#i wish i could think of a better rebuttal that reciprocates the effort you put in this ask but i am eepy as heck | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teamxdark · 4 years

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Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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boarix · 4 years

Text

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XXI

Lost

Trigger Warnings: canon language/violence/gun, drug and alcohol use. Sexual/mature content. Burning/fire.

Please Enjoy!

……

“AAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!” Strong’s roar of outrage carried far across the swamps south of West Roxbury Station. He pounded the earth, ripped up trees and threw them away like javelins. “RRRRAAAHHHHAAARRR! COWARD GHOUL, FACE STRONG!”

Terrified of him, Radiance had slipped into a narrow crag and instructed her few remaining ferals to abandon any attempts to attack and flee. There were two glowing ones left in the group and so their light had been what led the super mutant away. For several hours he doggedly pursued them: at first through the many twists and turns of the almost completely dark, rough-hewn tunnels and then on and through to the straight, derelict tiles of the metro tube.

Initially he made no attempt to calm himself. Reveling in his fury, he tore apart the landscape and yelled at the sky. He knew what the plan was: if separated or unsuccessful he was to rendezvous at the Peabody safehouse. He found that he didn’t much care. It wasn’t Alpha’s plan. It wasn’t even Cait’s.

He liked when his alpha went berserk. Her shear power and ruthlessness thrilled him and made him proud. But, he also very much liked the pups that were a part of their pack. Duncan, Shaun, Nat and even Billy Peabody tickled memories of something he couldn’t quite recall and the thought of Wraith hurting any of them, was unacceptable. Finding Wraith didn’t matter so long as Radiance lived and he very much wanted to be the one to kill her. Failure was also unacceptable, and having been around humans for long enough to gain a small sense of personal accountability, he was disappointed in himself.

Strong remembered MacCready telling him about the fight with the behemoth in the swamps around Murkwater, and decided that an epic battle of that nature would help improve his mood so he took up his hammer and slogged away south: looking for trouble.

……

Deacon fell up the basement stairs, bashing his shins and elbow in the process. His uncharacteristic clumsiness carried him through to the kitchen with a sharp countertop to the hip. He paused in the living room to take a couple of deep breaths before racing up the stairs to the room Hancock and MacCready were sleeping in.

He opened the door as quietly as possible before creeping to the bed. Hancock was furthest away and had his back to him. He was fully clothed apart from his hat and boots and was tucked into a fetal position. MacCready, on the other hand, was flat on his stomach, spread-eagle, shirtless, wearing pants and one sock. The young man’s face was tilted to the side, like a swimmer gaining air mid stroke. He had pushed his pillow onto the floor and was snoring and drooling directly onto the bed sheet.

Deacon picked up the pillow and raised it high above his head before swinging it down directly onto the sniper’s head, “WAKETHEFUCKUP!”

Both of them leaped to their feet with weapons at the ready. Hancock stood next to the bed and MacCready on top of it, “DEACON! Goddamnit! You gotta death wish?! You ASSHOLE!” Hancock hadn’t put his blade away when he came around to where Deacon was doubled over laughing. The ghoul dismissed the very satisfying image of stabbing him as soon as he noticed that the spy was also crying, “What? What the hell is going on?!”

MacCready was still standing on the bed, his fierce glare giving over to rapid blinking as he noticed the odd combination of emotion, “Is it Wraith? What’s…? Wraith?!”

“She said words at me!” Deacon nodded and pointed eagerly toward the basement, “To me. She said my…”

“Why is your hand bleeding?” MacCready saw the flash of crimson as Deacon gesticulated.

“Well, she uh, bit me too...”

“I keep telling everyone not to put their hands in the cage!” He scolded him as he pulled on a shirt and crammed his feet into his boots.

The three of them were loud enough to wake the whole household so there was a small amount of shoving when the group bottlenecked at the basement stairway. They thundered down the steps and crowded around Wraith’s cage. For her part she seemed to have once again lost all trace of sanity and was hissing and growling like a cornered alley cat.

“Deacon, if this is some sort of prank, it’s in very poor taste.”

“I swear, Danse. She said, ‘Deacon, don’t leave me’.”

“I told you I could be of help.” Infamy stepped from a shadow and lifted their hood to reveal a smug look on their luminescent face, “It’s just a matter of finding the cracks in the…”

Hancock didn’t let them finish. He seemed to fly across the room, and lifting the surprised glowing one up by his lapels, he pinned them to the foundation wall. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing growl and he punctuated his clipped words by slamming the other ghoul into the wall after each one, “You. Did. Not. Have. Permission.” He let them drop to the floor and he took a step back, flexing his hands.

“We never gave you the go-ahead.” Deacon felt he’d somehow been robbed, “Was that even her?” He was shaking as he advanced on them, “You put words in her mouth? DID YOU FUCK WITH HER MIND?!”

“That’s interesting, coming from you.” Danse’s comment was soft but it cut through the room like a knife.

“Later, son.” Hancock shot him a look that killed any rebuttal.

“You are all very excitable, aren’t you?” Atom’s Assassin pushed themselves up against the wall and into a sitting position, “Not very friendly. No, no. Hahaha!” They dipped their chin and held out their hands, palms up, “I meant no harm. I felt I needed to prove my worth. It’s a very nice cage you’ve made for her; very spacious. Much better than the one you brought her here in. Better than mine. Hahahahaha. Still a jail cell though, huh? How long do want to stand around her prison and watch her suffer? Wraith’s words are her own. It took a great deal just for that much. Quite the effort! You all should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?! Why, monsieur, you are the cause of all this! Had you not attacked Madame’s citizens she would have never had cause to learn to call feral ghouls. She would have never summoned this Radiance and none of this would have happened!”

“She didn’t summon her.” When all their eyes flashed to him, Deacon waved a hand and shook his head, “Off topic, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter.”

“What matters to me is how you got out of your cage.” Piper glared down at them.

“Locks are nothing to me, my dear.”

“I think we should let them try.” Preston was watching Wraith. His face twisted between grief and anger.

“Non, General. Not at least until Dr. Amari has come to give her assessment. As her physician, I will not permit this.”

“Oh, but how will you stop me, sweet child?”

Curie lifted her chin slightly, her voice was as cold as the look in her eye, “I will have you shot if you dare.”

“Well, you are all very terrifying. Whatever happened to the Oath? Hippocrates is spinning in his tomb. Oh, nuts. This didn’t go very well, did it?” They started to rise but thought better of it in the face of seven pairs of glaring eyes, “As you wish. I won’t go poking around where I’m not invited. Do I have to go back to the cage?”

“It’s more than you deserve.” Danse was watching Wraith as she had decided to ignore the mob surrounding her and was remaking her blanket nest. He felt like crying, “Why should you be free when she isn’t?”

“Cage is up to you, but you’re livin’ in the shed until I say otherwise, you feel me?”

