#if i was there I would have torn that goddamn ginger hair off of her head

[anqelbean]

LOL the dutch lady that lives next to my uncles tried suing them for the work they're doing behind their house saying they're encroaching on her property but the cadastre shows SHE'S the one over the property line LOLOLOLOL

[liddolwhynot2000]

For You

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Summary: Humanity's Strongest Soldier had quit the military. For you.

Pairing: Levi/Reader

Genre: Levi in looooveee, liddol angsty, happy ending, drama, dad!Levi

Words: 3.3K

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[Note: This isn't a direct sequel to 'Falling'. But it falls in the same universe. If you want to read about how Levi met and fell for reader in this universe, check out my story Falling.]

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'Levi what are you doing here-'

'I'm about to hold our daughter.'

'I can see that darling, but you're supposed to be at work. '

The short man didn't bother answering you, instead opting to pick up your two year old daughter. Little Kutchel squealed in delight, happily chanting 'papa'.

'Mamaaa.'

You felt a tug at your skirt, your one year old son was clinging to you. Farlan whimpered, his hands raised high, clearly wanting you to pick him up. With a sigh, you did so and realized he needed a diaper change.

'I'll be back in a few, and then we'll talk.'

Your only response was Levi complaining about how 'brat-the-first needed to stop drooling so much' as he raised a giggling Kutchel high in the air.

....................

Usually, once you managed to put your beloved children to sleep with a lullaby, you gazed at them in awe, affectionaly tucking them in. Both of them took after their father completely, his black hair and steel eyes. Farlan's hair was almost the same as Levi's, much to your amusement. Kutchel was a rather active and loud baby while Farlan was a little on the quiet side. You usually missed Levi on nights like these, wishing he could visit more. Tonight, however, you felt more uneasy rather then happy at his sudden presence.

'I quit.'

'You what?'

You couldn't believe your ears, surely you had heard him wrong.

'You heard me. I. Quit.'

'But why?'

No matter how hard you tried, he wouldn't give you a straight answer. No amount of questioning or pouting would work on him. In the end, he strolled up to you, rough hands gently holding your upper arms.

'Look, I had my reasons. Things got unbearable for me and-'

'But don't they need you-'

'They should have thought of that before. Now listen, I've already got another job lined up, so we don't need to worry about moneu-'

'But Levi, I still don't understand why you-'

'Just trust me. It's messed up shit.'

Looking into his eyes, the same eyes you had hopelessley fallen for all those years ago, you gave in. Of course you trusted him, how could you not? You wouldn't have married the man otherwise. ____________________________________

Things began to change as you got used to seeing Levi everyday. When the two of you had met, you had worked as a cook for the garrison engineers living near the Survey Corps Headquarters. Back then, seeing each other daily hadn't been an issue. But after getting married and having kids, you had moved into his house in the nearby village. It meant less time together as a family, but you had wanted your children to have stability.

You sat on the couch, well more or less laid on the couch, watching Levi entertain your children. All three of them of them sat on the floor, with toys scattered everywhere on the carpet.

Farlan played with some blocks, happily gurgling as he tried to figure them out. Kutchel, on the other hand, busied herself with Levi.

You could only laugh at the sight of Levi's deadpan expression as Kutchel climbed all over him. Neither of had seen it coming, but your babies had inherited the Ackerman strength ten fold. Holding up their necks extremely early, climbing out of their cribs, easily lifting things that were too heavy for normal babies.

When Kutchel had been seven months old, the two of you had woken up to find that not only had she escaped her crib, she had managed to climb into your bed and cuddle with Levi. Although befuddled, the sight of the two of them had been heartwarming beyond words, and you hadn't been overly cocnerned.

Her displays of unnatural strength had been, well, less then pleasant for the two of you. It had put you on guard. The near heart attack you had suffered through, when your one year old baby girl had hauled up one end of the sofa with her teeny tiny hand, while trying to get a toy that had gotten stuck there, had almost been too much. Levi had been torn between horror and amusement at the time, before intervening. And well, both of you preferred not remember how Farlan had smacked his tiny fist against the brand new wooden table during a tantrum and caused it to collapse.

'You brats will eat sitting on the goddamn floor for the rest of your lives now. I don't have the money to buy a table if your just going to-'

'Levi, they're just babies, let them be-'

'Oh I see, so we're selling your kidney to buy a new table-'

'Darling don't be so dramatic-'

Kutchel and Farlan merely ignored their irate father, babbling as they played with their toys.

The Ackerman strength was hereditary, the two of you had concluded. Hange had theorised that with every new generation, that unbelievable strength only grew, to the point that they could access it at an extremely young age. It was manageable for now, you mused to yourself, but it wouldn't be long till Levi would have to train them lest they hurt someone by accident. You got off the couch and slid to the floor, cooing to your son. Levi was scowling as he held Kutchel at arms length.

'Stop trying to rip my hair out, you brat.'

Kutchel leaned towards him while babbling. Levi allowed her little hands to rest on his cheeks, his expression softening at her grin.

'Wuv Papaa.'

You beamed at the sight, before turning your attention back to Farlan. He had been avidly bashing two blocks together and would burst out laughing at the sound. You gently caught him before he fell from the force of his laughter.

It had been a while since the two of you had been this peaceful.

...........

When the two of you had managed to put your babies down for a nap, you remembered some things that you needed to buy. Rushing out, you went to the market, hoping the shops you needed to go to weren't too packed today. Much to your suprise, during your excursion, you saw some of the Survey Corps members. You recognised them as the Special operations Squad. While you weren't necessarily friends with them, you did know their names.

As if reading your mind, one by one, they all caught sight of you. Another day, they would waved at you and maybe approached to help woth the bags. However, there were no signs of those friendly expressions today. In fact, you couldn't help but notice how they were looking at you. It made you feel as as if you had been the Colossal Titan that knocked down Wall Maria and ruined their lives. The ginger haired girl, Petra, was the one who really caught your attention. She had looked oddly guilty, and as though she was apologising with her eyes for a moment, before copying her comrades sullen expressions.

Startled and beyond confused, you opted to walk away from their line of vision. Your fears, that you had hoped were baseless, were slowly being confirmed. Levi quitting the military hadn't been well recieved. And if the way his former squad had looked at you had been any indication, they thought you had something to do with his decision.

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Kutchel had been particularly fussy that night, unwilling to go sleep.

'Pway!' she had cried out, struggling in Levi's arms. It had taken a while but soon enough you were lying in bed, both your children deep asleep as you tucked them in blankets. The two of you had been exhausted, so when you heard the knock on the door, a very irritated Levi had quietly gone to check it out.

When he didn't return for a while and you heard muffled noises, you silently went to check on him, stopping short at the door at the sound of Petra's voice.

'-captain please reconsider-'

'Petra's right captain, we need you-'

'That's enough.'

They all straightened up.

'I'm no longer your captain-'

They all deflated, looking ready to argue. Levi held a hand up to silence them.

'I wish you all well in life. Don't involve yourself in this. This is between the higher ups and I.'

'Captain, we know this is because of your-'

'None of you know shit. Focus on going your damn jobs and minding your own business. Now leave.'

Olou, Petra, Gunther and Eld looked despondent as they made to leave.

'Petra-stay back for a minute'

All of them look surprised and curious, but didn't bother asking questions and left. They figured Petra would tell them what had happened later. The conversation took a weird turn you hadn't quite expected.

'You have some nerve coming all the way to my house after all the bullshit you pulled.'

'Captain- I didn't mean to, you know that. I was only following orders-'

'So your orders mentioned you bullshitting to everyone that I left the military because my wife asked me to?'

'...Captain I didn't say that. Everyone assumed-'

'And you allowed it. Don't fucking lie, you just didn't want any heat to fall on you. Stay away from her. Or else. I don't care what you're ordered to do. You've already made the situation worse then it should be.'

'Captain please-'

'Out. Now. Nothing you say can excuse the shit you pulled.'

As you heard Petra leave, you felt that sinking feeling in your stomach grow. So Levi had left the military for you. And the military hated you for it. The real questions was, why? ____________________________________

You watched your husband as he spoon fed mashed potatoes to Kutchel. His face was scrunched up in disgust, as Kutchel made sure that at least half the food ended up on her face and clothes. Farlan was taking a nap, happily tucked away in your arms.

'Kutchel--for the love of- eat your shitty food!'

'Darling, language-'

'I'm trying, just look at the shitty mess she's making, I might have a heart attack-'

'Shit!'

The two of you paused, staring in stunned silence as your two year old began chanting the one word you had hoped she wouldn't pick up from your husband. Levi avoided your gaze, no doubt knowing it was his fault, and instead started making feeble attempts at stopping Kutchel.

'Oi don't say that-'

'Shit papwaa!'

'What? No. Brat-the-first, you better forget you ever heard that-'

You chuckled a little, the sight of your usually calm and composed husband panicking was too funny. You struggled to maintain your smile, however, as last night flashed in your mind again.

Everything seemed fine. Levi was content. Your children were happy. His new job was paying well. He was home more then ever. Even if he had quit the military for you, the two of you were living your life even better then before. There hadn't been any changes in your loving relationship.

But, as you watched Levi scowl and carry a displeased Kutchel off for a bath she very much didn't want, you knew you wouldn't be able to continue on without any doubts. Not until you and Levi properly talked about this.

You didn't care if the military blamed you for Levi leaving and hated your guts. You only cared if the man himself was actually okay with his decision.

You don't want to be the reason for him to break his tradition of living no regrets.

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You ended up putting off talking to him. At first by a few hours, then by a few days. Eventually days turned to weeks and somehow, it had been four months since he had quit the military.

While this could be largely attributed to you being a coward, it was also how busy the two of you had gotten. Farlan had a rough teething phase, Kutchel had decided to make a sport out of kicking the fridge and trying to climb out the window, and Levi's job had a new project he had gotten busy in.

On a sunny afternoon, you held your daughters hand, and kept your son hiked on your hip as you walked out of the market. What you didn't know was that, as you struggled to carry your shopping bags and manage your mischievous children, someone would help you. And, after walking you home, that someone would give you the answers to all the questions you had wanted to ask Levi.

Years later, you would silently wonder if Erwin Smith had come there that day on purpose. It was likely, after too many years of working with Levi, he had known Levi would rather die before telling you something like this.

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In all the time you had known Levi Ackerman, which amounted to a good five years now, you had learned a great deal about him. His strength, strong will, desire to protect, his devotion to being a soldier, his dreams for the future. All his highs and lows, ones that no one else had ever been pivy to, you knew them by heart.

You knew the most regret he had ever felt in his life was when Isabel and Farlan died. You knew his heart ached when even one soldier lost their life in battle. You knew the most flustered he had ever been in his life was when he had wanted to confess to wanting to be in a relationship with you, only for Hange to scream declare his feelings to you instead.

Thankfully, no one else had been there, or else Hange wouldn't be alive right now. And he had made sure to ask you out in his own sweet and romantic way later.

You had seen him get emotional more times then anyone else. At the birth of your children. Their first words. Kutchel learning how to crawl and following him around everywhere, her first decleration of love for her 'pwapa'. Farlan crying everytime he left for work, clinging to his leg as he whined. The two of you had built a family together, leading a largely satisfying life together. However, the danger and importance of his job had never escaped you.

You had always known you were second to his duty as a soldier. He would have to go on long missions, ditch dates, miss birthdays and not be able to tell you anything about his work, but you accepted it.

You never expected more then he could offer, preferring to enjoy whatever time you could have with him. You were fully okay with being the second choice, and so, you certainly hadn't expected him to take such a big decision.

To pick you over duty.

'Zackley.....ordered you to take a second wife?'

Levi winced, his eyes determinedly staring at the floor. There was some shame in his eyes, as though he had committed some crime. With a deep sigh, he sat next to you on the couch and braced himself to give you answers. Your children were sound asleep in your bed, while the two of you sat in the living room.

'Word got around about Kutchel and Farlan having abnormal strength. Zackley initially wanted me to sign a shitty contract and agree to both of them joining the military. I told him to fuck off.'

'The military wanted to use our children as soldiers? Levi you should have told me-'

'I didn't want to worry you. Frankly, I was half scared Zackley would approach you and try to bullshit you into agreeing with him.'

'... What happened after you refused?'

'He started pushing for me to have more kids. One's I wouldn't be..attached to-'

'--with another woman.'

The severe expression on Levi's face gave away exactly how much he hadn't appreciated that particular line of thought.

