.

    “Don't.” Kyle’s words were firm and harsh making Eric let out a submissive whimper but nods anyway. The two walked for a while and Eric tried to focus on the sound of the snow instead of the girl’s screams. Kyle seemed to be in a bad mood already today so he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut. The two approached the High School, Kyle was nice enough to escort the shaky Eric to his locker as the first bell rang.

“You’ll be ok?” Kyle mumbles under his breath and Eric looks up to see a gentle look on Kyle’s face. That was a rare sight especially how paranoid Kyle normally was in school. Eric nods softly a gentle smile creeping on his face at the sight. Kyle felt safe with him, safe enough to smile in public.

“Yeah… Yeah… The first bell rang, you should hurry and get to class.” Kyle nods his expression going back to it’s normal stone cold appearance before he head to his class, sneering at a few classmates who looked at them funny. Eric smiles opening his locker and grabbing his notebooks and books he would need for class. He took a breath and nods smiling, he said today was going to be a good day! He could still turn this day around. He’d go through class, get good notes, hang out with Kyle then get donations! He set out to his class with a hopeful mentality, though that didn’t get him far. He whimpers in pain and surprise when he was shoved against the lockers.

“Look at this gay little fag!” Some unknown guy chuckles as a crowd starts forming. He was wearing a North Park sweater, this couldn’t be good… If Kyle found out... Eric quickly turns trying to walk away.

“Excuse me…” he says politely crowd only laughing at him. The guy only grabs Eric once more slamming him against the locker harder this time holding him there making tears brim his eyes from the pain.

“Aw what’s the baby gonna do? Cry?” Eric tried his best to hold his tears back as the crowd laughs mocking him once more. He scanned the crowd for any signs of help. Kenny was only watching his arms crossed curiously, he wouldn’t be getting any help from his ‘friend’ today. A painful punch to the eye brought him back to reality, he could feel the swelling happening already but the guy punched him once more. Eric grit his teeth trying his best to bear through the pain. He braces for another punch but instead he was dropped to the ground his scarf leaving his shoulders. Eric goes wide eyed, or the best he could with his black eye at his attacker seeing his beloved blue scarf in his hands.

“N-No wait!” He calls pathetically trying to grasp the scarf. The guy only laughed evilly pulling it away.

“What? Did your mama make it for you?” With that the male cruelly ripped his scarf in half. Eric felt his heart drop to his stomach. He watched helplessly as the guy lifted the scarf victoriously to the crowd. Eric stumbled to his feet tears now dripping from his face. That scarf, that was so dear to him. That Kyle had trusted to him was now torn in half.

“Aw look at the baby cry!” The guy laughed in Eric’s face. Before Eric even realized what he did his fist slammed full force into the guys throat making him fall back onto the ground choking. When the realization hit he goes wide eyed stumbling back in surprise at his own actions. He quickly gathers his scarf that the male dropped scanning the crowd seeing none other than Kyle burst through looking at the male and then Eric.

There was something he had never seen on Kyle’s face in that moment. W-Was Kyle scared of him? Eric gripped his scarf parts pathetically bursting through the other side of the crowd shaking badly and sprinting as far as his legs would carry him. He was running surprisingly fast, faster than he had ever run in his life. He didn’t care where he would end up he just couldn’t face Kyle. Finally out of breath Eric took the time to look around at where he ended up. He was on Main Street by Photo Dojo. He took a soft breath, he was smart enough to not stay on Main Street for long. Eric made his way to the playground whipping a bench clear of the snow. He sits down and looks at his scarf sadly opening his bag looking for a sewing kit. He had sewn enough of Kyle’s wounds and old stuffed animals that Kyle had torn that he should be able to fix it. The day faded before he even realized it. He sighs contently lifting his scarf up checking his sew work. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t bad either. The sun was starting to go down so he checked his phone. His mom must be worried sick. His phone was blown up with messages. Kenny saying something about how ‘awesome’ what he did was. Most of the text being threats from Kyle for what would happen if he didn’t answer. He scrolled through a good four pages of text before he came across some messages from his mom. He at least deserved to explain to Kyle what happened. He pulls his knees onto the bench hugging them from the cold calling Kyle. The phone only got to one ring before Kyle picked up right away.

“Where the fuck are you?!” He hisses angrily. Eric couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his face. Kyle was worried about him.

“I… I’m at the playground… I… Kyle I’m sorry… B-Because I… I-If I didn’t fight then… you would still..” a few tears slip down his face not helping with the fact he was cold at all, he let out a pathetic laugh.

“I’m sorry that I worried you… I-I just couldn’t face you after I…” The silence from Kyle was killing him. Did Kyle hate him now? What if he didn’t trust him anymore? The tears started to stream down his face now at all the possibilities.

“Eric.” A breathy voice says drawing his attention away from his phone to his left. At the gate stood a very tired Kyle his face warped in a confusion of anger and worry. Eric could only stare helplessly as Kyle marched up to him. He couldn’t even care if Kyle killed him, he didn’t deserve to look at Kyle so his eyes went to the ground.

“I’m sorry Kyle…” He whispers watching his tears splash onto the snow. Instead of meeting the cold end of a blade he was pulled into a warm hug, Kyle sitting next to him now.