Infamy gave him a lecherous sneer, “I think I’d like to…”

As if it was choreographed, Deacon, Danse and MacCready, wearing identical expressions of grim resolution, unholstered their various sidearms and leveled them at Infamy.

“Fine! Fine. I know when I’m defeated. It is by Atom’s will, that I devour this slice of humble pie.” With hands raised above their head, they crept up the stairs and out to the shack.

Piper sat cross-legged on the floor next to the cage. She washed her face in her hands and groaned, “I’m so tired of them. I’m tired of hearing about them. I’m tired of their ghost-in-the-receiver voice...” She trailed off as one by one, four of the other six joined her on the floor. “I have so much work back-logged at home. And I don’t want to leave, but Shaun and Duncan are coming in soon, so I’m heading out in the morning.”

“Thanks for keeping a eye on my son, Pipes.”

She cast MacCready a sideways smile, “’Sokay. I like him better than you anyway.” Preston was to her left and she leaned over and set her head on his shoulder. She smiled again when he reciprocated, “When are you going back to the Castle?”

“Tomorrow. I’m making myself crazy watching her and we are having problems from the groups exiled out of Nuka World. The best I can do is to make sure everything she set up doesn’t come crashing down, just because she’s not here holding it up.”

“Literally.”

Preston smiled at Hancock, “Yeah, literally. Did I ever tell you all about the time when she threw a refrigerator at a Deathclaw?”

“What?!”

“Incredible!”

“No way!”

“Why a refrigerator?”

As Preston settled in to his tail, Deacon, who had remained standing, quietly headed back up to the main level. He intended to follow Infamy out to the shack and rough them up for eavesdropping on his heart-to-heart with Wraith, but his plans were altered for him as the unmistakably heavy footsteps of Danse followed him up the stairs.

“Something you need, pal?”

Danse gestured to the small living room, “I would like to have a word with you, if I may.”

Inwardly, Deacon growled in frustration, “You have a specific word in mind? I’ve always liked ‘spatula’.”

Danse looked confused for a second, “Very amusing…” He sat in an armchair and waited for Deacon to sit on a sofa across from him. He cleared his throat, “We haven’t spoken frankly to each other…”

“Don’t take it personal; I’m not frank with anyone.” He refrained from eye contact and picked idly at the raised floral pattern on the couch’s arm.

God, this thing’s ugly…

“I’m referring to matters of a personal nature that you may have been a party to…”

“Oh, I don’t really go to parties.”

The effort it took to maintain his composure clearly showed on Danse’s face, “By God, man! Please! I’m asking you for information about my being a synth!”

Deacon immediately stood and turned to leave, “Sorry can’t help you.”

Danse reached out and caught the other man’s sleeve. He looked up at him with light brown eyes that were so lost it nearly brought a tear to Deacon’s eye, “Please.”

He sighed dramatically and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay, but not here. Leave a note for Curie then follow me to Quincy. I’ll be waiting in the church.”

……

Deacon paced around in the nave, waiting. It seemed to be taking longer than it should and the spy was beginning to think he’d been stood up. Or, that something else might have happened with Wraith. He decided to head back and almost ran face first into Danse.

“I apologize for the wait,” the large man shook a Minutemen pack above his head as he maneuvered around him, “I talked to Curie directly and she advised I bring us a ‘snack’. She probably thinks we’re both too thin.”

Deacon had to bite back a harsh comment as he felt an intense stab of envy at the look of tender love on Danse’s face, “Yeah, I might have over corrected on my weight-loss plan.” In truth the weeks of worry and hard travel had ate into his muscle mass, leaving him more wiry then when he was in the Commonwealth last, “There fruit leather in there?”

Danse smiled as he passed him a strip, “Naturally.”

Rather than bite into it right away, Deacon held it almost lovingly in his hand. When his vision blurred with tears he quickly turned away from the other man and shoved the whole piece in his mouth, chewing noisily, “Mmmpf. Moorph. Hmmm. Thish batch is pretty good; lots of mutfruit. MacCready make it?”

Danse chuckled, “If there is a specific joke in there, I’m not aware.”

“Hmm. You’ve more a capacity for a sense of humor then I remember.”

Danse rightened a table and pulling up a nearby chair gestured for Deacon to take the one across from him, “As I said earlier; you and I have never had a real conversation.” He took a large bite out of jerky and leveled a rather intense gaze at him as he chewed, “I’ve been told that it can be difficult to authenticate a great deal of the information you share.”

“That’s maybe the prettiest way anyone’s ever called me a liar, Danse. Thank you.”

“I’ve also been told that you have a tendency toward more factual discourse when you aren’t wearing your sunglasses.”

Deacon briefly covered his eyes then pulled them away as if he was playing peek-a-boo, “The eyes tell lies as much as the truth, just so you’re aware.”

“So, it’s just another way for you to keep people guessing?”

“How very perceptive of you.”

The two men stared at each other unflinchingly for several seconds before Danse sighed and reached back into the pack for more food, “Do you want jerky?”

“Why not? You only live once.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, “I have to tell you this is not how I thought this was going to go. I also don’t mind telling you that I’m actually pretty tired so…”

“Right, right. Of course.” Danse set his hands together then held them out toward the spy as if he was asking him to set information in them, “Do you remember me as M7-97?”

“No. I wasn’t your handler.”

Danse’s eyes flashed back and forth, searching Deacon’s pale blue eyes for any sign that he was lying, “Are you quite certain? I’ve come to understand that my appearance was most likely altered.”

“It most likely was, but I never forget the synths that I’ve personally helped. And before you ask; no I don’t know who your handler was, or even if they’re still alive. The Railroad has had a high turnover. Probably because groups like the Brotherhood keep blowing us the fuck up.” He hadn’t meant to envenomate his reply to that severity, but found that he didn’t regret it.

“Ut sementem feceris, ita metes.”

“Post hoc ergo propter hoc.” Deacon was not going to back down, “We didn’t have to be your enemy. That was Maxson’s choice.”

Visibly upset, it took several deep breaths before Danse trusted himself to speak, “I wasn’t present during the attack on the Railroad. I had already been exiled. And even more so, I will admit, I did not approve of every order Maxson gave…”

“But you still followed them.” In Deacon’s mind he relived the moment when the light in Glory’s eyes went out, “My friends are still dead.”

“As are Rhys and Ingram and a multitude of others…”

“Others who turned their back on you when they found out you weren’t human.”

Danse slammed his hands on the table and stood, “YES! CORRECT! THOSE OTHERS!” He closed his eyes and swallowed, “I will never be able to take back the things I’ve said and done. I can only not forget and work toward making better choices.” He sat back in his chair and glared at Deacon.

The words struck a chord in him and Deacon suddenly felt ashamed, “That is something I can understand.”

“If I had my memories of being a synth, I’d have never joined the Brotherhood and we’d not be having this argument.”