'I turned him down. But Zackley started placing pressure. The shitty old man just got greedy because he wanted more super soldiers. Kept pushing random women on me, and then someone theorized that if my children with you, a civillian, were that strong, then with another soldier they would be even stronger....'

You frowned, you hadn't wanted to believe Erwin but..

'.. He picked Petra. That idiot didn't turn him down. Mostly because of orders and partially because of that stupid, childish crush she has on me.'

You were at loss of how to respond, feeling too much for you to even think about putting into words. So that's why why Petra had let everyone think it had been your fault Levi had quit the military.

If she had told the truth, she would have to admit that she had agreed to marry and bear the children of an already married man. And while it would have been under orders, it would have ruined her reputation.

Levi mistook your sudden silence as something else, genuine panic flashing in his eyes. He kneeled down in front of you, hands immediately grabbing yours. His voice was shook a little as he hurried to reassure you.

'I swear, nothing fucking happened. I ignored it all as long as I could. Then Zackley had the nerve to give an official written order and threatened to court martial me. I broke the goddamn table and walked away from the military that day and--hey, look at me'

His hand gently nudged your chin up, steel eyes looked sorrowful at the sight of your watery ones.

'.. W-what if you regret it?'

Levi shook his head a little, opening his mouth to argue. You didn't let him.

'The military has been with you for so long. How do I know you won't regret this five years from now? I know you loved that job Levi, I don't want you to give up-'

'I'm not giving up shit. I loved that job because I agreed with where they were heading. Their goals. The moment they started pulling dumb crap like this, I m wasn't going to stick around.'

He sat next to you again, right arm wrapping around your shoulders, his left hand hand tucked between your hands.

'Erwin said it would be better if I just left for a while. Zackley is senile and he's in a stubborn mood. Once the Queen gives birth to her child, which is any day now, she'll end this nonsense.'

'Are you sure?'

'Definitely. That brat hasn't been well, so Zackley has been in complete control this entire time. Its why he got so ballsy, the queen wouldn't approve of this shit. We wanted to avoid risking more friction in the military, and me quitting was the answer. Erwin figured it would be a lesson for them to see how much they needed me or some shit. '

You leaned into his chest, feeling much more calm now. So everything would end up okay, he wouldn't have to leave behind the job he had poured his blood, sweat and tears into.

'This is why I didn't tell you this shit. Fucking politics and crappy old men.'

'No, I needed to know....'

You pulled away from him, only to settle yourself in his lap. Your lips brushed against his gently.

'.. You really do love us, don't you?'

'Tch whatever.'

The slight redness visible on his cheeks gave away how he truly felt.

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A/N: I know, I said I'd consider making a confession chapter. But I got this idea stuck my head and I figured, hey why not just set it in the same universe. Now that this idea is out of my system, I'll get started on it. I hope y'all enjoyed this! My asks are open, so you can make requests or ask whatever you want really. Till next time ⭐⭐

[jubilantwriter]

No Idiots Were Harmed in the Making of His Reality

(AO3)  (First)  (Epilogue)

Summary:  The gang goes to an unnamed popular fast food joint after Pico commits mass murder in the name of protecting his duo of idiots.  And this is the thanks he gets.

Or:  An unfortunate fast food employee gets the misfortune of meeting the trio in their finest hour.

Word Count:  2127

////

There’s only so much a job description can prepare one for.  For instance: making burgers, serving customers, taking orders, so on and so forth.  That’s what this minimum wage job suggested she would be doing.  But it didn’t come with the fine print.  It didn’t tell her that she’d be making burgers, sandwiches, chicken nuggets, fries, so on and so forth under pressure as customers ranged from dead-inside but patient patrons to Karen levels of impatient and entitled.  There’s caveats, little sidebars, unmentioned stressors that go overlooked because her job is solely to serve the people shitty, shitty burgers.

And it barely even helps her pay rent.  The things she’s seen on the job only serves to make her wonder how long it’ll take for her to become either bitter and jaded or completely desensitized by the bullshit this hellish existence can throw at her.  Maybe it’ll be a mix of both.

The door opens and swings shut with a heavy, muted thud.  Cashier Girl looks up, already exhausted two hours into her shift as she catches sight of the next batch of cus-

Oh.  Oh no.  Oh no, they look like trouble.

A tall, bubbly young lady in a figure hugging dress smiles sweetly in that, “I’m going to try really hard not to create problems on purpose for you”, sort of way, which happens to be Cashier Girl’s favorite kind of customer.  Granted, this girl looks nothing like trouble.  She looks like the exact opposite of trouble.  But the two men she has in tow makes Cashier Girl think twice about lowering her guard around the pretty girl.  

Standing next to her is some dude with cyan-colored hair, a red cap turned backwards in a very dudebro kind of way.  He dresses sloppily, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on whatever happened to be in reach, which also just so happened to be the same clothes he wore the day before.  His clearly white shirt is stained with something… she hopes is nothing but the results of him being a messy eater.  Or maybe he got into a knife fight and won?  That has to be the answer for the mysterious, rusty stains and splatters on the right side of his shirt.  

However, the one who really sets off her anxiety radar is the taller young man standing next to the cyan shortie.  The guy is covered in blood.  Not only that, but she’s pretty sure he’s toting at least two guns on his person.  And to top it off, he’s wearing a sweater vest and a turtleneck in this kind of weather!  Granted, it is a bit chilly, but that level of layering just feels like overkill.  He glowers with his arms folded over his chest, clearly hating everything about this experience.  Is that dried blood on his face?  That is absolutely dried blood all over his face.

Cashier Girl sucks in a deep breath through her teeth and puts on a well practiced smile.  “Hello!  May I take your order?”

“Yes please!  Um,” the lady in red nudges the shorter man with a smile, “what were we going to order again?”

“Beep!”

...Beep?

“Oh!  Right!  Can we get the 2 for $5 deal?”

She could understand all of that from a single beep?!  “Of course!  And what would you like?”

“Badoop.”  The cyan-haired man nudges the blood covered ginger, and boy, did it look like Little Boy Blue was poking a stick at an angry bear.  “Skdeep!”

Having been in the industry for a long, two years has given Cashier Girl the ability to see when someone is about to take a dive into the deep end fairly quickly.  The ginger twitches an eye, lips pulled into a snarl as he breathes out a little too deeply.  Not quite like a sigh, but like a bull about to charge headfirst into a china shop on purpose.  He sucks in a harsh breath through gritted teeth and hunches his shoulders up.  Oh wow, he’s really restraining himself.

“Just get me…”  And of course Probably a Murderer understood everything Little Boy Blue said.  “The nugs and burg.” 

With the way he’s restraining himself, she wants to believe that he once worked in the same industry as her.  No wonder he’s a murderer.  Good for him, good for him.  Doing what the rest of them can’t do.  

“Alright!  And is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Hmm.”   Pretty Miss Sunshine looks over to Little Boy Blue who shakes his head before turning back to face Cashier Girl.  “I think that’s it!”

“Alright, your total comes to $5.40.”  

“Beep!”  Little Boy Blue pipes up excitedly and starts digging around in, what she assumes is, his back pocket.  The short man pulls out a crumpled, moist-looking five dollar bill.  He straightens it out, and Cashier Girl swears that a good quarter of the bill is stained with blood.  Probably a Murderer must have noticed the blood too, because he suddenly stiffens and glares at Little Boy Blue.

“...Boyfriend.”  Oh shit, are they dating?  Is Miss Sunshine just a lady friend of theirs?  “Isn’t that the fuckin’ money I lent to you a couple weeks back?”

Oh damn.  Cashier Girl looks between Blue and Murderer, Blue either oblivious to Murderer’s growing rage or too wildly confident that the bloodstained ginger won’t actually hurt him.   As interesting as the tension may be, she still needs the forty cents to complete their order.

“Sir-”

“Ba beep!”  Boy Blue nods vigorously, but she knows it’s not towards her.  Murderer lets out a long, aggrieved sigh as he massages his temples.

“So.  You’re tellin’ me.”  He points to the money on the counter and back at Boy Blue.  “You spent… how long at my apartment?  Botherin’ me for some extra cash for food, refusin’ to leave for a good few hours, and then completely forgettin’ about gettin' the fuckin’ food you were supposed to get?  After I gave you the goddamn money?”

“Oh, I remember that day!”  Pretty Miss Sunshine speaks up a little too cheerily given the mood.  “We were supposed to get some Chinese takeout, so Boyfriend disappeared for a bit to ask you for some extra money since he was short some.”  Wait, are they all dating each other?  What the hell?  “But Boyfriend came back looking all happy and without any food, and when I asked where the food was, he said he totally forgot!  We ended up just using Daddy’s credit card since I remembered I still had it, so we still got food in the end.”  Miss Sunshine beams brightly at the flabbergasted Murderer.  “You don’t need to worry about that!”

“That’s not what I was pissed about!”  For a yell worthy statement, Murderer does an awfully good job at keeping his voice reasonably leveled in this shitty fast food restaurant.  “And you had a credit card this entire time?!  Why do you fucks keep comin’ over to my place to ask for cash?!”  

“Ohhh, well, Daddy took it back after he found out I still had it.  But now I’m borrowing from Mommy instead-”

“Oh, so you just have another credit card you could be usin’ instead of my money-”

“Excuse me,” Cashier Girl says as politely as possible, seeing how Murderer’s hand is twitching over one of his guns, “but you still haven’t paid the full amount.”

“Boop!”  Boy Blue quickly begins to dig through his pockets, his confident smirk slowly morphing into a stricken grimace as his movements grow more frantic.  “Sk-skido, bap de doop-”

“Do not fuckin’ tell me you do not have forty fuckin’ cents.”

Ohhhh shit.  Cashier Girl feels torn between wanting to see Murderer fucking snap because man, they really are just running his patience into the GROUND, and wanting her goddamn forty cents so that she can move on with these customers.  Murderer’s face turns a bright shade of red as he inhales a deep breath through his nostrils and breathes out heavily through gritted teeth once more, the process repeating a few times before he reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a ratty wallet that’s literally being held together with duct tape.  Quietly, they all watch as he shakes some coins out and carefully counts out forty cents exactly.

“There,” he says softly in that tone she recognizes from parents who are this close to losing their absolute shit towards their children, “five fucking dollars and forty cents.”

Cashier Girl looks up and sees Miss Sunshine finally starting to sweat just a bit.  Still, she keeps up her cheerful demeanor as she addresses Cashier Girl.  “I think we’re good now, right?”

“Uh, yes!”  She takes the money and tries to get a read on Murderer to see if this shift will be her last one, but he’s got his arms crossed as he stares directly ahead.  The stony expression can only spell doom for the two standing next to him.  “Your number is 69,” haha nice, “and your order will be out shortly!”

“Babeep!  Pi-!”  Blue probably tries to make the same comment that Cashier Girl internally made to Murderer, but he’s quickly shut down by the dark glare Murderer shoots down.  He quickly laughs nervously and clears his throat, rubbing his arm as he looks away sheepishly.  “H-hm…  bop.”  Blue takes the receipt and nods his thanks, going over to stand by one of the dividers with Miss Sunshine in tow.  Murderer, however, remains where he stands, now making uncomfortable eye-contact with her.  Anger still rolls off of him in waves, but she’s starting to wonder if being angry is just his default.

“Oi,” he begins, and she quickly glances behind him to see if there are any other customers behind him.  None.  She’s not sure if she’s disappointed or a bit glad that there’s no one standing behind him.  “Honest opinion - you think this joint is a good enough reward for savin’ their asses?”

Oh boy.  Cashier Girl has no idea what he means by “savin’ their asses”, but if he means it literally then…  She sucks in a breath through her teeth and tries not to grimace.  He grunts in response and squeezes his eyes shut with a humorless chuckle.  “Yeah, thought so.  Really shouldn’t have taken them at their word when they said, ‘their treat’.  Ain’t nothin’ been their treat so far.”

Oof.  That’s right.  That five was originally his that Boy Blue was supposed to pay back, and the forty cents were definitely his.  The guy basically treated himself by force.  They both share a silent look before he sighs heavily.  As much as she’d kind of like to hear more of this dude’s story and why he’s even friends (datemates?  They did call Little Boy Blue, “Boyfriend”, after all) with them, she still has a job to do, and chatting with customers for longer than a certain, nondescript time could get her in trouble.  However, much to her relief, the ginger takes the initiative wordlessly and wanders back to the pair, sulking in his blood soaked clothes.  