“I was so worried…” Kyle whispered. If Eric even breathed he would have missed it. Kyle’s attempt to comfort Eric went much better than he expected as Eric now sobbed onto his shoulder ruining his jacket with a mess of snot and tears. Kyle rubs Eric’s back trying to comfort him. He calmed him for almost thirty minutes before Eric passed out from pure exhaustion on his shoulder.

“Geez… You’re too trusting Eric…” he mumbles softly gently wrapping the scarf safely around Eric’s neck once more. Kyle lifts Eric bridal style into his arms carrying him back home. Eric was cold, even freezing. Eric’s nose was now a runny red and his face a bit more pale than normal. Ms.Cartman gladly let Kyle in, knowing well that he was one of the main, if not the main reason Eric was alive. Kyle carried Eric up to his bed laying him gently on the bed pulling the blankets over him. A soft rare smile crossed Kyle’s face at how soundly Eric slept. Like nothing was ever wrong in the world. Kyle places a soft gentle kiss to Eric’s head.

“Sleep well.” he mumbles into Eric’s lovely brown hair. Kyle pulls back going back downstairs explaining to miss. Cartman about his plan for tonight. The last thing he needed was for miss. Cartman to freak out and try and shoot his men. Miss. Cartman as expected was enthusiastic about getting extra protection for Eric. Even if Kyle’s security system was top notch. Kyle headed out with a soft sigh getting ready for a long night. Kyle and some of his other men stayed guard at Eric’s house in case any North Park members decided to get their revenge. He couldn’t take the chance of losing Eric. At about 1am Kyle’s phone goes off and he quickly picks up without hesitation.

“What?” he hisses coldly through the phone. There was silence for a few seconds before Eric’s sweet voice came across the line.

“are you outside…?” Kyle smiles softly and let out a soft hum.

“No, it must be some demon.” Eric whines unhappily through the line.

“Kyle that’s not funny!” Kyle let out a short laugh before going quiet at the sound of rustling his eyes landing on a rabbit. He relaxes once more hearing Eric sneeze through the line. It wasn’t a surprise he got sick.

“Get some sleep Shayn.” Kyle muses through the line.

“I will… Be safe… Promise?” Eric whispers softly the words melting Kyle’s heart. There was nothing quite like the feeling of knowing someone was waiting at home worried for you.

“I will… Now sleep.” with that Kyle hung up first looking up at the night sky as snow started to drift down. Today wasn’t too bad of a day.

Eric woke up the next morning with an ice pack to his eye, his mother probably placing it there to try and help with the swelling. Eric smiles softly at the thought of Kyle carrying him home. It was a sweet action, probably more than he’ll get through the next year. So he dedicates the thought to memory storing it in the back of his mind in case he’d ever need it. Wait a minute… The realization hit him. Kyle was in his room. Where Kyle’s present was hidden away. He quickly got out of bed flinging the covers off and stammers over to check if it was still there, sighing in relief at the present. It wasn’t anything too fancy but Eric had spent almost all his money on it. Underneath that wrapping was a silver watch that Eric noticed Kyle had his eye on. Knowing that it was safe he closes the drawer.

@kymanweek

[random-fireworks]

Can’t make you love me

Warning: This is even angstier than what I had planned so...Sorry.

If you don’t know the song I Can’t Make You Love Me (especially the version of George Michael, as it’s the one I use here), I suggest you listen to it here before reading, when I mention it or after reading :)

Thank you to all the people who showed so much interest in this; I never expected to have to tag so many blogs! 

@scalliousis, @sammyanddee, @dreamsofaazadi, @wet-hot-wincest, @policeofficerdean, @sammycomesfirst, @ultraradstudentprincess, @blackvibeess, @sammy5283, @everafter93, @winchester-family-buisness, @ilovejared, @improudofustoodean, @chxmxcxl-xmmx, @spngirl007, @art-of-blue, @neverimaginedtoloveyou, @mekittycattyow, @mywincestblogshh, @isabellejosephine, @golly-god, @adorablejared, and some blogs I couldn’t tag and who I’m gonna send messages to

Enjoy!

 “Hey Dean?”

 Dean looked up from his disassembled gun to see his baby brother doodling on his Spanish notebook, eyes hidden behind his too long hair. It had become a habit lately for him to talk to his brother without even being able to see his face, as he mostly kept it resolutely down – except for when he was fighting with their Dad. Dean missed laughing with Sam, missed sleeping in the same bed and keeping him close to him at night, missed the way they used to be. They were drifting apart. Dean kept reminding himself that it was normal; he couldn’t expect his fourteen-year-old brother to still need him and only him. But it didn’t ease the sting in his heart whenever Sam went to bed without wishing him good night. They didn’t argue, no – Dean would have preferred it; at least he would have known what was going on in his little brother’s head – they just didn’t talk. The moments they shared were quiet, Sam brooding at the table – always with a book open in front of him – and Dean trying his best not to stare at him. So when Sam opened his mouth that afternoon, Dean wondered if the sky was going to fall on his head.

 “Yeah?”

 “The school has this…Valentine’s Day dance tonight…”

 “I’m flattered Samantha, but don’t you think I’m a little too old for you?”

 His joke – if it was a joke – fell flat, either because Sam had decided it sucked too much to be worth reacting to, or because he hadn’t heard him. His pen had stopped above his scribble. His knuckles were white.