“That was your choice.”

Danse twitched his head and narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean by that?”

“When the Railroad frees a synth we give them the option of a full memory erasure and face change, in fact we very strongly suggest it, but we never do it without their expressed consent.”

“You’re saying that I asked to have my identity stolen? My very life was ended and I asked you to do it?!”

“I’m not going to debate the concept of Nature Verses Nurture with you, but yes, you would have had to agree. We’ve had a bunch over the years who opted out of both but unfortunately, most were recaptured by the SRB or killed by hatemongering wastelanders.”

Like the UP Deathclaws.

Danse sat back in his chair, his expressions morphing from disbelief to anger and sadness. When he spoke his voice was low, “Why didn’t you at least give me memories of a family?”

“I could speculate but…”

“I would appreciate any insight you can provide.”

“Okay,” Deacon stood and began pacing, “so first, let’s get one or two things out in the open.” As he spoke he tallied items off on his fingers, “You’re not ageing. Your physicality is above average and… you’re… um… shooting blanks.”

Danse groaned and set his face in his hands, “I don’t even want to know how you ascertained that.”

Deacon had the decency to make himself look abashed, “Yeah, let’s move on. In my humble opinion as an expert in these matters; you were most likely a courser. It wasn’t necessary for you to fit in with the population at large so those items previously listed weren’t included in your design. And when you were given new memories, they wouldn’t involve people whom you would have tried to go look for because that would make you more conspicuous. If that makes sense.”

“So, I never even had a chance to have a family.”

“What do you mean by that?” Deacon let an edge creep into his voice, “What about the family you have now?” When Danse gave him a bewildered look, he grew legitimately angry, “Curie, Wraith, Shaun, Duncan!” He shook a finger toward the safe house, “Preston and Piper. Not to mention your ever-angry little brother MacCready.” He brought his hands up to either side of his head, “Hancock! Oh my god! The scariest being in the entire fucking Commonwealth calls you ‘son’, and you ‘don’t have a family’?! Fucking shit, man!”

“You’re scared of Hancock?”

“Never said that.” Deacon came back to his chair and sagged into it. “’Self-determination is not a malfunction’.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a quote from someone who could probably help you much better than I can. They were also a courser and were also upset when they found out their life wasn’t what they thought it was.”

“May I speak with them? Or, have they been… reset?”

Taking a bite of jerky, Deacon sat and thought out loud as he chewed, “Maybe only on the vaguest of terms. I could ask them to read a letter from you… have to be anonymous… would take some time… What information do you want?”

“I want to know what M7-97 was like… who they were. Anything you can offer me would be helpful.”

“Honestly, Danse I think it will only be helpful if this lets you move on from your past.” His voice grew soft and low, “We can’t always be living there.” He stood up and stretched, “Now, I need to shut down for a couple of hours…”

“I think I might need a beer… don’t you mean ‘sleep’?”

“Oh, I don’t actually do that.” He flashed Danse a shit-eating grin, “I’m a far superior model.”

……

There was some difficulty with moving the memory lounger to the basement and more still with its power supply, and so even after Dr. Amari’s arrival, it took several more days before they were able to try and scan Wraith’s mind. Curie’s tranquilizer was administered and she was carefully strapped in.

“Are the restraints really necessary?” Nick Valentine had arrived a few days before the doctor, and had been greatly distressed at seeing Wraith’s living arrangements. He frowned as Curie tightened the straps.

“They won’t hold her for more than a second anyway, Nicky.” Hancock was frowning as well and despite his words, he seemed unsure, “It’s to give us a chance to bail outta here if she decides to wake up early.”

“Would she really hurt us?” Valentine had been trying to convince himself that when she had rushed the cage bars when he tried to say “hello”, it was out of a response to fear and not wanton violence.

“She tried to kill me, Valentine.” MacCready’s voice was flat but his dark-circled eyes were sad.

“She must’ve pulled her punches a little. After all, you’re still very much alive and kicking. Though, from the looks of you, not as high.” He looked around critically, “Have any of you been eating properly?”

Hancock patted him on the back, “Yer a dad alright.”

“I don’t know about her holding back, but after I saved MacCready’s very life,” Deacon paused to smile at the sniper’s eye roll, “she responded to me. She even stopped trying to pull my head off.”

“It’s likely that due to the power armor, Wraith would have had no idea who MacCready was.” Danse smirked at Deacon, “Had she failed to give you a chance to speak, you’d likely be a headless corpse right now.”

“Hmm. Not sure that’d be a good look for me.”

“Gentlemen, we should be ready to begin.” Amari turned from Curie and smiled at the five men, “You can stay during the exam if you wish, but I ask that you refrain from any loud conversations.”

“She means arguing.”

“We know what she means, Deacon.”

“And there won’t be any arguing, cause yer gonna keep yer trap shut.”

……

Wraith was watching Glory. Beautiful, powerful Glory. The memory came into focus as her mind filled in details. They were fighting side by side in the Metro. Now they were sitting and talking at HQ. Now they were sharing a beer.

She was in an expanse of white nothingness. Prism like, the memory hung in midair as if it was suspended from an invisible celling by invisible rope. Wraith became aware that there were two others watching it with her.

Philippa was staring intently on one side. In her full Marine dress uniform, she was the very picture of military discipline and order. Her hair was tightly pulled back and up, held fast by a squad of hair pins under her cap.

The other confused Wraith and she narrowed her eyes, “You can’t be here.”

“That’s right; you’re dead.” Philippa was matter of fact, her eyes emotionless.

“If I’m dead then I can go and be anywhere I like, wouldn’t you say?” The dead woman didn’t look away from the memory, “You are in love with this woman.”

“Was. She’s dead. Like you.” Philippa corrected her.

“Probably not like me…”

“I’m not sure if I was in love. I was definitely interested, though.”

“The timing was inappropriate, Wraith.” There was a hint of disapproval in Philippa’s voice.

“Maybe. I wanted to try. I just…”

“Ran out of time.” Philippa finished the thought.

The memory changed. Now it was Deacon; fighting raiders in the rain. He was wearing a white t-shit and his muscles were clearly visible as they move underneath the wet, transparent cloth.

The dead woman hummed appreciatively, “Very nice. I don’t know this one either. You’re in love with him too.” She raised an eyebrow at Wraith, “Quite the harem you would have had.”

“How obtuse. Regardless, he’s not interested.”

“Don’t be stupid, Philippa.” Wraith rolled her eyes at her, “That’s not the problem.”

“Explain.”

“He doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. By anyone. So he… sabotages himself.”

“I’m bored. What else is on?” The dead woman twirled her index finger in the air like she was dialing a phone. When the memory changed to Hancock and Wraith in the midst of strip-tease foreplay, she hummed again, “Now this is something worth watching.”

“Inappropriate.”