Despite clearly looking like a group of troublemakers (especially Murderer), the three keep to themselves, Blue and Sunshine chatting amongst themselves and nudging Murderer every once in a while in some dangerous gambit to get his attention.  Each time they do that, he grips his arms tightly, before stiffly looking over to them as they jabber on about something Cashier Girl can’t hear.  All he does is nod and look away, intent on focusing on some spot on the wall and practice what she assumes is deep breathing exercises.  For a dude covered in blood, he’s doing a real good job at showing restraint.

Finally, their number is called.  Little Boy Blue grabs the bag with glee and nods his thanks to her co-worker before heading back to the group.  He practically thrusts the bag into Murderer’s face, and the ginger looks ready to bite his hand off when he catches sight of Blue and Sunshine’s faces.  They both look so… genuinely hopeful?  Like some shitty nuggets and a burger will be enough to quell his fury.  Cashier Girl is about to suck in a sharp breath when his expression softens.  He takes the bag and almost manages a smile, before seeing the blood on Little Boy Blue’s clothes and hardening his expression back into an annoyed glower.

They all leave without much fanfare.  The door slams behind them as she hums to herself, thinking back to this strange group of people who made less trouble than she expected.  A smirk rises to her face before she schools it for the next batch of customers.  

At least she knows now why he still hangs out with those friends of his.  What a softie.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Worked Themselves to Exhaustion

Heeeey, @badthingshappenbingo​ is finally underway! @burtlederp​ asked for Worked Themselves to Exhaustion with Ryan as our POV/Main, so here it is! 

Bloodstains = requested, puppy sticker = completed

This is set post-rescue and post-trial. Tagging the crew: @spiffythespook​, @bleeding-demon-teeth​, and @special-spicy-chicken​!

CW: Very little, actually! Some references to parental abuse and implied/references past assault/violence, but mostly this is just Ryan being Ryan

Ryan woke up with a start to discover he’d fallen asleep sitting at the kitchen table, forehead resting on one arm and the other simply hanging loose down at his side.

He still had the mug of coffee he’d been drinking sitting next to him, his fingers loosely curved around the handle. He dragged his free hand up and over to find the ceramic had totally cooled, the coffee no doubt cold and stale inside.

He blinked, lifting his head slowly, wincing at the crick of pain in his neck. What time was it? How long had he been asleep? His phone was buzzing on the table next to him and he blinked, blearily looking over at it. Must've been what woke him. Fuck, was it really 9:45 already?

When he saw ‘MOM’ and the photo he’d set of he and Corrine at the beach a couple of years ago lighting up the screen, he groaned, hit the button to silence it, and let his head drop back to the table.

He was so fucking tired and he did not have the energy to deal with his mother right now. Maybe not ever again, not where Danny was concerned.

She would tell him to get an aide, she was always telling him to get an aide. Move out (you can move right back in the house with Dad and I until you find a place, no reason to linger there wasting your twenties), leave him and Vandrum with a full-time home health care aide.

You shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of him, Ryan.

But he did, and maybe if Mom had ever felt obligated to really care about Danny, he wouldn’t have ended up wearing a goddamn dog collar in western Canada.

Not that it was Canada’s fault, or anything. Ryan hadn’t ever realized how fucking huge Canada was, before he’d flown into Edmonton on the fastest flight he could find, rented a car, and then drove and drove and drove and fucking drove to the police station his brother was waiting in - only to realize it had been more hours upon hours of driving for Nate to get Danny there in the first place.

That cabin in the woods had been literally in the middle of fucking nowhere, and Ryan couldn’t possibly have known, right?

He should have, though. He should have, and maybe none of it would ever have happened if his mother and father hadn’t said all that shit to Danny five years ago about regretting adopting someone who didn’t want to be part of the family business, and therefore part of the family.

They might not see their obligations, but Ryan did. He was obligated, because while Danny had been up in those woods suffering, learning to believe that Denner fucker's lies that he isn't a person, that his body belongs to Denner to use however he wants, learning to call himself a puppy and give up his name and his body and his humanity to stay alive, Ryan had been looking in all the wrong places trying to find him.

He had looked for four straight years. He'd started looking the day Danny didn’t come home from his weird meetup with the older guy he was either just crushing hard on or actually dating, no one seemed to know, and he'd kept looking until the day the cops called and said We’ll know for sure once we’ve done the DNA test, Mr. Michaelson, but we’re pretty sure this man is your brother. He had never, ever stopped looking.

He had leveraged his parents’ wealth and influence to pull together private searches long after law enforcement had given up. He had kept looking even when the cops and the FBI stopped helping them find a living man and started focusing on recovering a corpse one day, maybe decades from now, when some dumbass hiker might trip over his brother’s bones in the woods-

Stop it. He survived. You brought him home. You couldn't have known where Denner would take him. You couldn't have done more.

Yes, he could have.

He had been looking, but he hadn’t looked hard enough. He'd looked in the wrong spots, he had missed clues, somewhere, somehow.  What if there had been a white hair in the bloodied car they missed? What if Denner had left a fingerprint on Vandrum's apartment building? What if what if what if.

What if none of it would ever have changed a thing?

No, his mother didn't understand, but he couldn’t ever give enough of himself to Danny's recovery to make up for what he had lost, for what he was still losing. For time suffered and time spent trying to heal.

His mother’s photo blinked away and the phone went back to empty black. Ryan sighed in relief… only to watch it light right back up as she tried a second time.

“No, fucking no,” He groaned, fighting the child’s urge to answer just because it was her, because he loved her, because she loved him. Him, but not his brother. The eternal hidden truth of the Michaelson family - one child loved, the other left out, chased off, and lost. "Leave a goddamn voicemail, Mom, come on."

He'd been up all night, for the third night in a row, and Ryan was tapped the fuck out.

One super fun discovery Ryan had made about bringing home two people who had lived in nonstop fight-or-flight-or-freeze mode for four years was that they never stop getting sick.

Danny's immune system had apparently just checked out at some point and left, and Ryan could usually handle it, but this virus or whatever it was... was bad.

Vandrum usually did his best to help, but he had caught the bug, too, this time. Which meant two grown men reduced to middle-of-the-night coughing fits and all-day fevers, two grown men essentially helpless, two grown men Ryan had found himself in charge of.

Ryan wasn't only taking care of his traumatized older brother who refused to let him touch him, even just to check to see if his fever had broken, but also his brother’s equally traumatized maybe-boyfriend who never flinched or pulled away but who instead stared at Ryan with glassy, frightened green eyes and gritted teeth as he simply put up with Ryan’s clumsy attempts at caretaking in silence, only breaking it with the occasional pl-please let Red sl-sleep, he can’t d-d-do chores today, I’ll d-do his chores f-for him, please...

One more day of this and Ryan might crack.

He's stocked the fridge with all the stuff he remembered Mom buying when they were sick as kids - ginger ale and Pedialyte (did adults drink that shit? Vandrum and Danny hadn't put up a fight when he brought it to them and God knew they weren't keeping any food down yet), chicken soup from the deli in little microwave-safe containers, some Gatorade. There were saltines open on the counter, from the only experiment with solid food either man had attempted since they first got sick.

Ryan had never seen someone throw up saltines before, but at least Vandrum had seemed decently ashamed of himself for it. Danny hadn't even tried them.

It's 9:45 in the morning and all Ryan wants to do is crawl back into his own bed and drift, but if he does he knows one of them will need him, and the only thing worse than not sleeping is finally, finally getting to sleep only to be almost immediately woken up by grown men so knocked out by some kind of virus that they could hardly stand on their own.

Ryan slowly sits up straight, feeling pops along his spine from having been slumped over the table for so long, wondering if twenty-four was too young to have his fucking bones crack when he moves, like an old man.

“One hour,” He says out loud, to no one in particular. “If they don’t need anything in the next hour, I’m giving up and going to fucking bed.”

He pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, which does absolutely nothing to alleviate his exhaustion. He listens to the voicemail his mother eventually leaves, after her third and fourth attempts go unanswered.

Here’s to hoping you’re sleeping, Ryan, and don’t worry, I was just wondering how you were doing and if you had any updates on how Danny and his, um, friend are doing. I can have Mrs. Verona over there to give you a break, poor dear, just say the word.

I was sleeping, Mom, Ryan thinks bitterly, rubbing at his forehead with the heel of one hand as he listens, ignoring for the moment that technically he had fallen asleep sitting at the table like a parent with a newborn and not an adult with a sick brother. Your fucking phone calls woke me up, congratulations, Corrine Michaelson, you’re a gold-star mom today.

No, that wasn’t fair. She was just worried, Mom knew he wasn’t sleeping enough since Danny came home. She was just trying to help, with the offers of an aide or of sending Mrs. Verona over for a day. 

She wasn’t trying to chase Danny off again, she wasn’t trying to make him feel like less-than even when he’d only just really started to get his feet under himself again. She just wanted to help Ryan, like always, and was so blinded by it that she missed that what helped Ryan sometimes hurt Danny.

She’d never meant to be awful to Danny, really, it had always just… happened.

Why do you always make excuses for her? Why don’t you just admit it, give it a name, and try to protect him from them while he’s still so fragile and so easily torn apart all over again? He needs someone who can stand up for him this time, and you never have, you always, always let them blame him. You let him run to Eureka to get away from them, so he was in this stupid town when that fucking psychopath came calling to pick his ex up again.

You let them chase Danny away, and it’s your fault he was here when Abraham Denner wanted a new victim. It’s your fault, Ryan, and you have to fix it, so stop whining to yourself about being tired and take care of the brother you couldn’t save when it counted.

You can start by calling what Mom and Dad do to Danny what it is, by calling it-

“Ryan?”

He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard anyone coming, but he looks up now to see Danny leaning against the open-framed doorway to the kitchen, staring in at him with stark surprise written across his face.

The wavy red hair is sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck and his blue eyes are fever-bright, two bright red splotches mark his cheeks. His face is otherwise chalk-white, freckles and the ring of half-healed scarring standing out in garish, nearly neon red in a perfect outline of that fucking thing Ryan can barely stand to think about.

“What’re you doing up? You look dead on your feet, man.” Ryan stands up, slowly so he doesn’t surprise him - Danny still doesn’t like it when people move too fast around him, and the fever definitely doesn’t help with that problem - and sets his coffee mug on the table. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I’m not s’posed to, to be in th’ bed.” Danny glances over his shoulder, then back, putting a finger to his lips. “Ssshhh. He must’ve… told Nate it was okay...” Danny’s eyes drift, aimlessly, to the side, looking with confusion at the window above the kitchen sink, with the faded, ancient little pleated floral curtain that had been in the apartment when Danny moved in.  “That’s not right. What d’you think he did to earn me getting to sleep in the bed?”

Something in Ryan cracks a little more, the way it always does every single time Danny says something else like this, some new piece of heart-deep horror that Danny doesn’t even seem to recognize for what it is.

“I don’t suppose it would help to tell you you’re home,” Ryan says, wearily, thinking longingly about the last few swallows of hot coffee left and whether it’s worth drinking it if it’s not going to even touch the fatigue. “Would it?”

“I wish I could go home.” Danny speaks the words so softly Ryan nearly misses them. “I wish, but there isn’t one anymore. I know all the rules. I’m so fucking tired, Ryan. Are you still looking for me?”

“Danny?” He’s so exhausted that it takes too long, far too long, for it to really sink in that Danny isn’t talking to him at all, but to some memory he’s having, that Danny’s lost in the woods again.

“I wish I got to keep my name.” Danny whimpers the words more than speaks and then slides straight to the floor in one swift motion. Ryan can’t cross the distance in time to stop him and Danny thumps to the ground nearly bonelessly, still braced against the door frame, closing his eyes slowly and resting the side of his head against it. “You have to look in the woods, Ryan. We’re in the woods.”

When Ryan crouches in front of him, reaching out one hand, he doesn’t flinch or pull away, not when Ryan’s palm presses against his sweaty, boiling-hot forehead, not when he feels the rabbit-fast flutter of his pulse in the side of his neck. 

“Whatever you want,” Danny mumbles, eyes half-opening, then closing again. “Do whatever you want. I’ll be good.”

He’s going to have to stand Danny up, and he can barely find the energy to straighten his legs for himself. Three days - three days of the fevers that come and go, the coughing that wakes him up when he does sleep, his mother’s worried phone calls, Vandrum being fucking useless because he’s sick, too.

He just.

It’s just too fucking much and Ryan never realized how hard it would be to do all of this totally alone.