 “Someone asked me out to it.”

 Dean smiled to himself, bitterly. Sam had never talked about the girls he liked, he never went out. But Dean knew it was bound to happen one day. He just didn’t think it would come so soon. “That’s great Sammy.” Even he heard the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. “Like it when girls take the initiative, huh?” he added for good measure.

 Once again, his pity attempt at easing the atmosphere in the room as well as the knot in his stomach failed. Sam let go of his pen and finally rose his head. In the grey motel room, his hazel irises shined. He passed a hand through his hair before setting his eyes on Dean.

 “It’s…a boy.”

 Dean’s brain stopped functioning. He saw himself staring at his brother, mouth gaping. “Oh,” was all he was able to get out of it. Sam liked boys. Sam, his little brother with sunflower eyes, wanted to hold other boys’ hands and kiss them on the lips and…He snapped out of it, just as Sam was closing his books in nervous movements.

 “No Sam wait, I’m sorry. I was just surprise, that’s all.”

 Sam stopped and casted a shy glance at him. Dean left his chair to sit on the one next to him.

 “I don’t care. I mean, yes, I care but it doesn’t change anything for me, ‘kay? You’re still my baby brother.” He waited for Sam to nod briefly before going on. The strange, sick feeling in his stomach was still there but it wasn’t going to prevent him to do his big brother job. “So that guy…”

 A smile appeared on Sam’s face as he said: “Matt.”

 “Matt. You like him?”

 “Yeah.”

 “You know him well?”

 “Yeah, we have several classes together.”

 “He’s a good guy?”

 Sam glared at him. “Is it an interrogation?”

 Dean rose his eyebrows. Now that was a good old and nice brotherly conversation. “I’m the one asking the questions here,” he answered, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning on the back of the chair. He waited.

 Sam sighed. “He’s…Yes, he’s nice.”

 Dean searched for another question to tease his brother – it was easier than to ask himself was why the thought of this Matt taking his little brother to his first dance simultaneously made him want to cry and punch something – but Sam looked so happily dreamy that he didn’t have the heart to ruin his mood. He tapped the table two times to bring Sam back to him.

 “Good. Want me to come pick you up?”

 “I-I can walk if you don’t want-”

 “Don’t be stupid Sammy, I’m not gonna let you walk alone in the streets in the middle of the night.”

 “Thanks Dean.”

 There it was, that dimpled smile Dean hadn’t seen in so long. If he could still make him smile like that, nothing was impossible.

 “I don’t need to give you the talk, right?”

 “Oh my God Dean it’s just a school dance for God’s sake,” Sam muttered, plunging back into his homework.

   **

   Dean parked in front of the school thirty minutes before the hour Sam had told him. The music blasting inside the building made him smile indulgently. This whole thing was so lame. He had never liked school dances, only complying to attend if it made it easier to get into a good girl’s pants – they were the kinkiest. But Sammy was different from him. He was the type to enjoy cheesy dates, kisses on the cheek, slow dances…With guys. Dean sighed. So that was what had been eating him up all this time. He couldn’t really blame the kid. He was glad Sam had talked to him about it and he had been sincere; it didn’t change anything between them. But inside of him, everything was messed up. He put it on the fact that this was his baby brother and God, Sam was still so little. But it wasn’t the entire explanation. He shook off the burning feeling creeping up in him. At least, now that he knew, they would be able to talk together like they used to; no secrets, at least on Sam’s side.

 He stretched and opened the door to lean against the car as he waited for his brother. For a February night, the air wasn’t too cold. Groups of teens were scattered around the parking lot and on the grass before the school. Dean noticed one sitting alone on the stairs leading to the entrance of the school. He did a double take. It took him a second to realize that it was Sam. Yes, it was his brother, sitting on his own, head down and shoulders drooping. Wind lashed Dean’s face as he quickly made his way to him.

 “Sammy? How long have you been waiting here?”

 “I don’t know, an hour or two,” Sam murmured between the knees he had brought up to his chest.

 “What? Why didn’t you call me?”

 “I didn’t want to bother you while you were with a girl.”

 “I wasn’t- never mind. Where’s your...” Friend, boyfriend, date; Dean crossed out the words as they passed in his head. “Matt?”

 “Inside.”

 Dean couldn’t see his brother’s face in the dark but the way he whispered his answers was all he needed to know that something bad had happened. A horrendous thought made its way inside his mind. He remembered what it was like to be fourteen, to be horny and not mature enough to control your impulses. He clenched his fists.

 “Did he make you do something you didn’t want to? Did he hurt you?”

 “No. I’m okay.”

 Sam’s voice broke as he said the last word and Dean’s heart cracked. He was used to Sam crying, ever since he was a baby, but it didn’t make it more bearable. He wanted to reach out to wipe the tears running down on his brother’s face but he sat next to him instead.

 “Alright,” he said gently. As much as he needed to know why his brother was crying to stop the panic from making him lose his mind, he knew that rushing things would only result in Sam shutting down. “Remember our rule? You don’t get to cry before you tell me what’s wrong.”

 Sam nodded, chin trembling.

 “So what happened?”

 “It was a joke. I thought he had- I thought I had made him ch-change but he-he…He pretended a-all this time just so he could…humiliate me tonight in front of everyone. A-and all the other bullies were with him and he kept saying these…things…” A whole new set of sobs cut his breath, despite how hard he was trying to go on.