“This… this is private…”

The dead woman leered, “My, he is hung nicely for being so tall and slender. And you,” She turned her lecherous gaze to Wraith, “how responsive you are! You can see how you savor his every caress. More!”

“No… get…”

The image changed again with a flick of the dead woman’s finger. Now it was MacCready and Hancock: in a flurry of motion as they passionately kissed while removing each other’s clothes.

“Fantastic. I can appreciate why your eyes would linger.” Her laugh was cruel, “Ha! So much to take in.”

“Not funny. Also, your intrusion is inappropriate.”

Wraith reached out, swatted the memory and as it spun each revolution showed a different memory in a confusing blur, “This isn’t a peep show. Those moments are special. What the fuck are you doing here?! You don’t belong. You’re not me!”

The dead woman pouted, “Aww, just when it was getting good. I want to see more of Hancock’s…”As she reached out to the memory Wraith smacked her hand. In turn the dead woman dealt Wraith a vicious backhand that sent her spinning away through the void. “Know your place!”

In an instant the memory and the two other women reoriented next to Wraith. She rubbed her jaw and slowly stood, “I’m going to kick your ass!”

The dead woman vanished.

“What the fuck?”

“You can’t keep me from him, you know. Hancock, that is.” The dead woman appeared at the very edge of Wraith’s vision then began circling her; like a shark that smells blood in the water. “I’ll have him.”

“I remember… you hurt him. Why?! Leave him alone. Why are you doing this? What do you want?!”

The dead woman’s face twisted into a mask of rage, “You dare ask me ‘why’?”

“It is reasonable.”

The dead woman ignored her. She stopped directly in front of Wraith and held up two fingers, “Twice you’ve destroyed me! You took all that I had; my only chances for happiness.” She folded her arms, a smug look on her face, “So now I’ll take all that you hold dear. Your empire will crumble and your people will die. Then when you are completely lost, you’ll come to my embrace willingly!”

“You’re just like Marie.” Now Philippa circled the dead woman, her modest heels somehow making a tapping sound that was immensely satisfying to Wraith’s ears, “You were never happy. Not in any recent years. You committed murder and engaged in other criminal acts; kidnapping for example. And much like Marie, you blame your loss and shortcomings on Wraith. It’s a classic case of projection.”

The dead woman’s eyes grew shrewd, “One major difference between us is that Marie is dead.”

Wraith paled and took a step back, “What? How…”

“Oh, I believe you know.” The dead woman reached out and spun the memory one more time, “Watch closely now, darling.”

The image of Wraith ripping Marie in half, from the vantage point of her own eyes, played over and over on the prism.

Wraith’s voice was weak, “No…”

“Yes! Look how strong you are. I have never wanted you more than at that moment!” The dead woman raised her arms above her head, exalted, “You are a monster, Wraith!” In a flash of blinding green light, the dead woman became Radiance, “But I am a much, much stronger one!” Grabbing ahold of Philippa, she enveloped her.

Wraith felt the pain as a part of her was being slowly consumed by fire. Her inhuman screams echoed throughout the void.

…..

“I SAID TURN IT OFF!” Hancock clenched and unclenched his fists; seconds away from smashing the memory lounger.

“Mr. Mayor, I am doing my very best to do just that.” Amari had begun shut-down procedures as soon as Wraith started screaming, “There!”

Wraith’s wail abruptly cut off and the ensuing silence was almost as defining. Then, everyone moved and spoke at once.

“Her pulse is stabilizing…”

“What happened?!”

“Oh, Madame! Oh, oh…”

“It sounded like… What was happening to her?”

MacCready and Hancock were each working on a wrist strap and as soon as she was free, Valentine scooped her up and took her back to her cage and laid her on the mattress, “Just what in the Sam Hill was that supposed to accomplish?!”

“I don’t understand these readings…” Amari was frowning at her terminal, “There is a film or some sort of interference. And an overlap of… there are images of two brains here.”

“What does that mean?” Danse was holding on to Curie as if she were a life raft.

“It means that I cannot get a proper reading of the condition of Wraith’s brain.”

“We just wasted so much time.” Deacon sagged into a chair and spoke into his hands.

Curie sniffled, “I am so very sorry. If I had…”

“It’s alright, Baby Bird. There’s no way you could’ve known.” Hancock joined Valentine in Wraith’s cage and he patted Curie’s back as he passed. Reaching down, he laid a hand on the detective’s shoulder, “I know you want to stay with her, Nicky, but it’s not safe.” He walked over to Deacon and stood tapping his foot until the spy looked up at him, “Yer getting yer way now.” Placing his hands on his thighs he bent down so his face was directly level with his, “I can’t hear her screamin’ like that though, you feel me?” If the ghoul still had a nose, it would have been touching Deacon’s, “I am trusting you.”

Deacon swallowed hard, “I… uh guess… I won’t live to you regretting it.”

……

They didn’t let Infamy try right away. The decision to wait after Wraith regained consciousness and had demonstrated at least the same level of functionality as pre brain scan was unanimous. Unfortunately for Valentine it also meant it was past the time he had allotted himself to be away from his immediate family.

As difficult as it was to leave Wraith, MacCready left with him, “I shouldn’t be away from Duncan this long.”

They decided to wait further until MacCready returned and there was a changing of the guard as Cait arrived with a Minutemen convoy. She spent some time trying to talk to Wraith, but after the initial aggression, she ignored her.

“I tried me best, but… How much should I tell Bear? I’m… not for knowin’.”

Outside of Hancock none of Wraith’s ghoul friends were allowed, for their own safety, to visit with her. And consequentially, Hancock wasn’t allowing himself to return to Goodneighbor for fear of bringing further harm to his people. He stayed in contact with Fahrenheit through Radio Freedom, and even had her hold his granddaughter near the microphone so he could hear her burble.

After a few days, MacCready passed Cait astride Gracie on the road, each offering a sad wave to the other. As he was walking through the door, he intended to shout a “hello”. Raising his head he took a deep intake of breath and collapsed, unconscious on the stoop. Deacon, dozing under a book on the couch in the living room, heard the thud and vaulted the furniture to get to him.

“Crap! Curie! HANCOCK!”

He had already started to come around by the time Hancock had picked him up and he batted at his arm as the ghoul was taking him up the stairs, “You can put me down. I’m fine.”

“No, I don’t think so. You are going to get some sleep and let Curie give you some fluids and eat some damn food and…”

Hancock left him to Curie’s care and came down to the kitchen. He muttered to himself as he started to heat up leftovers, “…what if ya fell on the road? Christ! …tryin’ to be all places at once… just alike… the two of ‘em are givin’ me fits! How am I supposed to… shit… fuck… goddamn it!”