“Danny, I’m so goddamn tired,” Ryan says out loud, near tears himself. “I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep taking care of you-”

“S’okay,” Danny slurs back to him. “Go back t’bed. I can make breakfast. I need to do chores… s’time, he can’t see I’m late, he can’t, can’t see-” Danny starts trying to push himself back to his feet, and Ryan is half-impressed, half-horrified when his desperately ill brother manages to make himself stand back up, knees locked, glittering, distant eyes fixed on the sink. Ryan stands with him, slowly, his hands out but uncertain what to do next. “Do dishes. Start with dishes. He has to see I’m still working…”

Danny takes a step and simply collapses forward, but this time Ryan is there to catch him under the arms in an awkward half-hug, and Danny shudders at the touch but he’s too weak to pull away or fight back, too weak to even try.

“Look in the woods,” Danny mutters, and his forehead falls against Ryan’s shoulder, thumping into it hard enough to make Ryan wince. “Look in th’ woods for us. Sssshhhhh… everything’s so fuckin’ loud…”

“You’re the only one talking here, buddy,” Ryan murmurs, closing his own eyes just for a second, feeling himself sway a little, a sort of dip in his brain where the white fog of tired takes over before his eyes jolt back open. “Shit. I, I have to sleep, Dan, or I’m gonna die.”

“Don’ die,” Danny mutters, without moving even an inch. “Don’ die. Mom’ll be mad at me.”

Ryan laughs, and after a second Danny huffs a sound that might be laughter, too, and finally Ryan braces himself, pushing Danny back up to where he’s taking at least a little of his own weight. “Okay, okay. I got an idea. Go back to my room, okay? We’ll lie down in there.”

“I have to start chores,” Danny protests faintly, his eyes dancing around aimlessly again, then landing back on Ryan’s face. “Can you tell Mom to call me in sick today? There’s no way I’m going to school. Abraham’s gonna be so mad at me... I can’t go t’school today...”

“You’re twenty-six years old, big brother,” Ryan grunts as he manages to get Danny’s arm around his shoulder to hold him up, taking his weight, his head pounding. He just had to get to bed. Just that far, not too far at all. “You haven’t been in school for a long time.”

“Oh.” Danny frowns, confused, and when Ryan starts trying to walk, he drags his feet along beside him, nearly shuffling. Their progress down the hallway is slow, but damn it, it still counts as progress, and Ryan can see his bedroom door getting closer with every step. “Did I graduate? I don’t remember that.”

Ryan sighs, taking a pause to redistribute Danny’s weight. He’s going to fall over right here in the hallway, pass out and sleep for a week. Right there on the floor. Maybe someone will drop an omelet or something for him to eat while he’s down there.

Who would make it, though, if Danny and Vandrum are both totally useless? Maybe if he called his mother, she’d send Mrs. Verona over with, like, a fucking honeyed ham or something.

“No, Dan, you didn’t. You were still one semester out. They sent you an honorary degree, though, I have it stashed somewhere.”

You know, when they thought you were dead, when everyone but me gave up.

“Honor degree.” Danny giggles, the sound eerie and unfamiliar, a high-pitched noise he’s almost never made in Ryan’s entire memory. “Degree for honor. What’s honor when you fuck like I do now?”

“If there is a God, may you never say anything like that ever again.” Ryan manages to get his door open, although only barely, and he stumbles a few feet into the room before simply letting Danny fall right into the bed, breathing hard.

“May I have permission to sleep?” Danny mumbles, eyes already closing as he mostly crawls his way further into the bed. Ryan’s heard him ask Nate Vandrum that question every fucking night since they brought him home, with the occasional lapse when he remembers he’s a human being and grown-ass humans don’t have to ask permission to fall asleep.

Just like they shouldn’t have to ask permission to shower or bathe or sit in a chair and not on the floor or eat with a fork or…

No. Too tired to be angry right now.

“Yes,” Ryan says heavily. “Yes, you can sleep.”

“Thank you for letting me sleep, Ryan.” The voice is soft and fuzzy, gentle and grateful, and Ryan fucking hates Danny’s stupid fucking rules and his stupid fucking puppy voice. And he hates that he’s so tired that he can’t stop himself from being angry that Danny still uses it rather than focusing on the fact that sometimes, for whole days, he doesn’t.

“No problem, buddy. Get some rest.”

He watches Danny curl up, turning his six-foot-two body into something shockingly small. His knees go to his chest and his arms curve over his head with his hands loosely splayed over his hair, a defensive position to ward off the blows that might be coming at any time.

He never slept like that before, he’d said to Vandrum one night early on, when they’d both woken up and caught Danny curled up like that on the floor next to the couch.

Yeah, w-w-well, your p-parents didn’t w-w-wake him up with head t-trauma, did they? Nate had said, and Ryan had hated him a little less, in the moment, when he’d seen the guilt written across his face. Nate was always guilty, and he damn well should be, but Ryan had plenty to be guilty about, too.

Plenty to make up for.

And he’ll be right back to that as soon as he gets some goddamn sleep.

Ryan sighs, swaying a little, and finally climbs in, sliding under the covers, unruly black curls falling over his face. He watches Danny, already out, curled up and ready to be kicked awake at any moment.

He falls asleep with one hand out, resting on top of the comforter within inches of Danny, not quite touching him.

[eiirisworkshop]

Untitled Shameless Fanfic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

This is from when I first started watching Shameless (US) and is set during season 1.  I’ve abandoned the story because the set up has been OBE as I watched more, I just really wanted good things for Ian.

It ends pretty abruptly, but at a point that probably would have been a scene or chapter break.

***

Fiona was yelling at Carl, Lip and Debs were yelling at each other, Liam had decided to join the squawking.  Ian looked around at his siblings, ears ringing, and decided to go for a goddamn walk.  A couple blocks from home he saw Frank passed out in a lawn chair in a front yard, a still mostly full bottle of Jäger under his arm.  Ian watched a dribble of drool drip onto Frank's shirt, then grabbed the bottle and kept walking.  He wandered to the lake front without much thinking about it—seemed like everyone just wound up there to daydream, to freak out, to sulk, to rage at the universe, which someone seemed to be doing right now.  There were tire tracks in the snow leading to a red Jaguar SUV.  Footprints lead away from the driver's side door to a man standing on the ice in a blue peacoat, throwing hunks of compacted snow and ice at the edge of the water, screaming at the sky.

“You think I fucking wanted this?!” he shouted, throwing a handful of ice.  “I didn't!  Nobody asked me!  I'm so fucking sorry I'm an embarrassment!” he said, voice dripping with malicious sarcasm.  He kicked at a snowbank.  “Jesus fucking bullshit.”

“You okay, man?” Ian called from a few yards away.

“Fuck you,” the driver of the red SUV spat.  “Fuck you, fuck my parents, fuck Reverend Arnold, fuck my stupid fucking bitch of a sister, fuck that backstabbing whore, fuck the office of the bursar, and fuck it's cold!”  He kicked at more snow.

“Dude, it's March in Chicago, of course it's cold,” Ian said.  He'd picked his way across the snow and ice while the man was ranting.  He held out the bottle of Jäger. “I think you need this more than my dad does.”

The man eyed him skeptically.  Damn, he was cute—dark wavy hair, warm tan skin with barely there freckles, complicated green-brown eyes.  He grabbed the bottle and took a swig.  “God's got one hell of a sense of humor,” he muttered darkly.  “Of fucking course some pretty boy shows up when that is the last fucking thing I want to think about.”  He turned back to the water and gestured broadly at Ian.  “It's shit like this that landed me here in the first place!”

Ian arched an eyebrow.  “I'm pretty?”

“Fuck you, you look like a Gaelic-American wetdream,” he spat. “Could probably make a killing in porn, there's gotta be overlap in the audiences for ginger and twink.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ian snarled, stepping forward to give the jackass in the peacoat a shove.

“Fucking make me.”  He shoved Ian back.  So, since there was no one around, Ian kissed him.  Hard.  And didn't immediately get punched out, so that was a good thing.  Even better, jackass kissed him back.  When they broke apart for air, he gave Ian a shove toward the SUV.  “In the car.”

Ian stood panting, his breath turning to mist in the cold air while his new favorite stranger opened the hatchback, shoved some duffle bags and other things out of the way, and folded the rear seats flat.  He grabbed Ian by the sleeve, dragged him up into the car, reached up to yank the hatch shut, then resumed kissing him roughly.  It didn't take long for their jackets to be shoved haphazardly into the next row of seats, pants down around their knees.  Ian's fingers found their way to his fling's ass, but he got Ian by the wrist. “Oh, I don't think so, buddy.”

“I do,” Ian breathed.

“My car.”

“My Jäger.”

“Thought you said it was your dad's.”

Ian paused then gave a recalcitrant shrug.  “Okay, fair.”

He pushed Ian onto his back, stretched across the seats to open the glovebox where he had a stash of condoms and lube—apparently this was not his first rodeo—then he was on Ian and his boxers were not.

He had a dense black and white and red tattoo over one hip and down along his thigh, puzzle pieces and celtic knots and feathers and spiderwebs all blending one into the other and somehow forming a bouquet of roses bound with a ribbon.  Ian didn't get as long of a look at it as he would have liked, but then he really didn't care because holy fuck this guy was good.

Afterward, Ian watched a cloud drift across the moon through the tinted rear window.  “I get the feeling you wouldn't appreciate it if I smoked in your car.”

“I'd throw your naked ass out in the snow,” the stranger said.  It made Ian smirk. The stranger was sitting up against the sidewall of the SUV, head tipped back against the window, eyes closed, legs tangled with Ian's, the bottle of Jäger in one hand.  “What'd you say your name was again?”

“I didn't.”

“I know.”  He opened his eyes.  “So what is it?”

“Ian.”

“Ian, huh?”  He fiddled with the label.  “I'm Dallas.”

Ian nodded.  He grabbed his boxers, then his jeans.

“You're leaving?” Dallas asked quietly.

Ian shrugged.  “Gonna smoke then go home. Not about to stay the night in the back of a stranger's car.  No offense.”

“None taken.”  Dallas watched him dress then fight for a minute figuring out how to open the hatch from the inside.  He had stepped out and was just about to shut it when Dallas said, “Hey, you live around here?”

Ian nodded.  “Yeah.”

“Maybe I'll see you around then.”

“Maybe.” Ian shrugged and felt his expression soften.  “Maybe, yeah.”  He closed the hatch.

“Where have you been?”  Fiona was waiting up for him when Ian got home, sitting on the washing machine in the dark, ready to ambush him.  “I was this close to putting together a search party for you.”

“I went for a walk,” Ian said, deftly sidestepping her with his still lit cigarette.  “I wasn't even gone that long, gimme a break.”

“No one knew where you went!” she hissed.  The younger kids must have been in bed already.  “And we have talked about smoking in the house.”

“Not in common areas, I know, I know.”  He held up his hands, backing up the stairs.  “I'm going to my room.”

The lights were all out upstairs, but once Ian had the bedroom door shut, Lip's groggy voice asked from just above and to his right, “Dude, where'd you go?”

Ian felt himself grin.  “Went for a walk, did the most amazingly stupid thing,” he said quietly.  He didn't want to wake Carl.  He did not want to deal with Carl.  Not right now.

The bunkbeds creaked slightly as Lip sat up.  “Shit, did you hire a hooker?”  He paused.  “Why is that the first thing I thought of? Are there even guy hookers?  I know in theory they exist but I don't think I've ever seen one.”

“I did not hire a hooker, male or female.”  Ian dropped onto his bed, took a drag on his cigarette, and let it out slowly.  

“So what did you do?”

“I fucked a total stranger in the back of his car.”

“Shit, Ian,” Lip breathed.  He sounded like he was torn between adulation and horror.  “Please tell me you wrapped it.”

“He did.”

“He did?  I thought you usually—”

“Usually, yeah.”  He nudged the window open just far enough to tap his ashes outside.  

“Damn. Why'd you do it?”

“I dunno.”  Ian exhaled.  “Just wanted to.”

“Fair enough, man, fair enough.”  Lip was quiet for a moment, then, “How was it?”

“Good. It was good.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah.” Ian finished his cigarette, flicked the butt out into the snow, and pulled the window closed.

The first Friday in April, Ian was walking home from school with Lip and Karen in all his ROTC gear—usually he only had to wear it on Thursdays, but there had been an assembly—when he spotted a red Jaguar SUV with quite a few dings and scratches and the front badge ripped off the grill parked in an overgrown empty lot on the corner. Ian stopped walking.  “Oh, that's not good.”

“Huh?” Lip asked.

“You remember that amazingly stupid thing I did?”