 Dean wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling him close to him so that his brother’s head was resting in the crook of his neck. That way he didn’t see that his eyes were tear-filled too.

 Cheerful screams came from inside the school and someone probably turned the stereo up as the chorus of How Deep Is Your Love reached their ears. Sam’s shoulders shuddered under Dean’s hand and he buried his nose deeper in Dean’s sweater.

 “Yeah, disco makes me want to cry too. Can’t believe it’s called music.”

 Sam snickered and it probably put snot on Dean’s clothes but he didn’t care. He tightened his embrace around his little brother. Each time he thought that Sam had ran out of tears, new ones appeared and soaked his sweater, like it would never stop. The air became colder; teenagers passed by them, glancing curiously or completely ignoring them; music came and went – still disco, though. They both stayed still, the only movements Dean made being the soothing rubs on his brother’s back until the last sobs and spasms faded. Then only, Dean authorized himself to examine his feelings. There was only one.

 “I’m gonna break this scumbag’s neck,” he uttered behind his gritted teeth.  

 “No, Dean. Let’s just go.”

 **

   Back at the motel room, Sam only took off his shoes before sitting in the middle of his bed, chin resting on his knees. Dean slumped onto a chair facing his brother. There was definitely no water left in him, or else he would still be crying. His glassy hazel eyes were set on the ugly duvet but his frown and the drooping corners of his mouth betrayed his thoughts. He looked like a painting, even under the disgusting yellow ceiling light. A spurt of love pushed Dean’s tired limbs to move. He wasn’t going to let his brother spend the night brooding over a stupid bastard. It was Valentine’s Day and Sam was going to have the goddamn evening he had dreamt about.

 Dean stood up and turned off the main light to switch on the bedside lamps. Then he fumbled with the radio on the nightstand to find a good station. It wasn’t easy, with all the Valentine’s crappy tunes. A twitch of his heart made him stop when he heard the delicate piano notes of a music. The warm and deep voice resonated in the room. Turn down the lights, turn down the bed, turn down the voices inside my head. Dean turned his head to look at his brother. He was watching him.

 "What are you doing?” he murmured.

 “You don’t need stupid school dances, Sammy. You have everything here. You have me.”

 Dean held out his left hand toward his brother. Sam huffed a laugh and went back to looking away but Dean didn’t give up. He was doing this for his brother but, for the first time in his life, he would actually be happy to dance with someone.

 “Come on, you’re not going to turn down a dance to your big brother, are you?”

 Sam rolled his eyes but put a shaky hand in his and let himself be pulled away from the bed. Once he was up, he waited, sad eyes set on Dean. Color was back on his face, especially on his cheekbones. Dean grazed his brother’s back with the tip of his fingers until his hands were at the bottom of it, not pressing, just resting. The chorus started. Sam put his hands on his shoulders.  

 “On this song? Seriously?” he grumbled against Dean’s chest, as they started to turn slowly.

 “It’s George Michael’s version. George Michael always gets a pass. And it’s better than the Bee Gees anyway.”

 Sam answered after a short silence, with a softer voice. “Yes, it is.”

   The second chorus was about to start when Sam talked again.

 “I love you, Dean.”

 “I love you too, Sammy.”

 Sam lifted his head from Dean’s chest. Dean opened the eyes he didn’t know he had closed, lost in the dulcet melody and the fragrant hazelnut-scented hair his nose was buried in, to meet his. They stopped turning.

 “No, Dean. I mean I love you. As in-”

 Dean smiled. “You’re not in love with me Sammy; you’re heartbroken.”

 “I can be both.”

 “No. You’re sad and I’m here, that’s all it is, Sam. It’s a crush, at most, it’ll go away. That’s not love. Love is…” Love is when I let you have the last bowl of cereal even though you’ve been bitching all week long and I haven’t had any. Love is when you smile at me and I feel like I can take on the world. Love is when I look at you during the night and wonder why the hell I got so lucky. Love is when the pain is worth it because at least I get to have you as my little brother. “It’s different.”

 Sam’s lips were on his before he could see them coming. They were velvet, sweet under the saltiness of his sadness. He was tender, tentative. Dean wanted to eat him alive. He held his breath and let his brother pull out of the kiss.

 “Isn’t that love?” Sam asked with his oh so innocent voice. And God, he was so little.

 “No…it’s not. Sorry, kiddo.” Love is when I love you enough to keep you away from me.

 Sam’s eyes were glistening in the dark of the motel room. A tear ran down his face. Dean wiped it with the tip of his finger.

 “Thanks for the dance, Dean.”

 “Always.”

 Sam put his arms around his neck and Dean let his hands rest on his brother’s back. They slowly turned together as the song finished, Sam’s face pressed against Dean’s heart. That way he didn’t see that his eyes were tear-filled too.

[georgiabread]

falling for you ; phan | chapter thirty five

Full summary ; Dan Howell is dead. Well, sort of. He’s a guardian angel, forced to protect only one human, and that human is Cat. But when he accompanies Cat to school, he can’t help but be intrigued by the broken boy with the black hair who sits by the window in class and disappears at lunch times. Dan realises this boy needs more protection than Cat will ever need, so he takes on human form to save him. But soon he finds himself falling in love, which is something he definitely can’t do. Dan Howell is an angel, and he’s falling for Phil.