“Uh, Hancock? Your shirt. Your shirt’s on fire, man!” Deacon grabbed a dishtowel, extinguished him then proceeded to roll up the mayor’s sleeves, “Not sure if MacCready likes to eat burnt ghoul…” He was surprised that Hancock let him help and it made him nervous for some reason. Especially since the ghoul didn’t say any sort of snappy comeback and just quietly watched with his large, dark eyes; a half smile on his scarred lips. He looked away quickly, angry that he almost blushed, “What?”

“Heh. Nothin’, brother. Thanks.” Deacon returned to the sofa and Hancock worked quietly for a minute before casually calling to him over his shoulder, “You know that floral-nightmare couch you’ve been tryin’ to sleep on jackknifes, right?”

“No?! I did not know that! Was anybody gonna tell me that?!”

…..

“I need total concentration. Complete silence. It would be ideal if you left us alone so I might focus…”

“Absolutely not. We cannot permit this treacherous villain to have any unsupervised contact with Wraith.” Danse stood with his hands on his hips and his chest out.

“Alright, Capt’n Eyebrows, take it easy,” Deacon was having a difficult time clearing the image of Danse in a cape from his mind, “we won’t. Just…”

“STRONG IS HOUND MASTER! BLUE HUMANS DON’T SHOOT!”

“Hey, Strong’s back!” MacCready went outside to bring the super mutant in, “Hey, buddy. Wow! You alright?”

Strong sported a fine collection of new scars and one of his eyes was swollen shut, “MACK REE DEE! STONG FOUND A GOOD FIGHT!”

Prompted by a look from Danse, who had followed him up the stairs, MacCready questioned the super mutant about his pursuit of Radiance, but Strong only shrugged and made an assortment of noncommittal grunts.

“We kinda assumed it went that way. She didn’t rough you up like that, did she?”

“No. Glowing one ran. SCARED OF STRONG!”

“Rightfully so. Excellent effort. Glad to have you back in one piece.” Danse was stiff and formal and the words were forced.

An awkward silence descended as the two stared at each other and was only broken when Strong sniffed somewhat disdainfully and muttered something about wanting to see his alpha.

“She’s downstairs, but,” MacCready touched his friend’s big green elbow, “she’s in a cage. It’s so… uh…”

“HA HA!” He smiled, “It’s okay, Mack Ree Dee; Alpha is strongest. Would hurt little humans. Strong would be…”

“Sad?”

The super mutant said nothing, only raised a hairless brow, turned, stomped down the stairs and over to Wraith’s cage. He stood there silently while she growled and threw herself at him. His brutish face softened somewhat and he lowered his voice to a whisper, “Alpha is the strongest.”

Infamy snapped their fingers, “You all trust this big green nasty, right?” The glowing one addressed Strong directly, “Radiance should try and retrieve Wraith. You’d like to rip her asunder, right? Ha! How long can you sit still and quiet, waiting for prey?”

Strong looked over their head to Hancock and MacCready, “What does this ghoul say? Strong stay here?”

“That’s up to you, brother.”

“I agree that Radiance is afraid of him.” Danse actually liked the idea, “She fled as soon as he charged her, despite having numerical superiority.”

“Then shouldn’t he be stationed outside where she can see him?” Deacon was considering using a Stealth Boy to sneak back into the basement regardless of the consensus and was worried that the super mutant might smell him and tattle.

“STRONG HUNGRY! WANT TO EAT MEAT!”

“I’ll hook you up, brother.” Hancock indicated that Strong should proceed him up the stairs before turning back to Infamy, “We’re gonna take shifts keeping an eye on you. I don’t give a flying fuck about what your ideal setup is. You’ll figure it out or I’ll take you apart.”

…..

“Now, this is interesting! Never quite had an experience like this before. Ha!”

“Great. Another unwelcome guest.”

“What’s the matter, Wraith? Not enough room for one more mind? Seems spacious to me. Hahaha!” Finally past the barrier, Infamy spun. They wore a set of clean, hooded, midnight blue vestments with a simple atomic diagram of hydrogen embroidered in gold thread across their back. Raising their arms and twirling in the white void, their robes billowed out behind them.

“You’re not the company I’m looking for.”

They dropped their arms and sagged their shoulders, “It’s so hard being so far from home in a place where no one likes you.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“That is becoming increasingly obscure, actually.” They frowned at her, “Admittedly, I should have done more research into Marie’s claims and less into where your weakness were to be found.”

“I helped the Children more than I hurt them.”

“Ah yes, but you did hurt us.” They grimaced at her, “You look like shit.”

“Hey! Fuck you too, you glowstick-looking motherfucker!”

“I would figure you’d look more like your version of normal. You’re still wearing that deathclaw armor. Hmm. You look worse in here then you do… Well, that is neither here nor there. What was all that yelling about?”

Wraith sat, cross legged on the non-existent floor, “Radiance was… flexing.”

The glowing one sat as well, “She comes and goes as she pleases then?”

Wraith half shook her head, “No, I don’t think she’s actually here. It’s more like she’s left a piece of herself here to watch me, but I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

Infamy popped up and danced around her, “Drop the barrier then. Come out and play!”

Wraith tilted her head back and laughed; a humorless and unpleasant sound, “It’s not mine!” She suddenly stood and spun around much like Infamy had, “I’m a prisoner. Radiance both loves and hates me. She wants to keep me safe while simultaneously torturing me.” Wraith stood still and raised her fists, “I keep fighting her though. I’m starting to remember real stuff. When she went for Hancock I felt it. I felt him! And I remembered later.” Her eyes went wide and she took Infamy by the shoulders, “Hancock! How is he?!”

Although they felt a rush of fear, Infamy willed themselves not to pull away from her, “All of your rowdy, ungrateful, terrifying friends are fine. Sad to say.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She let go and returned to the floor, drawing pictures with her finger in sand only she could see, “She wanted me to trigger detonations on the fusion cores, but I just ejected them. It took all the ground I had gained and I pretty much lost it after that.” She smiled sadly, “Except for Deacon. I remember Deacon. He told me he loves me.”

“Well, you can thank me for that! I’ve been chipping away at your crust for a while now. Now that I know it’s not yours, I can be a little harsher. Hmm, I think. Hahaha! Are there any rules for this game we’re playing? I’ll work from the outside and you’ll…”

“Why are you helping me all of the sudden?”

They adopted an indignant expression and put their hands on their hips, “I’ll have you know we do a great deal of charity work! Infamy is very altruistic.”

Wraith snorted, “Right. Just because you don’t charge for your services doesn’t magically change what you do into charitable works by any stretch of the concept.”

“Ha! Well, maybe it’s because you are a Child of Atom? The Mother’s Chosen One even.”

“Bullshit. Who was it that beat you up and made you help? Mac? Not Danse or Hancock; pretty sure they would have killed you outright.”

They stuck out their tongue, folded their arms and turned away, “I’m not admitting to anything.”

“Deacon. If he’s back then he’s the one. He’s an incredible fighter.”

“Yes, yes. As I said; all of your friends are terrifying.”