“Yeah?”

“That's the car.”

“Oh.” Lip eyed the Jag.  “Was it that banged up before?”

“No.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

“What's this about?” Karen asked.

“Don't worry about it,” Lip said as Ian picked through the slush and weeds.

He couldn't see through the tinted windows, so he rapped his knuckles on the glass of the rear driver's side door. “Dallas?”

There was some rustling from inside, then the door opened.  It was Dallas, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair unkempt.  He blinked at Ian.

“Oh, good.  You're not dead,” Ian said with genuine relief.

A smile tugged at Dallas's mouth.  “No, I'm not dead.  Look at you, all in uni—” he spotted Lip and Karen behind Ian and his face fell, “form….”

“What happened to your car?”

“Hooligans.” Dallas nodded around Ian.  “Who are they?”

“Oh, my brother and his...”  Ian turned to Lip and Karen, arms open questioningly, “his friend who's a girl who he fucks on a regular basis and cares deeply about, but is definitely not dating?”

“Sounds about right,” Lip said.

Karen nodded.

Dallas gave Ian a searching look he understood all too well: Do they know?

Ian shrugged.  “My brother's cool.”  He glanced behind Dallas—the same duffle bags were there, unzipped, clothes and books strewn around the back of the SUV on spread out blankets, all the seats folded flat.  “Are you living here?”

“So what if I am?” Dallas asked defensively.

Ian shrugged again.  “Hey, Lip, you go on home, okay?  I'll catch up.”

Lip arched an eyebrow, glanced at Karen, looped his arm through hers, and kept walking.  Dallas watched them go then his eyes flicked up to Ian's face.  “What are you doing?”

“Hey, you're the one who was hoping you'd see me around,” Ian pointed out.  

“I was having the worst day of my life when I said that,” Dallas said quickly.  “Wasn't exactly thinking clearly.  Which is probably why anything happened at all.  I don't do things like that.  And I'm letting all the cold in leaving the door open to talk to you, so—”

“If you let me in you could close the door.”

Dallas eyed him warily then moved back so Ian could climb in then pulled the door shut. “Why do you care?”

“I don't do things like that either,” Ian said simply, folding his long camo-clad legs under himself.  “I might have been sappily worrying about you the past couple weeks.”

“Really?”

“No.” Ian took off his hat.  “But I kinda wish I had been.”

“If you're trying to be cute, it's not working.”  He grabbed one of the open books from behind him, propped it on his knee, and started reading.

Ian twisted to try to look at the paige.  “What's that?”

“Psychology.” He sighed.  “I have a test Monday.”

“You're living out of your car and still going to...college?” Ian asked.

“Not gonna drop out mid-semester just because I got disowned.”

Ian straightened up.  “You got disowned?”

“Yeah, I got disowned.  Why the fuck else would I be living out of my car on the south side?” Dallas spat.

“Good point.”

Dallas huffed, snapped the book shut, and tossed it into the front seat. “Why are you here?  Why are you talking to me?  Why did you even stop?”

“Saw your car all banged up, first thought was something bad happened to you, and I'm not enough of an asshole not to give a shit,” Ian said.  “And now I might actually be hoping something else might happen.”

Dallas snorted.  “You don't seem desperate at all.”

“My options are limited around here,” Ian countered.  “In fact, I have two—one of them's married and the other one's in jail.  So, yeah.”

Dallas stared at him for a few seconds, then said,”Fuck it,” grabbed him by his jacket, and pulled him in for a kiss.  

After a few minutes, they weren't fucking again like Ian thought they might be; he wasn't getting another look at that complicated tattoo.  No, Dallas was crying.  Ian pulled back, eyes wide, unsure what to do. “Um.”

Dallas shook his head and wiped his eyes.  “Sorry.”  He sniffed and shook his head again.  “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“I don't think—”

Dallas cut him off, “Maybe you should go home.”

“I can—”

“You should go home,” Dallas said again, firmer.

Ian bit his lip, looked away, and nodded once.  “Right.  Well, I live a couple blocks down and one over.”  He put his hat back on.  “Little blue house from the thirties, old orange Minibus outside.  You can't miss it.”  He hesitated, brushed a tear from Dallas's cheek, kissed where it had been, let himself out, slammed the door behind him, and cursed under his breath all the way home.

Lip cornered him almost as soon as he'd gotten into the house. “So?” he whispered, glancing around to make sure none of their siblings were paying attention.  “Did you have another go?”

“No.” Ian shrugged his brother off and trudged up the stairs.  Lip followed him.  Ian slammed their bedroom door in his face.  Lip followed him in anyway.  Ian rolled his eyes and started changing out his uniform.  “We made out a little but then he started crying and told me to leave.” He crossed his arms and looked at Lip.  “He got disowned, he lives in that Jag.”

Lip's eyebrows shot up.  “Shit, man.  Disowned for being gay?”

Ian shrugged.  “I assume so.”

“Shit.” Lip looked him over.  “But you've got a crush, don't you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lip.”

He couldn't stop thinking about Dallas.  It was three in the morning, it had been more than a week since he'd seen the guy he'd spoken to exactly twice, but there he was, lying awake, thinking about him. He'd cared less after they'd fucked than after they'd just kissed. He didn't want to think about that.

He rolled over toward the window, away from his brothers, one thumb hooked in the waistband of his boxers.  He wanted to see more of that tattoo—it hurt his brain, he couldn't quite remember what it looked like, just an impression of puzzle pieces and roses was left in his head.  He wondered if Dallas's dark-on-dark freckles were only across his cheekbones and nose or if they were everywhere else like his own—he hadn't had a chance to really look, and with the low contrast in the dim light he couldn't tell.  He wanted to know what the hell Dallas was to be the color he was—he wasn't black, his hair and features made that much clear, but he sure as hell wasn't white either.  Dallas had mentioned a sister when he was screaming at the sky.  Ian wondered if she were older or younger, if she was the only sibling Dallas had.  He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen Dallas had earring holes.  He wanted to know if he was right, and if he was, he wanted to see him with jewelry in.  He wanted to taste Dallas's skin again, sink his teeth into one cafe-au-lait shoulder just enough to hurt, watch the expression in those green-brown eyes as he took him.

He really wanted to not share his room with his brothers right now.

He got up and locked himself in the bathroom.  He sat on the toilet with the lid down, eyes closed, head back as he touched himself, biting his lip to keep himself quiet.  He remembered the soft, uncalloused hands on his neck, his chest; long fingers in his hair, inside him; warm mouth on his, at his pulse; those eyes, those eyes….

His head swam.  He cursed quietly and just sat there.  He hadn't obsessed like this since—well, ever.  Brad Pitt didn't count.  Brad Pitt wasn't a real person.  Not really.  More like an idea of person.

He cleaned himself up, tucked himself back into his shorts, and went back to bed.  He still didn't sleep.

His lust-induced insomnia—because, fuck it, that's what it was—didn't get any better as days then weeks passed with no sign of the red Jag or its looker of an owner.  If anything, it got worse.

Fiona caught him by the arm as he stepped around her while she did laundry. “Hey, are you doing okay?  You don't look so good.  You been sleepin'?”

He sighed and closed his eyes.  He could lie, say he was fine, but she would know.  Fiona always knew.  “Not really, no.”

“What's a matter?” she asked with the kind of gruff tenderness she reserved for when she was really concerned.

He shrugged and looked around, more out of habit than anything else.  He knew no one else but Liam was home.  Even so, he lowered his voice.  “There's a guy.”

Fiona blinked.  “Oh.  Fuck.  Okay.”

Ian shook his head.  “I can't think about anything else and it's keeping me up and I just want, so bad, I don't know, to see him?  To fuck him?  Anything.”

“Shit, you've got it bad.”

Ian nodded, eyes on the floor.

“So,” Fiona crossed her arms and settled her weight into one hip, “who is this guy?  D'you know him from school or something?”

“I, uh,” Ian cringed, “I've only talked to him twice.”

“Oh, fuck,” Fiona sighed.  “Must have been quite the couple of conversations.”

“Yeah….”

“Does this guy have a name or do you not know?”

“Dallas.”

“Any lastname?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, a first name is better than no name.”  She chewed on her lip.  “Not too great that you're losing sleep over a guy you hardly know, though.”

“I can't help it,” Ian said, tone more desperate that he'd've liked it to be.

“I know,” Fiona breathed.  She clapped his shoulder and rubbed.  “Been there.”

Ian took a deep breath and huffed.  “Boys suck.”

Fiona snorted.  “Oh, I know.  I have four little brothers, remember?”

He grinned.  She laughed.  He laughed too.

She punched his shoulder and gave him a gentle shove.  “Why don't you take some NyQuil and try to get in a nap while the house is quiet for once.”

“That,” he sighed, “is a good idea.”

He scrounged in the cabinets for the NyQuil and took a shot of it. Fiona swatted him on the ass with a dirty T-shirt as he passed on his way to the stairs.  “Get some sleep.”

Almost a month later, with the snow mostly melted but the weather not yet warmed up, there was a knock at the front door.  Fiona extricated herself from the gaggle of Gallaghers in front of the TV to answer the door.  She opened it just enough to face whoever had knocked without looking too rude. There was a boy standing on the porch, dark hair, dark skin, darker freckles, and a nice buttonfront shirt that looked like it had seen better days.  He fidgeted a little.  “Hey, uh, does Ian live here?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said slowly, eyeing him skeptically.  “Who's looking for him?”

“I'm Dallas.”  The boy bounced on the balls of his feet.  “We, uh, we've hung out a few times.”

“Right.” Fiona stepped back, half closing the door, and called, “Ian! Door!”

She waited for Ian to be just a step away before vacating the doorway herself.  Ian didn't take the last step to the door, just stared. “Dallas?”

“Hey,” Dallas said, not making eye contact.  “Can we talk?”

“Yeah,” Ian said cautiously.  He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Look,” Dallas said, “I'm sorry for being all weird, last time we saw each other.”

“That was more than a month ago,” Ian pointed out sharply.

“I know.”  Dallas crammed his hands in his pockets.  “I've been really busy, with finals, so I've pretty much been living in the school library or crashing on classmates' couches studying.”

“Right.”

“But finals are over now,” Dallas said, sounding like he was trying to suppress an edge of panic in his voice.  “And I'm here.  So, uh, you wanna go for a walk?”

Ian glanced at the beat up Jaguar parked on the street.  “You're gonna leave that here?”

“Unless you don't think it'd be safe?” Dallas hedged.

Ian snorted, went to the door, stuck his head in, and called, “Hey, don't let anybody steal the red SUV out here!”  A chorus of agreements responded from the couch.  He yanked the door back shut and trotted down the steps without looking at Dallas.  “Let's go for a walk.”

Dallas followed, falling into stride a half step behind Ian, hands still shoved in his pockets.  Ian led them around a few blocks without speaking, ending up in a secluded cove under a railway bridge where he pressed Dallas up against a pillar and kissed him.  Dallas kissed back briefly, his hands on Ian's muscular chest, but then he pushed him away—not hard, but enough for Ian to get the idea and step back.  “Sorry,” Dallas breathed.  “I, uh, I'm really not in the best place mentally or emotionally to be screwing around.”  He closed his eyes and took a breath.  “Sorry.”

Ian groaned in frustration, paced away, and kicked an empty beer can.  “I haven't been able to sleep because I keep thinking about you and your stupid tattoo.”

“I haven't been able to sleep because I am homeless, broke, and now that my semester over and my dining hall privileges are up, I don't know where my next meal is coming from, so excuse my lack of sympathy,” Dallas shot back.

Ian snorted. “I've pretty much never known for sure if there was going to be food on the table the next day, so—” He shrugged.

Dallas sighed.  “Look, I'm not used to this.  It's scary and it sucks.”

Ian nodded quietly.  “Then why show back up?”

“Wanted to see you, wanted to apologize, wanted to talk.”  Dallas swallowed.  “I mean, I do like you.  Call me old-fashioned, though, but I'm generally a fan of the whole courtship thing.”

Ian smirked at him.  “You're old-fashioned.”

“Is that okay?”

Ian considered him a moment, then nodded.  “Yeah.”

Dallas smiled.  “I'm glad.”

“So, uh, since we're dating,” Ian said, leaning against the next pillar over and waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “wanna talk about your feelings or some shit?”

“Pretty much all different layers of stress,” Dallas said with a snort. “Need money, need a job, need to apply to scholarships cuz I am not going to be able to pay for next semester—I'm on academic hold.  If I can get the money together I can resume next spring, otherwise I'm out.”  He sighed, shrugged, and looked at Ian.  “You got plans for college or…?”