Tags ; highschool!phan, teenage!phan, plantboy!phil, spaceboy!dan, angel!dan, phan, phan au, phan fluff, phan angst, chaptered

TWs ; bullying, violence, mentions of self-harm, mentions of death/suicide, depression, panic attacks, physical and verbal abuse, homophobia, foul language and supernatural themes.

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"And I don't want to let this go, I don't want to lose control, I just want to see the stars with you—"

dan ;

True to Phil's words, five minutes did pass before the black-haired boy arrived – but the rate at which the seconds dragged on made it seem like 5 hours. Dan focused on taking calming breaths as he waited, resting his head on his arms and shutting his eyes. He needed to relax. Regulate his breathing and heartbeat. But it wasn't fucking working. Every deep breath he took stammered and broke, every time he blinked away his tears new ones would jump in, stinging his eyes. Dan bit down hard on his bottom lip and looked up. The park had been overrun with shadows in the time he was gone, so dark it seemed they were flooding his own vision, creating an illusion of total blackness. It was terrifying.

Dan could feel it building in his chest as it usually did. The panic, the terror, crawling through his body like an uncontrollable disease. It yanked his intestines into tight knots, crushed and compressed his lungs until there was no air left to breathe, closed over his throat till it felt as if hands were wrapping around it and squeezing. His vision clouded over, distorting the world around him but not like before. Don't cry, he told himself desperately. If you do, you'll fucking suffocate. He reached up to wipe at his eyes, but the movement in his shoulder sent spasms jolting under his skin and he grimaced.

Even though the pain in his back had faded to a dull ache, he still felt a vicious jab every time he moved. By now the blood had glued his jumper to his wounds, and the wool caught on the torn skin every now and then. He had to remove it. But he couldn't. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't fucking breathe.

But he tried to. Dan spat out a strangled sob and braced his hands gently against the bark. Breathe, he told himself. Just breathe. In and out. I swear to god, just breathe. The brown-haired boy shut his eyes and sucked air through his nose, willing his heart to slow down and the panic to unravel itself from around his gut. Slowly, painfully, he began to gain control of his terror, forcing it away with deep, lingering breaths and holding steady against the ground. Grounding himself.

Finally, he slumped into the bark with a wince, sucking in his lips as he attempted to suppress another sob. But then he had nothing else to distract him from his thoughts, and they swamped his mind.

He was going to hell. That one sentence tumbled about in his brain, unable to be contained. You're going to hell you're going to hell you're going to hell.

Sure, it might be a while before that, but Dan almost panicked again simply knowing it was inevitable.

He kept remembering the forlorn look in the Keeper's dark eyes. Did Dan really mean that much to him? Would he ever see him again? Dan doubted both heavily. The Keeper was stoic and emotionless, and once again, Dan was going to hell when he died. His business with the mysterious man had come to an end, he was sure of it.

And Phil...Dan was stuck back on Earth until death, but would he ever make things right with his best friend? He wanted to, god he wanted to so bad. But Phil had fought him, been abandoned by him, seen him with wings protruding unnaturally from his back. Dan wouldn't blame him if the dark-haired boy wanted nothing more to do with him – even feared him.

and almost broke down then and there, burying his face into his arms. For now, it seemed Phil wasn't too terrified of him.  

"Dan? Dan, oh my god."

Dan glanced up and caught sight of the ghostly hue of Phil's cheeks, the horror shimmering behind his eyes as he entered the gloomy park. He absorbed Dan's pitiful form slumped in the dirt, scanning over his face and arms and then faltering a bit when he noticed the state of Dan's back.

Dan wanted to cry. "P-Phil," he croaked, the single word stumbling in his throat.

Phil's footsteps slowed as he reached the low barrier encircling the play equipment, and Dan noticed how hesitant he was to move closer. It hurt, just a little. Phil didn't meet his eyes when he blurted, "You...you're bleeding."

Dan sniffed and nodded, raising his eyebrows as he looked up at Phil. Even something as small as that sent agony shooting from his wounds. "I think I've noticed. I'm also in a lot of p-pain," he muttered bitterly.

"What happened?" Phil asked quietly. He sounded like the answer to that question was the last thing he wanted to know. Dan wondered if begging him to come here had been the right idea.

He simply shrugged, the pain clearly showing on his face. Then he blurted an empty laugh, wiped his nose and mumbled, "I got what was coming for me."

Phil remained still and speechless, unsure how to respond. "Dan, I don't..."

"F-Forget it. I don't expect you to understand, Phil," Dan interrupted, sounding choked up as he looked away.

"Wait," Phil breathed suddenly, almost deaf to Dan's words. "Your w-wings...they...  suddenly turning his vision hazy again as Phil stared into his own tired brown eyes.

Dan looked down, eyelids fluttering shut. He cursed the moisture that trickled onto his cheeks, unable to hold back the waves of sorrow and hopelessness crashing against the dam he'd built to keep them in. He couldn't continue. He couldn't keep hiding. Here he was, lying on the ground in the dead of night, his wings just having been wrenched from his very skin. And all he wanted was to tell Phil everything.

All he wanted was for Phil to hold him again.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, afraid to look up in case the black-haired boy looked at him with disgust, moved away, left him.