“But why help me and not Radiance?”

They dropped back to a sitting position and propped their chin up with their elbow, “I don’t think this creature is of Atom. I think she’s on her own, awful agenda. She’s probably going to interfere with my people. Might even send you to destroy us. Perhaps that’s what the Fog Mother meant by you being the Harbinger. As it is, many of our ghoul members have been suffering headaches and even Mother Isolde, a human, felt the pain of Radiance’s insidious intrusion.” They pouted like a child, “Plus, she stole all my ferals, so I wouldn’t wanna help her anyways.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s say that your intentions are honorable…”

“Because they are.”

Wraith rolled her eyes, “Then what should I be doing? Sunny didn’t have much time to teach me... before…”

A brief flash of regret passed over the glowing one’s face, “He surly is with Atom,” They sprang to their feet and twirled again, “but I’m in here with you! You’re so lucky. Hahahahahahaaaa!”

Wraith made a disgusted face, “Great. Now, how do I get out of here?”

“Just what you had been doing I suppose. How clear can you see the barrier?”

“Not well. I’m pushing out all around with no real direction…”

Infamy was impressed.

“I shall be your guide. Follow my light and I will lead you to the vulnerable…”

“Follow your light?” Wraith interrupted, stood and narrowed her eyes, “How do I know you won’t just entrap me the same as her?”

They looked around and held out their hands palms up, “What choice do you have? You are clearly powerful, Harbinger. Fight Radiance. Fight me! Fight, fight, fight!” They raised their fists and shook them in the air in time with their chant, “I’ll aid you on the outside, while you…”

There was a sudden flash of green fire and Radiance was there. She glowered at Infamy, “Hsst. Begone, pest!” With a flip of her wrist she cast them out, smirked at Wraith then vanished.

Left alone, Wraith smiled, “Fight from the inside.”

…..

MacCready happened to be on guard when Atom’s Assassin had their next major breakthrough. He was working on a gun restoration that Cait had brought for him and he felt her looking at him. Glancing up their eyes met and he could see that hers were clear. He jumped up and all but threw the worktable aside to get to her, “Wraith! Wraith! Wraith!” Breaking his own rule, he stuck his arms through the bars and pulled her to him. He cupped her face, kissed her then clunked their foreheads together, “I love you.”

“I… love… you too… Mac.”

He turned away to call to Hancock before kissing her again, “Are you back? Please. Please be back!”

The rest of her friends poured down the stairs with Hancock in the lead. He hugged and kissed her as well before making way for rest of them. He happened to glance at the glowing one and noticed that Infamy had their teeth bared in obvious effort, “Not sure how much time we got...”

Wraith suddenly pulled away from Deacon and turned back to MacCready. There was fear in her eyes and the effort it took to speak was clear, “I… love you, Mac.” When he tried to reciprocate she shook her head, “No… you don’t… understand. I would have… killed you anyway. It doesn’t… matter.” Her eyes filled with tears and she backed away to the far corner of the cage, “She’ll use me… to kill… you all. I love you all… I’ll kill you all… and she’ll… make me see every moment of it.”

“Why is she doin’ this?! Who or what is she?”

“And what does she want with Hancock?”

Wraith’s eyes lost their focus and she was soon back to a snarling beast, but she held on for just long enough to tell them Radiance’s true name, “She’s… Emogene.”

......

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my masterlink post under the Wraith in the Ruins tag (if my tags are working, haha) or my pinned post. As always, my ask is open. If you have any questions/concerns/comments please feel free to drop me a line. I will try to answer promptly and would love to hear from you. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout fanfic #fanfiction

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human-trash-fire · 5 years

Text

Beautiful Disaster: Ch. 4 (Pynch Soulmate-AU)

I realized I never posted Ch 4 for my Pynch AU! So here it is, for anyone interested, HERE is a link to my masterlist where you can find the first 3 chapters. (THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT READING THE OTHERS) I’m also on Ao3 as glam_reaper2 <3

Anyways, this fic is the writing I’m most proud of, and I can’t wait to drop Ch 5 this week!

TW: Adam’s Dad/ mentioning abuse, graphic depiction of violence, mention of suicide attempt.

Adam Parrish woke in the early hours on the third day after the alley. The pre-dawn glow streaming through the crack in his curtains cast shadows on the plants and books covering his shelves. Eyes heavy and throat raw, Adam took a deep breath. In through his nose, oxygen flooding his lungs, battling to release the weight that had long since laid claim on the space behind his ribs. He held it until he thought he might choke. Vision blurring, heartbeat hammering in his ears, a pulsing reminder that he was still here; then in a rush, he released. The momentary weightlessness was a small reprieve.

The tiny arm slung across his abdomen a reminder that, at least for now, he wasn’t alone. Blue had crawled into his bed the afternoon before and stayed with him through the long night. Adam moved her arm off and slid as carefully and quietly as he could from the bed, he didn’t wish to wake her. She needed sleep, the exhaustion evident on her face even now.

He moved toward the window, reaching out to open his curtains, allowing the morning light to flood in. And there he stood, hand still holding the curtain, eyes trained on the horizon. He remained unmoved, watching the sun crawl from the earth bathing everything in its path in colors Adam had never seen. They were fresh, warm, soft. They stole his breath and for a moment, a lifetime, he stood frozen and allowed that hopeful warmth to settle in his bones. In awe of the majesty of nature, swallowed whole by the gift of color, broken by it.

His breath stuttered.

The man in the alley would never see a sunrise, or a sunset. He had given Adam this gift and left mere hours before Adam could have reciprocated. His thoughts spiraled, fingers tightening on the curtain, eyes burning. The sunrise moved from photographic clarity to an impressionist painting, and salt kissed his lips.

“Adam…” Blue breathed from his side, reaching out and pulling aside the second curtain to allow a full view.

“It’s-” Adam choked on a whisper, “It’s magnificent, and he’ll never see.”

Adam spent the rest of the week coping in the only way he knew how: throwing himself into his jobs and school work. Blue and Henry had closed ranks, showering him with their own personal versions of love.

For Henry, it was distraction, mindless conversation, a steady companionship during hours in the library. Henry Cheng, though initially someone Adam never saw friendship potential in, was more than most gave him credit for. On the outside, he was loud. From his clothes to hair, he was unabashedly himself: caring, vibrant, loyal. Adam appreciated the effort, never pressured to talk about what was clearly tearing him apart.

Blue was the opposite, in a very Blue way. She brought him coffees and hugs, asked him about his mood, and made highly unsubtle references to “healthy coping mechanisms.” She was kind but stern, pushing him towards what he knew logically was the next step. But this trauma was too big, too heady to file away in the closet in his mind marked “DANGER.”

It had been a little over a week since he watched his first true sunrise when Blue decided to take off the kid gloves.