“Heh. Hoping to get into Westpoint,” Ian said with a little smile.  He shrugged one shoulder.  “Not sure my family is too thrilled, but it's more of a plan than any of them have.”

“Military, huh?”

Ian nodded.  “Marines.”

“Guess you haven't heard back yet?”

“Well, I haven't applied yet, so no.”

Dallas frowned.  “You haven't applied?”

“I'm not graduating yet.”

“You're not?”  Dallas's frown deepened and his forehead crinkled.  “Next year then?  You're a junior?”

“Actually,” Ian said carefully, shifting his weight, “I'm a sophomore.”

The color drained slowly from Dallas's face.  “How old are you?”

Ian rubbed the back of his leg with the toe of his sneaker.  “I'll be sixteen on the eleventh.”

Dallas put out a hand to steady himself against the pillar.  “You're fifteen?!”

Ian pursed his lips and nodded.

Dallas ran a hand over his face.  “You're, what, six foot tall?  And you look like you could bench a Fiat!  You cannot be fifteen.”

“I'm fifteen,” Ian said quietly, not looking at Dallas.

“I feel sick.”  Dallas turned and walked a few paces away, both hands over his face.  “I fucked a fifteen year old,” he mumbled to himself. “I'm so screwed.”

“Hey, it's really not that big a deal,” Ian objected.

“It's illegal!”  Dallas turned to face him.  “That's rape!”

“What are you talking about?”  Ian laughed in disbelief.  “I definitely did not tell you no.”

“You're underage!” Dallas said—he really did look like he might be sick, shit.  “It doesn't matter what you said, you're too young to give consent.”

“I knew what I was doing!”

“The law doesn't care!”

“The law doesn't need to know!” Ian snapped. “No one needs to know.”

Dallas slumped against the pillar, slid down it, and hid his head in his knees.  “I'm a child molester….”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”  Ian stomped over and hauled Dallas up by the back of his shirt.  “Do I look like a child to you?”  He kissed him roughly, briefly pressing their bodies against one another.  “Do I feel like a child to you?”  He let go and took a step back.  “You seem to have plenty of actual bullshit to worry about, don't invent another problem for yourself, you dumbass.  No one, fucking no one, is going to charge you with rape.  What the fuck, man?”

Dallas shook his head.  “I can't do this.”

“You already did.”

“I know!”  He sucked in a sharp breath then gagged.  He braced himself against the pillar to retch.

“Jesus Christ.”  Ian reached out to rub his back but Dallas swatted his hand away.

“Please don't touch me,” he whispered, voice flat.

Ian took a step back.  “Dallas….”

“Don't touch me.”

“I'll be sixteen next week,” Ian said with desperate exasperation.

“And you'll still be underage,” Dallas said, clearly still distressed.

“Nobody cares.”  Ian held out his arms and shook his head.  “Do you realize what neighborhood you're in?  By thirteen, fourteen pretty much all of us drink, pretty much all of us smoke, and pretty much all of have had sex.  You grow up fast when you grow up poor. Anybody found out we fucked, we might get our asses kicked for being fags depending on who it was, but no one around here would even think about how old I am.  So chill out.”

Dallas leaned with his back to the pillar again, closed his eyes, dug his hands through his hair, and took a deep breath.

Ian walked deliberately over to him, letting his footsteps crunch in the gravel, gently disengaged Dallas's hands from his dark hair, twined their fingers, and pressed their foreheads together.  “Chill out, okay?”

Dallas took another breath, nodded best he could against Ian's forehead, bit his lip, and sniffed, tears starting to roll down his cheeks.  Ian sighed and hugged him.

“Sorry,” Dallas mumbled into Ian's shoulder.

“Shut up,” Ian said gently.  He leaned his cheek against Dallas's hair. Dallas's shoulders shook and Ian tightened his arms around him.

“My sister told them,” Dallas blurted after a while.

“Huh?” Ian pulled back enough to look at him.

Dallas wiped his eyes.  “My younger sister, she told my parents about me. We were all yelling at each other—me, my parents, both my sisters—fighting about everything and nothing, and my father said something to Indiana about her dressing like a slut—which is kind of true—and she said 'at least I don't go around sucking guys off in the back of my car like Dallas does.'”  He gave a cold, thin smile.  “Within an hour, they'd thrown me out of the house.”

“Shit,” Ian said.

“Yeah.” Dallas nodded and scrubbed his hand across his eyes again.  “Sorry for dumping that on you.  I just, hadn't actually told anyone what happened.”

“No, that's fine, but, dude, you've gotta stop apologizing so much.”

“S—”

“If you say you're sorry I sweat to God I'm gonna punch you,” Ian threatened, smiling.

Dallas snorted.  “Okay.”

Ian grinned and kissed him quickly.  “That's better.”

Once Dallas's eyes were a little less red, he and Ian walked back to the Gallagher house, elbowing each other along the way, a certain weight lifted between them.  They stopped next to Dallas's Jag.  He bounced on his toes.  “I have a meeting with the financial aid office early tomorrow, so I should probably go back to campus.”

Ian nodded.  “Right.  But, you'll be around, right?”

“Yeah.” Dallas flashed a little smile, touched Ian's arm, let himself into his car, and drove away.

Ian stood on the curb, watched until the beat up SUV was out of sight, then sighed.  For a moment, he was alone, then Fiona walked out to stand with him, Liam on her hip.  “So,” she said, “that's your guy?”

“Yeah,” Ian breathed.

“He's cute,” she observed, shifting her hold on Liam, who was chewing on his own fist.

“Yeah,” Ian agreed.

Fiona nodded slowly.  “So, is he black or what?”

“You know,” Ian said, “I have no idea.”

Her eyebrows ticked up.  “Interesting.”

“Yeah.”

The next Wednesday was the eleventh.  Ian came downstairs to find a slightly lopsided cake that Debs had gotten up at four that morning to make.

“You only get chocolate cake for breakfast because she insists,” Fiona said as she handed him a slice.  “Happy birthday.”

Ian grinned.  “Thanks.”

Lip smacked him in the back of the head.  “Happy spawning day, loser.”

Ian grinned.  “Thanks.”

He got wished happy birthday a couple dozen times at school, one of his teachers decided the whole class should sing to him, Mandy made a show of kissing him in front of everyone at lunch, but it was really a pretty dull day after the cake.  At least, it was until he and Lip turned onto their street after school to find the red SUV parked on the curb and Dallas sitting on the steps of the porch, a parcel wrapped in newspaper balanced on his knees.  Dallas stood as soon as he spotted them.

“You know what,” Lip said, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together, “Fiona's at work, Debs and Carl are still at school, V's got Liam, and I just realized I owe Karen a visit.  Guess you'll be home alone for a while,” he said with overwrought regretfulness. “I sure hope you won't be too lonely.”  He clapped Ian on the shoulder, turned, and walked off.

Ian opened his mouth to yell something after his brother, but he glanced at the house and Dallas standing in front of it, shut his mouth, squared his shoulders, and walked up to the porch.  “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dallas said.  He held out the newsprint parcel.  “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Ian took the package.  It was slim, rectangular, fairly heavy for its size, and felt solid.  “Uh, here.”  He unlocked the door and let them inside.  “You really didn't have to get me anything,” he said as he re-locked the door behind them.

“I know,” Dallas said absently, looking around the room.  He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

Ian grinned a little.  He tore the paper off, his mouth fell open, he glanced at Dallas in profound astonishment, and turned the iPad over in his hands.  “What the fuck happened to you being homeless and broke?”

Dallas grinned and shrugged.  “I went to the unclaimed baggage store near the airport—paid thirty bucks for a suitcase with a seized up zipper and everything inside it.  Got really lucky.”

Ian set the iPad aside, grabbed Dallas, and pulled him into a kiss.  “You are insane.”  He kissed him again.  “Thank you. Holy shit.”

Dallas laughed, stumbling slightly from being grabbed.  “I'm glad you like it.”

“Are you kidding?”  Ian laughed incredulously.  “My entire family shares a fucking flip phone.  I can't believe this.”

Dallas smiled warmly.  

Ian went to the table, touched the iPad adoringly, then looked up.  “Hang on, thirty dollars is at least a week of food and you spent it on a suitcase.  When's the last time you ate?”

Dallas held up his hands.  “I needed clothes for warmer weather so I bought a suitcase, took all the clothes from it, and traded them in at Plato's Closet.  It worked out.  Sold the case and most of the jewelry I found in it.  Kept the iPad and the charger for it—sorry I didn't wrap that bit, it's in the car.  Also kept the bottle of wine and, uh,” he blushed hard enough for it to stand out against his freckles, “and the glass dildo.”

Ian stared at him then laughed.  “Holy fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, though, when's the last time you ate?”

“Uh. Yesterday morning,” Dallas admitted.

Ian went to grab a bag of pizza bites out of the freezer.  “What kind of wine?”

“Red.” Dallas shrugged.  “I've never seen it before, it's called Velvet. Haven't opened it.”

“Huh.” He tossed a plate of pizza bites in the microwave.  “...have you used the dildo?”

“Fuck no.  I don't know where that thing's been.” Dallas crossed his arms.  “I'm not touching it until I've boiled it within an inch of its life.”

Ian arched an eyebrow at him and pulled a pot out from under the counter, stuck it under the faucet, and turned the water on, all without breaking eye contact.  Dallas glanced at the pot wide eyed.  Ian got down two plastic goblets, still without looking away from Dallas.  Dallas nodded once slowly, fished his car keys out of his pocket, and went to unlock the front door.

“Bring the jewelry you kept, too.”

Dallas looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Okay.”

He came back in with the iPad charger wrapped around his hand, the bottle of wine tucked in a mateless knee-high sock Plato's Closet hadn't wanted, the jewelry in his pocket, and the dildo bundled in a T-shirt he'd ruined at the laundromat.  He dumped everything but the jewelry on the kitchen table. Ian handed him the plate of pizza bites, snagged one for himself and ate it.  He'd set the pot on the stove.  “So,” he said, carefully tugging at a loose corner of the T-shirt, “this is it?”  

“Yup,” Dallas said through a mouthful of pizza bites.

Ian gave the shirt a sharper tug and it unbundled, rolling its contents halfway across the table.  Ian blinked at it and swallowed, trying to keep his face from turning the same color as his hair.  “That, is a big glass dick.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Prettier than any real dick I've ever seen.”

“Same.”

Ian used the T-shirt to grab the nine-odd inches of clear and purple glass and drop it into the pot on the stove.  “Wine?” he asked, grabbing a corkscrew from a drawer.  Dallas handed the bottle to him. “What jewelry did you keep?”

Dallas reached in his pocket and pulled out four pairs of stud earrings, which he held out in his palm for Ian to see as he poured the wine. One pair was white opals, one simple little silver balls, one kind of spiky black stars, and the last one tiny gold Deathly Hallows.

“So you do have pierced ears,” Ian said with a grin, handing Dallas one of the goblets.

“Mhm.” Dallas pocketed the earrings and sipped the wine.  “Oh, hey, this is good.”

Ian took a sip of his own and blinked.  “Tastes expensive.”

Dallas shrugged.  “No idea how much it is but it's good.”

“Yeah,” Ian chuckled.  He took another drink.  “Why don't you wear earrings?”

“Parents hate it.”  Dallas paused.  “Guess that doesn't really matter now.”

“Not really.”

Dallas frowned, set down his wine, reached into his pocket, pulled out the opals, and put them in.  He shrugged and looked to Ian.  “Whatcha think?”

“I think I just realized I like boys with jewelry.”  He downed the rest of his wine, came around the counter, and stepped up to Dallas. He touched his ear with the back of a knuckle then bent to kiss him. Dallas curled his fingers in the front of Ian's shirt, kissed him back, then pulled away.  Ian sighed a little.  “Still no?”

Dallas looked away, lay his hand on the base of his goblet, twisted it, then looked back up at Ian.  “Lemme finish my wine and we'll see.”

“Fair enough.”

By the time the bottle of wine was empty, the iPad had been set up, complete with shiny new Apple I.D. for Ian, Dallas was glaring intensely at a free chess game they'd downloaded, and Ian had pot holders on both hands, fiddling with the dildo they'd recently decided was safe now.

“I took three years of chess lessons,” Dallas mumbled.  “Can't tell if they were useless, or if wine and chess just don't mix.”  Ian poked him in the ribs with the dildo.  He glowered at Ian, who grinned.  Dallas rolled his eyes.