But instead Phil sighed shakily and stepped forward, gently lowering to the ground and resting two fingers against Dan's jaw. He tilted his head upwards, and Dan reluctantly opened his eyes, chin wobbling as he saw the sadness pulling on Phil's face. Phil swallowed, wordlessly wiping the tears from Dan's cheeks with his thumbs before placing their foreheads together. "It's okay," he whispered.

Dan had been falling for a long time now. But just as the words left Phil's lips, he hit the ground. A wet sob tore from his throat and the dam broke, tears spilling from his eyes as Phil gathered him into his arms, surrounding him with warmth and thereness and love. Dan took no notice as pain erupted fiercely from his injuries. He He sobbed into Phil's chest, squeezing the material into his fists as if that jumper could somehow ground him to reality.

Phil held him tight and secure, burying his nose into Dan's hair and simply letting the brown-haired boy cry. He was still bewildered and slightly scared, but Dan needed him, and so Phil was there. And that was all he had to be. He made sure to avoid the gashes he'd finally recognised under Dan's shirt as he gently drew his fingers up and down his back, hoping to god he wasn't hurting him in any way.

Dan could taste salt on his lips and a lump had been shoved down his throat and he could barely see as his eyelids grew puffy, but he didn't care. He didn't care for the stuttering in his breath when he gasped for air. He didn't care that he sounded ugly and unpleasant with snot running from his nose. Phil hadn't left him. Phil was here, hugging him and making him feel safe and that was all that mattered. He was here. And Dan had to tell him, he had to explain, Phil had to know who – what he had been. "Ph-Phil, I'm s-so-sorry," he blubbered, now almost curled in the boy's lap. "I – I'm – I need to...because – you – I'm sorry, I–"

"No, no, Dan, stop. It's okay," Phil interrupted softly, silencing him with a firm kiss to his hair. "Everything's okay. Don't speak. Tell me later. It's alright."

"It's not, Phil...I love you," Dan sobbed. "I love you s-so much. And I have to...t-tell you...everything."

"No, you don't. You  don't. I don't care, I still – I still love you too, Dan. I never stopped loving you." Phil brushed his fingers through Dan's hair and gently pulled away only to take Dan's face his hands.

Dan bit his bottom lip, staring at his best friend through hazy tears and feeling a mixture of relief and despair and guilt tugging at his stomach. His fingers lifted to curl around Phil's arms, and he wasn't sure whether to kiss him or keep crying or just blurt all that was trapped in his mind.

Gazing at Dan with a mountain of care and affection, Phil moved closer until their noses were inches apart and sniffled a bit. "Dan, I...I don't know what's going on with you right now, but you still mean everything to me and I think we should get you home before we try and figure all this out, okay?" he told him.

"But–" Dan started quietly.

"Shh. You need rest, and a few bandages. Your back is a bloody mess, no pun intended."

For a moment they both chuckled softly, a bit of warmth flickering to life in Dan's heart. Phil was right, a part of him knew. The pain in his back continued to sear him the more he moved, and he didn't want to die of blood-loss now. He wasn't ready to go to hell just yet.

Dan's sniffle seemed to bounce off the trees and rusted play equipment as he blearily rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tear streaks. Phil's hands fell away, but Dan only had time to be disappointed for one second before the dark-haired boy knitted their fingers together, Dan's cold and Phil's warm. It seemed years since Dan had held his hand; he relished in the familiar feeling that sent scattered pinpricks up his arm. But it saddened him as well, only slightly. How had he let the tension between them fester for so long that he was happy simply to hold Phil's hand?

"Hey." Dan glanced up at the softness in Phil's tone. "It's gonna be alright. I think it's time we head back to my place and fix you up, how does that sound?" Phil asked.

Dan let out a small sigh, before perking up when a thought occurred to him. "What about–?"

"Stephen's gone out," Phil cut in. "He even called Mum – he won't be back until sometime tomorrow."

"Okay," Dan whispered, and then nodded. "Yeah, okay, that's good."

Phil remained silent for a moment before breathing out, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Dan's hairline. "Come on. I'll help you stand. We're just going to take small steps to the car, okay?"

"Okay," Dan said again, steeling himself for the pain he was about to feel.

Sure enough, he felt it when Phil steadied his arm under his shoulders and gradually lifted Dan to his feet. Dan couldn't help but flop a little against the boy as he clung to his waist, squeezing his eyes shut to try and ward off the flames surging through his back.  ear like the beat of a butterfly's wings, in sync with the fluttering of his heart. Simple whispers of, "You're doing wonderful, Dan," or, "Nearly there," or, "Everything's gonna be alright," were enough to send his emotions into a frenzy.

Phil still cared. After everything, he still cared.

They reached the car. Dan slumped forward and rested his arms on the roof of the old white Toyota, lungs heaving and eyes closing for a moment. He felt Phil's hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles over the material there.

"Dan," Phil mumbled, "we need to get you in the car."

"I know, I know." As soon as Dan straightened a little, Phil's hands were there to guide him. It took a little manoeuvring, but eventually he was hunched in the passenger seat, leaning forward to stop his gashes from brushing up against the cracked leather. The driver's door thudded shut. Phil shoved his keys into the ignition, fumbling a bit. Dan closed his eyes again, mind whirring like the engine of the car.