“Look.” Her voice was as unwavering as her eye contact, sitting next to him on the chipped-white metal bench in the alley beside Nino’s Cafe where they took their break. Nino’s was his second job, and Blue’s “fun money/ free caffeine” job, covering the hours she wasn’t working on her photography portfolio.

Adam held her gaze, and his breath. Her tone brokered no room for argument, and he knew he had spent enough time avoiding answering anything truthfully… Her forcing a “talk” on him was inevitable. He nodded once to indicate he was listening, and waited for her to continue.

“I know you aren’t ready to talk, and that is completely fine. I won’t bullshit you and pretend I have any idea what kind of pain you’re in. No- no,” she held up a finger to cut off Adam’s rebuttal. “Don’t shake your head and feed me you’re ‘i’m fine’ because we both know you’re not. That being said you’re a grown ass man, who makes his own decisions and I respect that. But, Adam?”

He cocked his head to the side, and made a noncommittal grunt.

“You need to do something. You know I always advocate therapy, but -don’t scoff asshole- but, I’m also aware that it’s ‘not your thing’ so I had another idea. Here,” Blue thrust a bag towards Adam. It was a recycled paper shopping bag, rolled at the top and lighter than he expected.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Open it.”

He unrolled the bag skeptically and peered inside. His right eyebrow hitched as he looked away from the bag’s contents and towards Blue. “The fuck?”

“Letters. That’s my idea. Something I never told you but, when my dad left I had all this rage and I had no one to direct it towards. My mom got me a pack of envelopes and blank paper and told me to try writing a letter to him. She told me I didn’t ever have to send what I wrote to him if I didn’t want too, and I didn’t. The act of venting everything in a direct way really helped me, it was more than a diary, or whatever, because these were shots at an intended target. I could be mad and then seal it in an envelope and the weight in my chest lifted a little. I thought maybe…” She motioned towards the bag with a crooked smile and a shrug.

“Letters…” Adam repeated. “To a dead guy?”

“Yes.”

“Blue, I don’t know.”

“Look, just take the damn bag. Do it, or don’t. I can’t and wont force you. But at least consider it.” Then she rose to her full height, the most intimidating 5 feet he had ever seen, giving him what could only be called a “mom look” and sauntered back inside.

That night, weighted down by grief and half delirious with exhaustion, Adam opened the bag. He pulled out the box of white envelopes, cracked open the pack of college-rule paper, and grabbed a black pen from the cup at the right of his desk. This is so stupid, he thought as he put his pen to paper...

i. You, I never knew your name. You left before I ever had the chance to ask. I wish more than anything that I knew your name, at least then I’d be able to grieve a person instead of a stranger in an alley. You were… Exquisite. Even floating in a pool of your own life, you were beautiful. You were. Past tense. Gone. I dreamed of knowing you. The idea of you, in abstract my whole life. I didn’t know who you’d be, but, still I dreamed. It was my secret. The odds of finding your soulmate are so slim these days, and yet… In the quiet hours of the night, bone tired and barely standing at work, or when the hunger pains threatened to cripple me, I’d pull you out of the careful place in my mind, and dream. It’s dangerous to dream. I know better now. You fucking left me. How dare you? It’s probably a good thing you’ll never read these letters. Blue, my best friend, suggested I write them to help me “find closure.” That’s very Blue. She’s all about self-care and talking through feelings. Henry, my other friend, agrees with her. So here I am, attempting to vomit my heart on a page in hope of finding some semblance of peace. There is so much I wish I could have told you, and so much more that would have terrified me to admit. That’s one benefit to your never knowing me I suppose... Honestly, it was probably for the best that, in the end, you never had the chance to try knowing me. I’m a disaster. I’m unknowable. And that’s, fine. Ya know? I’m okay, I think. Holding onto that which sets me apart, and working my hardest to fix everything else that’s in my power. That’s how I got here, Georgetown. I did it myself. That’s something I would have told you, because it’s something I am proud of, though I’ll never say. I worked 3 jobs through highschool, made straight A’s, volunteered, and slaved away. I saved money in a shoebox under a loose vent in my trailer to buy books. My dad would have killed me, literally, if he’d ever found that. I was supposed to give them everything, but I hid that. I hid so much. I got really good at hiding in that place. Henrietta… What a fucking shit show. Anyways, I saved and pushed myself. I think I ate maybe once a day for those years, if I was lucky? I know I barely slept. But it was worth it the day the acceptance letter came in the mail. Georgetown. 3 hours away. A world away. A full ride. I was so fucking happy that day, I even allowed myself to dip into the shoebox to buy a coke fom the gas station by the autoshop I worked at. That was my life then, and still is now, to some extent. Small rewards, focus on the bigger picture. Work, work, work, and then one day have the power and money, the status, the ability to fight for people like me. I had barely put the box back when my dad, Robert, saw me holding my acceptance letter, and a $20. I wasn’t allowed to have money in my room, even if I made it myself. It was “for the family” he always said. “Do you want us to starve?” “you think you’re so fancy at your charter school don’t you?” always the same. Always cruel. So I’m standing there, money and letter in hand, smiling like an idiot when he comes in. I’ll never forget that day. I’d taken so many beatings from him by the time I was 17, it was second nature really. But this one? For some reason it surprised me. I thought for sure that he would be capable of some sense of joy. I got into college, for free. But Robert wasn’t like that. I could smell the beer on his breath. Keystone, always fucking Keystone. It smells like piss. It still makes me gag. “What the fuck is that?” he asked. And I didn’t know how to respond. I remember stuttering. I was always stuttering, mumbling, hiding, lying. Anything to avoid the inevitable. “I asked you a question, boy.” I panicked. “Its, uh, a letter, sir. An acceptance letter. From college. I-I got in.” Apparently it wasn’t the right response. I don’t remember much after that, I know he told me I had no right to hide money because I “owed him.” I always owed him. For breathing, for having the audacity to live. That night was the worst I can remember though. He wouldn’t stop. He was screaming about how I wasn’t allowed to just leave. I took more hits than usual, but I could have handled it. I’m no stranger to broken bones and bruises. But I was so scared this time. I knew, somehow I knew that this was it. If I didn’t get out he was going to kill me. Kill me because of a $20 and a full ride. I tried to run. I did. I never made it very far though. He caught me, and the last thing I remember was a screaming pain in the left side of my head. I don’t know why I’m even writing all this, maybe Blue and Henry were right? I’ve never even told them all of this. I really doubt I would have told you this had I been given the chance. I would have stuck to the barest details: Deaf in left ear. Accident. Long time ago. I don’t talk to my parents. Or maybe I wouldn’t have hid…Soulmates are a safe space right? Through whatever magic, or science, or God (if you believe in one of those, I don’t- hope you wouldn’t have cared) we are supposed to be able to share it all. A balance. A quiet place. A home. I wonder what you would have said if I told you? I hope it wouldn’t have been pitying. I don’t do pity. I’ll never know that though, which is maybe a relief? I don’t know. I hope you would have been proud though, that I did get out. Of what I’m doing with my life now. I haven’t even told “you” have I? I got a double Bachelors in Political Science and Conflict Resolution. I’m currently taking a Masters in Public Policy. I know, most people see “Georgetown” and “Politics” and think “Here’s another white guy with dreams of power.” But it’s not that. I’m going to change things, my thesis is on Domestic Violence: prevention and programs. I’m going to fight for the kids like me, in the homes like mine. I’m going to fight for every time I didn’t hit back. Every bruise and broken bone. I’m going to change the world for the Adam Parrish’s. I’m going to bring an end to the Roberts. That’s what I’m doing now. I guess I’ll be okay without you. I’ve always been better at work than relationships anyway. If we’re being honest you probably would have hated me. I’m terrible with making time for anyone. I have goals though, I don’t have the luxery to fuck around. I’m not conducive to a partnership, and I’m not even sure I’d be capable of love. I would have tried for you though. Maybe you needed that. Maybe if you’d had it, love, you wouldn’t have ended up in the alley. I don’t know. I wish I could ask you why. I just… fuck. This letter is getting severely out of hand. It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did. And that’s that I suppose. Forever a mystery, the man with the beautiful face and ice blue eyes. “I used to build dreams about you.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benediction That’s all you are now. A dream.