Ian turned the dildo over in his hands.  “Why'd you keep this?”

“Right now,” Dallas said slowly, setting the iPad down, “I can't afford to, like, by myself shit.  I mean, sex toys don't count as essentials.  I wasn't really hoping to find a dildo.”  He shrugged, the slight flush he had from the wine darkening to an actual blush. “But if I didn't keep it and then I changed my mind and decided I did want one, I wouldn't be able to get one.  So I kept it.”

Ian eyed him.  “So, you'd actually use this thing?”

“Yeah,” Dallas said slowly.

“On yourself?”

Dallas nodded.  “Well, yeah.”

“Weird.”

“It's not weird.”  Dallas shoved his shoulder.

Ian laughed and shook his head.  “You touch yourself like that?”

“Yeah. Don't you?”

“No.”

“Really?” Dallas asked, taken aback.

“Really,” Ian said.  “I have never stuck anything up my own ass.”

“Never?”

“Never. Well, once,” Ian corrected himself.  “But I don't think that time really counts cuz it was more just to see if I could, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Dallas tucked his feet up under himself and turned more toward Ian. “Why not though?”

Ian shrugged and made a face.  “I don't really like it.”

“Oh.” Dallas's face fell.  “I didn't—I thought, I mean you seemed to, seemed to like it, I mean, when we—”

“Oh, yeah, no,” Ian said quickly.  “I did.  That's different.  Kinda weird still—I'm usually top—but definitely not bad.  Good, actually.  It was good.”

“Oh, good,” Dallas breathed.

Ian cocked his head, frowning.  “If you like stuff up the ass, why'd you insist I bottom?”

Dallas shrugged.  “I wanted to fuck you and that's how I usually do that, so, yeah.”

“We both usually top.”

“Sounds like it.”

Ian chuckled.  “Well, that's gonna be interesting.”

“Yeah,” Dallas agreed.  He settled against the couch cushions.  “Lemme guess, you're weird about having stuff stuck into you, so I bet you don't give head, either.”

“No, I do.”  Ian crossed his arms.  “Not a lot, but I do.”

“Prefer to get it than give it?”

“Uh, actually,” Ian scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “the only hummer I've ever gotten was from a girl and, uh, it wasn't great.”

Dallas blinked at him.  “You've never been blown by a guy?”

“Nope.”

“Well, we've got to fix that,” Dallas said, sliding off the couch to the floor.

“It's okay,” Ian said, watching him, “you don't have to.”

“I want to.”  Dallas flashed Ian a grin and started undoing his belt. “I actually like, you know,” he shrugged bashfully, “sucking dick.  Call it another birthday present.”

“Uh, okay,” Ian said, letting Dallas tug his jeans and boxers down.  No way he was going to argue with that.  Dallas settled comfortably between his knees, stroked him a couple times, pressed his lips to the shaft in a kiss, then gave a long slow savoring lick.  Ian cursed and balled his fists, a shiver running up his spine.

Dallas glanced up at him.  “You can grab my hair if you want,” he said before giving another lick.  He grinned a little.  “I know it's weird to figure out what to do with your hands.”

Ian sucked in a sharp breath as Dallas mouthed at him wetly, hesitated, then dug his fingers into Dallas's thick, black hair.  It was soft and getting long—he probably hadn't gotten his hair cut since they'd met.  He grit his teeth and gave a soft tug as Dallas took him into his mouth. Dallas's eyes flicked up and met Ian's and Ian was struck again by the green and brown complexity.  He shut his eyes.  “Fucking hell.”

Dallas lay one hand on Ian's hip, his other fingers curled in the loose fabric of one of Ian's pantlegs.  He hummed happily and did something absolutely unspeakable with his tongue that made Ian gasp.  It didn't take long for Ian reach the edge and go over, yanking at Dallas's hair harder than he really meant to, cursing, and groaning. Panting, he let go of Dallas's hair and opened in eyes just in time to see Dallas lick his lips, wipe his mouth with the back of a hand, and smile up at him.  Dallas bit his lower lip adorably.  “Was that good?”

Ian nodded.  “Oh yeah.  Real good.”

Grinning, Dallas climbed back up onto the couch next to him. “I'm glad.”

“You actually really do enjoy that, don't you?”

“Mhm.” Dallas was still chewing his lip cutely.

Ian shook his head. “Why?”

Dallas shrugged.  “I dunno; it's just fun for me.”

“Okay,” Ian breathed.  He took a few more breaths then said, “You seem way less worried about my age now.”

“I decided 'm just not gonna think about that,” Dallas said, holding up one hand.

“Okay.” Ian took another deep breath and fixed his pants.  He slumped back against the cushions.  “Wow.  Yeah. Fuck.”  He glanced at Dallas.  “And you just swallow like it's nothing.”

Dallas shut his eyes and bowed his head in embarrassment.  “I kinda like how it tastes—I know that's really weird.”

“You're a freak,” Ian said, “and it's amazing.”

Dallas laughed and looked up at him.

“What color are your eyes?” Ian asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Dallas blinked a couple times.

“Like, are they brown or green?”

“Oh. Yeah, they're both.  I mean, they're brown, but I've got green, like, starburst things around the irises, so, yeah, both.”

“That's different,” Ian said.  “I like it.”  Dallas looked down bashfully.  Ian tilted his chin back up, studied him, then kissed him, not sure how he felt about tasting himself on Dallas's tongue. When he pulled back, he asked, “Do, uh, do you wanme to do you now?”

“Um. I mean,” Dallas said haltingly, “how much longer d'you think we have before your family gets home?”

“Oh, right, fuck.”  Ian ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “I don't know.”

“Then, uh, no,” Dallas said.  “I mean, quickies are fine, but they're more frustrating than fun, really, and I'd rather be able to, y'know, take my time?  And I'd really rather not get walked in on.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”  Ian sighed.

Dallas leaned in to kiss his cheek.  “I'll go.”

“If I didn't have school tomorrow, I'd go with you,” Ian said softly.

Dallas smiled as he got up.  “Maybe if you wanna hang out this weekend?”

“Yeah.” Ian nodded.  “Let's do that.”

“Okay.” Dallas got his things together and gave Ian one last sweet, soft kiss before leaving.

The next two days of school were among the longest of Ian's life.  Friday night, with Lip and Carl asleep, he pulled the iPad out from where he had it hidden with his porn, hid with it under the covers, and prayed it would connect to nearby wifi.  It did.  He grinned, opened Messages to the one contact he had, and typed: Dallas u up?

A few minutes passed and Ian had just about given up on getting a response when one came through: Yeah & lucky for you I have wifi.  What's up?

Nm. Just thinking about you

Aw you're cute :P

We hanging out tomorrow?

Yeah I can pick you up?

Sure

When?

Morning? I'm not doing anything else

Works for me

Where u parked tonight?

Behind the school library That's how I have wifi

Cool

Ian heard Carl mumble in his sleep and he quickly locked the iPad, clutched to his chest, and peaked out from under the covers to make sure his little brother really was still asleep.  He took a deep breath and ducked back under his blanket.

U use that dildo yet?

……..maybe Why d'you ask?

Just curious ;)

Just curious my ass

Exactly

You suck

Didn't get a chance to yet I take that maybe as a yes

Okay yes but your sex puns are horrible

Not sure those were puns But so you did?

I did You're trying to get me to write you porn

Maybe

That's a yes

It's a yes

There's not much to tell Tab A goes in slot B You know how it works Only tab A is purple and made of glass

Cmon Did u like it?

Yeah Thought about you

Really?

Yeah

Ian chewed on the inside of his cheek and curled tighter around the iPad.

Please tell me

I imagined it was you That you were kissing and touching me

I want to

I know you do Tomorrow

That a promise?

Maybe ;)

[jovialtorchlight]

I have no idea if I can write prose

Let me know if this is good or awful critiques welcome

Alex, the weekend reporter, saw the envelope laid upon his keyboard when he walked into the newsroom. Saturday afternoon, 3:30 p.m.; empty. The cops beat used to come in at nine, but after the relentless rounds of cuts, the newspaper wasn’t staffed until late afternoon. The skeleton hour; dead, shriveled, and lonely.

Alex was alone in the dimly lit basement office space, carpeted and flickering with a tired glow, smelt stale, moldy.

He was holding a bag of Tositos, a jar of Salsa, and had a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder. He set the chips and dip on the “snack table,” the metal top of a file cabinet leaned up against a half wall in the middle of the room.

“Seadogs tickets?” he thought, walking over to his desk. He had put his name into an email pool for tickets yesterday. He ripped the manila envelope, and pulled out a torn piece of lined paper, scrawled, manic, words bumping up and down, no concern for the lines.

It was like his eyes were adjusting to light, translating quickly. He needed a minute of study before he could make out the unfamiliar scrawl.

“A.J..favor. Behind Bethany’s, Mechanic F., 2:30 a.m., Monday.”

Alex felt his chest tighten, and he took a quick breath, that old sense of dread creeping back in. As he depressed down into his rolling office chair, Alex sank his head into his hands.

Alex’s desk was in the back corner of the newsroom, a station he felt he had earned. There was no need for him to be right next to the copy desk; new reporters were stationed there, mainly so they couldn’t just Facebook all shift, look at cat pictures or pretend like they were answering emails.

Stacks of newspapers, court documents, files of perps, a photo of Maisey, the Greyhound he rescued last year, seven Press Association awards, framed, lined up, reminding him of his best work, 2012, a since unreplicated year, but good enough to keep him referred to as the “talent” ...head lifted off hands, he stared into his full trash bin...three empty bags of cheetos, four empty soda bottles; Mountain Dew, Ginger Ale, a Sprite…

He felt like vomiting. It had been almost five years since he had last vomited. The acid crept up his throat, burning. He tugged at the hair on his graying beard, mind blank, no plan, no control.

That night, there might as well have been another driver at the wheel. Alex didn’t do much. Around 9 p.m., he went out for a three vehicle crash, out on Goff Hill--police had already shut the road off, so he parked at Denny’s, waved at the cop directing traffic, and walked, breathing hreavily, plodding up the hill, Auburn and Lewiston behind him, from Main Street down the bridge to the giant old brick mills and the stark cold falls roaring, water breaking through and pouring over the rocky bluff, emptying out into the wide Androscoggin.

Alex arrived at his apartment late. After he got out of work, he stopped, as he sometimes did, at Denny’s. He drank a coffee, ordered a Grand Slam, and wished he could smoke a cigarette; not even really to inhale, but to smell it, get it on his clothes, reek of it.

When he was in college, once dawn broke, no matter how hungover or still-drunk he was, he’d roll off of his mattress bare, sheetless, and stumble into his kitchen, kicking over stacks of pizza boxes and empties from the night before.

He’d open the window, feel the fresh air, and start boiling water for his coffee. He’d light a cigarette. He was addicted, sure--and he’d quit about a decade later-- but he mostly loved the smell, how his dad’s garage smelled, how his dad’s jackets and flannels would smell hung on the rack in the mudroom. Comforting.

At Denny’s, alone, drinking the coffee, his gut pressed up against the table, Alex thought about comfort. Where it came from, at what expense; a lot of things had comforted him; first, booze, booze and food, then booze food and cigarettes, booze and food, then, finally, Lexapro.

He went over his fleeting interests, the whims he dived into to get himself one step ahead of the chest tightening, stomach twisting, breathless, empty attacks. Empty distractions.

He felt the strange dread creep into him.

Most of the time, it served no purpose, an alarm malfunctioning, blaring empty signals into his head, but he knew it was real. The foreboding, he felt as he paid his check and left, was justified.

Asleep at 2:30 a.m.

Another dream about her. Red hair, freckled skin, smelled like dirt, the earth but not unpleasant, like she’d been gardening. Green jeans, white tank top, humid August night...she was drunk, stumbling, he was as well, but he walked straight, breath the only telling sign of his inebriation...and the mental fog, half gone, half on earth.

She got into the passenger’s seat, he in the driver’s seat, he started driving...in dream logic, a flash of time, no constraints to the thoughts, untethered, the dream fell apart into fear.

He woke up, already ashamed of himself, stomach curled up, backflipping from either the grand slam and the late night coffee or the dread seeping into him. He ran to the bathroom, his weight causing the glass cabinet in the hall-way to rattle. Phone in hand. 5:30 a.m. Maisey was still asleep, and she’d stay asleep for another hour.