...How much blood had he lost in the time between the removal of his wings and now? He must've spent heaps – that would explain the droopiness of his eyelids, the effort it took just to fill his lungs with a little air. His arms felt like limp bodies, dangling off his larger one. So what would happen to him? Would he need to go to the hospital? God, how would he explain his wounds to the doctors without getting shipped off to the government to be experimented on? Dan shuddered at the thought. He couldn't tell  anyone. At least, no one but Phil.

Dan tried to clear his mind, tuning in only to the thrum of the engine and Phil's quiet breathing. Really, all he wanted was to sleep. Maybe he should. Maybe it would only be a few minutes of rest, but it would be something, right?

The gentle murmurs of noise around him faded, and suddenly he was aware of nothing.

*

"...can't carry you when you're asleep, Dan, come on. Wake up. You fell asleep literally two minutes from my house, you spork..."

Dan groaned a little, stirring in his sleep to the exasperated mutterings of Phil Lester as the guy tried to shift him gently out of the car. It took him a few moments to distinguish where he was, glancing groggily at the dashboard in front of him, Phil awkwardly leaning over him and the driveway the car was parked in. "Um...wait," Dan mumbled, whacking Phil's hands away and moving around himself. Amazingly, his wounds had cooled down slightly, so it didn't feel like his back had fallen into the pits of hell every time he shifted a muscle.

"You good?" Phil asked, stepping back a bit as Dan swung his legs over and out onto the path. "Here, lean on me again. God, you're actually quite pale. Let's get inside."

After a few struggles and a lot of Dan acting like a wobbly drunkard, they made it to the front door of Phil's house. Dan could see lights on through the curtains, and suddenly frowned. He didn't know what time it was.

At last the door was opened, and a warm glow spilled out onto the unreadable welcome mat. Dan peered inside, frowning at the stillness of the house.

"Mum's out as well, by the way," Phil said, answering his unspoken questions. "Gone to...see a friend or something. She'll be back later. And Daisy's at a sleepover I think."

Dan only frowned harder. "So, you're just left here? By yourself?" he asked worriedly.

"It's fine, Dan," Phil replied, glancing down at him. "I prefer being alone here, really."

Dan didn't believe him, sighing softly.

"Dan, I do," Phil insisted. "Let's just get you upstairs to the bathroom, okay?"

Several moments later Dan found himself seated precariously on the edge of the bath, eyes glued to the floor and heart palpitating at the thought of finally having to explain himself to Phil. His fingers quivered in his lap as the dark-haired boy swung the bathroom door shut.

"Okay Dan," Phil started, walking towards him. "I'm gonna take off your jumper so I can see those gashes, so could you turn around for me?"

Dan nodded and did as he was told, moving so his feet flattened out against the bottom of the bath. He sucked on his lower lip as Phil placed his fingers under the thin material and slowly peeled the jumper off his back; Dan's knuckles turned white and blotchy gripping the side of the bath when threads of wool came loose from the torn skin. Eventually the gashes were fully exposed and Dan didn't miss the sharp intake of breath behind him. Phil pulled his jumper all the way off and discarded it to one side.

"Shit," Phil muttered. Dan felt his fingers ghosting over his skin. "These cuts are quite deep. And the skin is so red. I'll need to clean the blood off, but...I think we should take you to the hospital just to be safe–"

"No," Dan snapped immediately, whipping his head around to glare at Phil. "I can't go there. Please, don't make me go. I...I can't..." He trailed off and lowered his head, hurriedly blinking back tears.

There was a pause, and then the bath creaked as Phil tentatively sat beside him, resting a hand on his arm. "Dan..." he said softly, waiting until the boy met his eyes before he continued. "...Why don't you want to go? What happened?"

Staring into those swirling pools of blue, Dan found he couldn't tell him. The words lingered on his tongue, but he simply would not open his mouth. Because Phil wasn't just asking how he'd received his wounds – he was asking what had happened to him, to both of them...what had happened for them to reach this point. Dan glanced away, heart thudding heavily in his chest.

Phil sighed, his eyes still boring into Dan's face even when the boy wouldn't look at him. "You know you'll have to tell me sometime," he said, voicing Dan's thoughts. The pad of his thumb swirled over Dan's skin.

"I know," Dan whispered weakly. And that was it.

Through his peripherals, he saw Phil stand and heard water gushing into the sink seconds later. Phil was right. He couldn't keep hiding this. His best friend deserved the whole truth – real and unadulterated.

"I'm just washing off the blood now," Phil told him, before pressing a warm, wet towel carefully against his skin. "This might hurt a bit."

It did, but Dan swallowed it and refused to let it show on his face as Phil scrubbed softly around his gashes. The bathroom was silent, save for the squelch of the towel every now and then. But it wasn't a comfortable silence. It was stifling and uneasy, a thundercloud drooping above them ready to break open.

Where would he even start? With his death, or all the way back to his old life? Or what if he worked his way back from now? Dan had no idea how to tell this story to Phil, but he wanted to now, at least to make things less awkward between them. He let out a gentle breath, afraid to make the slightest of noises, and cursed how hyperaware he was of Phil's fingers pressed against his bare skin as the boy ran the towel slowly down his back.

"Um, so, medical assessment," Phil uttered after a while. "The bleeding seems to have slowed, and I'm not a doctor but I don't think you'll need stitches. Just a few bandages and some ointment."