He folded the pages in thirds, slipping them in an envelope, and sealing them away. On the outside he wrote the number one, then slid the envelope into a crack between one of his potted plants and a row of books on his window sill. Then Adam crawled into bed and finally slept; for once it was a dreamless- restorative sleep.

Shattered heart hanging heavy in his chest, Adam looked up when the bell above the door to Nino’s chimed the arrival of a new patron. The young couple made their way towards the counter. The smaller man leaning lovingly into the side of his partner, while the taller man looked down lovingly, arm draped across the first’s shoulders. It was a quiet moment, something so personal and beautiful Adam looked down, he didn’t want to intrude. His hands were shaking, a bitter jealousy crashing like waves in a storm through his entire being. He took a steadying breath, trying to quell the rage, and uncapped the black marker, grabbing a cup to prepare to take their order.

“Hi,” he bit out through his customer service smile. He looked up from the cup in hand, allowing a little of his Henrietta lilt to color his words into something close to friendly. “Welcome to Nino’s, what can I get started for you today?”

“Hi! Can we please get a- Oh, wow!” The shorter man had stopped mid-sentence and leaned close to Adam across the counter. “Your eyes are so blue! Babe, have you ever seen eyes so beautiful?” Adam wanted to fucking snap. The larger man leaned in as well and hummed in approval.

“No I haven’t, sorry. I know this is probably so inappropriate,” he leaned back, tone placating. “We don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just all new for us-”

Adam didn’t fucking care.

“-Anyways, can we please get two Americanos, and a a slice of apple pie with two forks?”

Of course, Adam nodded. He finished the order and made the drinks with shaking hands and a barely controlled rage burning him from within, blooming pink across his cheeks.

He couldn’t breathe.

When he returned home, he slammed his door and flew to his desk; practically tearing a lined sheet from the pile of supplies from Blue and began to write. Pen pressed so hard small tears formed in the paper as he purged…

ii.

You.

Fuck you for what you did. For what you did to yourself. What you did to that man in the alley. Screaming. Begging. Holding you together.

For what you did to me.

I hate you.

I hate that I love you. The idea of you. Because you couldn’t even wait for me. I never got the chance to love the real you, and I loathe you for it.

You fucking left me alone.

All this goddamn color, all these beautiful things, and I’m still living in black and white.

I’m drowning.

You were my hope.

You were my end game. Sometimes, I fear you’ll be my end.

I can’t get away from the idea of you.

I see your face every time I close my eyes.

You’re haunting me.

You’re ruining me.

Fuck you.

I hate you.

Fuck, You.

You…

Why did you leave me all alone?

When he finished his breath was ragged, chest rising and falling in heavy swells. Angry tears drying splotches across the page before him, turning certain words into a blurry but still legible watercolor. He threw his pen across the room, shoved the letter into the envelope marked 2, and placed it alongside the first.

Adam spent the remaining days of September numb. He had taken to carrying a few sheets of paper and envelopes in his messenger bag in case he ever needed them.

It was on one particular afternoon -two days before September ended- as he sat in Nino’s sipping coffee and staring blankly at the textbook in front of him, that he wrote his third letter. He felt untethered, unbalanced, the sky outside was such a pale blue that his mind began to wander. With a sigh, he pulled out a sheet of paper, and an envelope marking the outside with the number three.

iii.

You,

I’m so lost…

I can’t fall asleep without seeing your eyes.

Unfocused.

Unblinking.

Ice cold.

Fathomless.

Broken.

I wonder how they looked when you were happy… I hope you were happy, truly happy. At least once there before the end.

I bet they were beautiful.

Come back.

Please…

Adam stayed staring at that plea, that unanswered wish, until his coffee was cold. He wondered if this would ever end, he wasn’t unfamiliar with want. Adam had wanted more than anyone he had ever known. He was accustomed to the pain, the resentment that came with wanting that which you cannot have, but unlike all the other times this was wholly unattainable. No amount of extra shifts, A’s on homework, perfect test scores, hard-work would ever give him this particular want.

He packed his bag slowly, tossing his coffee in the trash by the door and waving half-heartedly at his coworker behind the counter. The bell chimed his departure and he made his way out into the chilly September afternoon. The walk from Nino’s to his apartment was blessedly short. As he rounded the corner at the end of the block he was assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke.

Adam looked up, chill already forgotten, for the source and his eyes landed on a peculiar sight: A handsome man, in a nice crisp peacoat and cashmere scarf. Standing, hands clasped behind his neck, staring into the open maw of a smoking, Candy-Orange, ‘73 Camero.

“Hey!” he half shouted, making his way towards the gentleman, his greeting had clearly disturbed an emotional crisis. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, did you maybe need some help?”

“Oh, hi. Yes, Hello. I’m, no thank you. I’m alright. I’ll give someone a call, The Pig is an auto-shop frequent flyer I’m afraid. Though, I’ve never seen it smoke quite so heavily.” The man half laughed, and shook his head.

“I don’t mind, I’m actually a mechanic down at Boyds. I can take a peak and see if I can do anything here if you’d like? Save you a trip.”

“Are you sure? I’d be more than happy to pay y-”

Adam shook his head fiercely, “No need. I’m Adam, by the way.”

He held out his hand towards the man, who grasped his in kind. A vibrant smile lit his face, “Lovely to meet you Adam, I’m Gansey.”

#pynch #pynch fic #Adam Parrish #ronan lynch #ronan x adam #blue sargent #gansey #gangsey #bd au

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