Dan frowned, incredulous, wondering how deep his wings really had been buried under his skin. "You sure I won't need them?" he asked.

"Well...I can't see any bone or muscle, and that's usually when you need stitches. Even so..."

"I'm not going to the hospital."

"Dan, it's okay. I won't take you." Phil turned away and rummaged through the cabinets below the sink, uncovering a few extra-large Band-Aids, some gauze and an antibiotic ointment.

Phil didn't warn him when he started applying the antibiotic to his gashes, and its sudden sting was malicious. Dan gritted his teeth and braced himself against the bath again, taking in slow breaths as he gradually grew used to the burn. "I'm sorry you have to do all this..." he blurted as Phil started plastering on the first Band-Aid on one of his cuts

"Don't be silly," Phil said softly. He smoothed the bandage over his torn skin. "You can't even reach your back, let alone move properly. And besides, this is a 'want to' thing, not a 'have to'."

The words brought a gentle pink hue to Dan's cheeks – still, he didn't relent. "But...but I forced you to come and drag me here and you don't even know what's going on. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean for any of this t-to happen."

Dan heard a small sigh from Phil and the tear of another Band-Aid. "I know you didn't," Phil replied simply as he set to work on the second gash. "But you're my best friend. I think best friends are always supposed to be there for each other, even when...you know...one of them is lying in a park at night with wounds in their back that look suspiciously like wing holes."

Dan could feel his gaze burning into the back of his head, and a different kind of blush settled on his cheeks. He glanced down to his lap. "Yeah...well, thank you."

A moment of silence passed before Phil sighed again, expecting some kind of explanation this time but not getting one. He started unravelling a roll of gauze. "I just hope things will be okay for you after this," he murmured.

Dan swiped his tongue over his chapped lips. "So do I."

They didn't speak again until Phil had wound his chest in the dressing, packing it tightly against his gashes and holding the end down with a stripe of tape. Ten minutes later Dan was sinking into a chair at the dining table, huddled in Phil's green hoodie and hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. And Phil was sitting down right beside him.

The dining room had been stuffed with cotton balls. The silence was hot and suffocating, tension suspended above them like rain clouds ready to burst. Dan sat motionless, fully invested in the gently rippling liquid in his mug with no intent of drinking it as of that moment. His thoughts were like that too – following one after the other in a continuous circle, stretching on with no clear result. He was terrified. That was just it. Fear engulfed him like a tidal wave, drowning out his words and common sense. Phil had to know. Dan couldn't tell him. So he simply sat there, pretending to ignore Phil's impatient gaze, thumb swirling over the ceramic handle of his cup. Because there was so absolutely no way he could explain things without scaring his best friend, or worse. Even when Phil finally broke the silence, Dan still avoided the topic.

"Dan, I'm not gonna sit here all night waiting for you to tell me what the fuck is going on," Phil muttered eventually, spite laced through his words.

Dan flinched at the swear word he used, fingers tightening around the mug. The hot chocolate trembled within it, and he continued to stare, searching for a response in the wrinkles of the liquid cocoa. "Why did you have Advil on you when I found you in the alley?" he blurted after a while, turning his head to meet the startled look in Phil's eyes. He didn't want to know the answer.

Lungs heavily deflating, Phil glanced away at his own mug, falling quiet. Dan watched him carefully, desperate for yet dreading what the boy would say next. "Why the hell do you think?" Phil muttered.

"Phil–" Dan started.

"I was going to overdose, alright?" Phil snapped, causing Dan to jump as he whirled around violently in his chair. "Stephen came home and told me to kill myself, so that's just what I was gonna do. I thought – I thought, you know, my shitty hideout in the forest would be an alright place to go. But instead life decides to fuck me over and let Finn and everyone else beat me to death. That is, until you showed up, used the fucking force on them and grew wings. And now – now I just wish I'd...swallowed the fucking p-pills in the b-b-bathroom..."

Dan's heart tore open  He blinked away the sting in his own eyes and shuffled his chair closer to the boy, before wrapping his arms around him and pushing Phil's face into his shoulder. Phil's fragile frame shuddered with sobs as he crumbled in Dan's arms. The hoodie was quickly soaked but Dan didn't care, knowing he just needed to hold his best friend and never let go. He dug his nose into Phil's hair and rubbed patterns on Phil's back, trying not to think of him lying lifeless on a bathroom floor. By the time Phil had calmed down enough for Dan to talk, their hot chocolates had gone cold.

"I'm sorry," Dan murmured as Phil tightened his arms around his waist. "I'm sorry for cutting you off and confusing you and being such a shitty person and – and making you feel like you had to do this. But you don't, Phil. God, don't you ever for a second think about ending it like that because you're worth so much more than you realise and I want you to grow old." With me, he thought. "And I need you. I can't even think about you...d-doing that, because you're everything to me and if you were gone, all of this would be for nothing."

Phil had remained silent throughout the small speech, but now he sniffed and raised his head, frowning at Dan. "What do you mean?" he asked nervously. "What would be for nothing?"

Staring into Phil's eyes after hearing those words, Dan thought the terror would consume him once again because finally, he knew the time had come. But all he felt was a sense of tranquility as he sighed and intertwined his fingers with Phil's before looking into his eyes. And then he opened his mouth.