He thought about her, as his stomach screamed in pain, that deep dread, and he finished, went into the kitchen, started boiling the water, and, for the first time in 20 years, opened the window and pulled the plastic film from a pack of cigarettes and smoked seven of them, back to back, until Maisey woke and needed to go for a walk.

An hour later, Maisey was sleeping at his feet and he managed to squeak out an hour of sleep before he woke with the same dread, the same vague notion, an imprint of her. He rose, as did Maisey, and he shut the bathroom door behind her. The dog whined once, then he heard her shuffled back to her bed.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His thoughts of her drifted to his thoughts of Alex, and he became angry; he looked at his pale skin, his unkempt, gray beard that sprouted off in patches on his neck, his shoulder length hair, and his body, lumpy, overstuffed, disgusting. He thought about AJ. He clenched his fist.

AJ was back. That fucking bastard was back.

Goddamn it--His face contorted with effort, but--AJ--- he screamed, guttural--was back-- booming--he kicked the side of his sink cabinet, splintering the wood; flailing, finally sending a fist through the mirror, cracking it, slicing his knuckles; bleeding, stinging, he sobered from the blind rage and was almost immediately disgusted, physical pain transforming into a mental anguish. Exhausted, he slouched on the floor, reaching for toilet paper, picking the glass from his knuckles.

Later, around noon, his hand wrapped in a wad of paper towels, he entered CVS on Main Street in Auburn and bought some gauze, some antibacterial stuff, and he went home to fix his throbbing hand before he went to work.

An hour before work, he put a collar on Maisey, and drove her to his sister’s house. He had a spare key. He let himself inside, left some food on the floor, got Maisey a bowl of water, and scribbled a note. She worked overnights, 12 hour shifts, and wouldn’t be home until the early morning.

“Sorry. Please take care of her. Alex.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to his dog. He shut the door, and left her whining behind him.

[audreycritter]

Dragged to the Depths

Written for @brambleberrycottage for @cerusee‘s GoFundMe drive. I uh, let the word count get away from me.

AO3 Link Here Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy Horror

***

There it was again.

Dick Grayson leaned on the railing of the yacht, tumbler of ginger ale cradled against the palm of his hand, and squinted at the dark bay water.

Again.

A sliver of light reflected off something in the distance, and in the murky midnight of the water’s surface, the glittering shine turned to metallic red and green.

Dick straightened, one hand gripping the polished rail. He peered hard into the night, cursing his useless tux and the lack of gear he regretted not hiding on his person. Some collapsible binoculars would be great right now.

Without taking his gaze off the spot— it was still fragments of familiar red and green— he set the tumbler down on the lilting deck. The rolling was too gentle tonight for the glass to slide very far; it was a perfect night for a charity dinner on the bay. It had been clear all evening, and now the moon was full and bright overhead.

In the moonlight he saw a hand raise out of the water and it pulled at him, the sense of emergency forcing every other thought out of his mind. His nimble fingers unknotted his tie and he tore off the jacket, too, kicked off his polished shoes.

A single leap put his feet on the railing. He balanced, checked direction, and leapt. The noise of the party on the broader deck cut out behind him when he hit the water in a smooth dive. He resurfaced and began paddling, long trained strokes cutting through the calm water.

The red sparkled in the moon now and that was definitely a slender arm. For a wild moment he thought it was Damian, out as Robin despite orders to stay in at home while Dick and Bruce put in a show at the dinner. Signaling him?

No. The red and green were too bright, the arm too exposed. Damian’s gloves and hood made him nearly the color of the rolling water in the dark. This was designed to catch light, to throw it— maybe a swimmer adrift from the shore earlier.

The closer he got, the more dread crept up through him. The water was frigid, but the air was warm, and this was…this was something else. His limbs froze for a breath and then he was treading water, frowning at the quiet, waving form.

Not waving, but drowning, a woman’s voice said, so clear it was like she was whispering into his ear.

Dick shook his head and glanced back at the boat.

“Dickie?” The voice clarified into tones achingly familiar, a sound he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten until he heard it again.

Despite the icy horror in his gut, he whipped back around toward the figure. His eyes filled with tears. He began swimming slowly toward her, the Flying Grayson leotard more distinct now that he was closer.

“Mom?” he choked, coughing on water.

The part of him screaming to stay back was silenced with a firm clap of some interior door when she began singing.

“He’d fly through the air with the greatest of ease.”

He didn’t know how, but Jason had come back. Damian had come back. So many others. Maybe, just maybe, somehow this was…

She was beautiful. She was Mary Grayson, smiling at him, beckoning, singing and it had been so long since she’d sang to him that his chest felt cracked open.

“Mom!” He grabbed for the reaching arm, shaking waterlogged hair out of his eyes so he could see her face.

His fingers closed around stony slime, stinging his hand and melting him to the inhuman texture. Bile rushed up his throat at the same instant she smiled, revealing rows of razor fangs black with rot.

Everything that had been Mary Grayson in her face vanished, shifting into features pale and foul, ashy scales of rotted fish and empty white eyes. The song she was singing continued in his mother’s own voice for a second longer, while he was paralyzed and sinking with his hand still stuck on seaweed-sticky skin.

He slipped beneath the surface and the song turned into a harsh, grating note of high and raucous triumph.

Then, when it joined him beneath the surface, maw of jagged teeth nearing his neck, he came fully back to himself and he fought.

He kicked and struggled with it, sinking deeper and deeper, while the voice whispered again in his ear, in her voice, the stolen voice.

Too late, Little Robin.

Jason Todd sat with his legs dangling off the small recreational fishing pier, watching the surf roll in while drinking tea from a waxed paper cup. He hoped the tea would settle the prickly unease that had seized him.

There was something in the air in Gotham tonight, a curdled atmosphere that reeked of magic and evils older than the first cobblestones of the city’s streets. His nerves thrummed with sour remnants of the Lazarus Pit’s supernatural reversal of his very cells, and it had become hard to keep his finger from laying tight against a trigger. He’d given up on patrol and stayed in a crowded cafe just long enough to buy jasmine tea.

Far off, down the coast, he could see the white hull of the yacht anchored near Cape Carmine.

The Red Hood helmet sat next to him, the cloaking turned on so it looked like a standard motorcycle mask; a hoodie zipped over the symbol on his chest made him look just like a guy in a brown jacket. He’d declined Bruce’s invitation to join them, but now he wrestled with himself over whether or not he regretted that decision. Maybe the air didn’t teem with tendrils of wicked magic out there.

Maybe it did, or maybe it was all in his imagination. His mind did that sometimes— it would nudge him toward panic over things that weren’t there, weren’t real, or were long gone.

He crumpled the empty cup in his hands and sighed.

Then, a low moan from the sand below the pier drew his muscles taut with wary energy.

“Hello?” he said.

Another moan. And then, very faint and incredulous, “Jay?”

The wavering voice was one he recognized immediately, would have known anywhere. He abandoned the empty cup and his helmet to slip down onto the beach, his boots sinking a few inches deep in bay water.

“Dick?”

His hand was on his holster just in case, but no mimicking monster swarmed out of the dark. It was just the murmuring crash of low waves breaking, and another moan from the figure slumped against a wooden support beneath the pier.

Jason plowed through the shallow water, boots throwing up salty spray, in his haste to get to Dick. In the dim light, he could make out shiny, slick stain covering Dick’s skin like oil.

Blood.

“We have to get you out of the water,” Jason said gently, crouching. “It’s too dark down here. What happened, Dickie?”

Wide, startled eyes stared back at him. Dick had one arm wrapped around the wood and when Jason reached for him, he flinched back and nearly went under keeping himself out of Jason’s reach.

Jason snatched his hand back as if stung.

“Let me see your teeth,” Dick demanded, voice trembling on only the last word.

“What,” Jason said, frowning.

“Teeth,” Dick repeated frantically. “Your teeth, Jason, let me see your teeth.”

More than he needed an explanation right now, he needed to get Dick out of the water and somewhere in good lighting— somewhere dry and warm. Jason shrugged, and obliged: he bared his teeth at Dick, turning his head one way and then the other.

“Happy?” he asked. “All there. No cavities.”

Dick lunged for him, arms locking around Jason’s neck, and before Jason could shove him off, he was muttering, “Out, get me out, out of the water, Jay, we have to get out, it’ll…it’ll…”

When Jason tried to look out at the bay, confused, strong and freezing hands grabbed his chin so tightly it hurt his jaw.

“Do not look,” Dick said, his tone like iron. “Whatever you think you see or hear, do not look. I’m not sure I killed it, I’m not sure, so don’t…don’t…we have to get out. I don’t know if I killed it, or if it’s toying with me, get out, get out.”

By the end, he’d slurred back into desperate pleading. Jason didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. He twisted so Dick’s arm was around his shoulder and he hauled him forward toward the sand, strewn with fragments of broken seashells. Dick whimpered when Jason dragged him through the brushy seagrass overgrown by the public access steps, but Jason didn’t slow down until they were at a bench under a dull street lamp far from the shore. Dick struggled to keep his feet working beneath him, and Jason was mostly carrying him by the time he dumped him onto the bench.

Jason crouched in front of him and began to survey damage. What was left of the tux wasn’t going to be worth saving— it was shredded and stained. Dick’s neck had a ragged wound and another dozen places were bleeding. They all had the same oval shape, some stretched like a comb of razors had been dragged across Dick’s body.

It was worse than Jason had realized and not like anything he’d ever seen.

“Dick,” he hissed. “What the fuck happened.”

“I didn’t know,” Dick groaned, doubling over and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. It couldn’t have been her, I should have known it couldn’t be her.”

“Who?” Jason exclaimed, pulling a roll of gauze out of his jacket pocket. He held it against Dick’s neck and his older brother didn’t react at all to the pressure.

“My mom,” Dick said into his palms. “My mom. It sounded just like my mom and it was in my head singing and I killed it, I don’t even know if it was human once but I killed it and Bruce is going to kill me. It was all so dark and fast and I couldn’t breathe and…and…”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jason said. “In the water? Something was singing to you in the water?”

Dick nodded without looking up.

“I’m an idiot. God, it sounded so much like her, Jason, just like I remember and I haven’t heard her in so long, I just wanted to hear her.”

His shoulders, one bloodied and raw beneath his torn shirt, shook.

“You saw a fucking siren,” Jason breathed, glancing at the water. “A siren in Gotham. Goddamn. Just one?”

Dick nodded again, an animal whine in his throat.

“You killed a siren in Gotham. How…”

Jason was still gazing out at the coastline and Dick reached up and roughly grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed against each other. His eyes were closed but he seemed determined to keep Jason from looking again.

“Brass belt buckle. Used the prong. Stabbed it in the chest and the head. It died or gave up, I don’t know, I don’t know, I was underwater and I couldn’t breathe and then I was swimming and telling myself not to pass out.”

“Shit,” Jason exhaled. Dick’s face was clammy against his own and he struggled for a minute to pull back, slowly prying Dick’s hand off his neck. “I swear I’m not looking, Dickie. I have to get you inside somewhere and clean you up. Is Bruce still at the dinner?”

“I don’t know.” Dick sniffled, and his voice took a frantic pitch. “Call him, Jay. Call him and tell him to bring the yacht in. Get everyone off. He’ll think of some excuse, but you gotta…”

“Calm the hell down, Dick, I’m already calling.”

Jason stood next to Dick and risked looking in the direction of the yacht. It was golden with light against the shadowed cape.

“Hello, Jay!” Bruce answered in the sweet, light way he spoke whenever he was near people who expected Brucie. He sounded like he was faking being tipsy, too; there was laughter in the background, like marbles spilled on tile floors. “I hope everything is okay!”

That was the cue, the say the word and I’m on my way cue, the one Jason had missed and was getting to know again.

“Dick was attacked by a siren, and no I’m not shitting you, an honest-to-god siren. He thinks…” he paused, and glanced at Dick, who tensed suddenly on the bench. He was shaking his head. There was no way to do this but to rip the bandaid off, and let it sting the both of them. The rules about non-human creatures were fuzzy anyway. “He says he killed it. You need to get everyone on shore in case there are more.”

“Absolutely, Jason,” Bruce said cheerfully. There was a hard edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Tell Damian I’ll tuck him in when I get home.”

Kids, Bruce said, to someone nearby on the yacht. They’re the sweetest, aren’t they? If you’ll excuse me, a moment.

The conversational buzz faded and there was a click, like a door closing, over the line.

“Where are you? Is Dick alright?” Bruce asked, serious and low. “What happened? I thought he’d gone home. He’s sure it’s dead?”

“I found him south of the cape,” Jason said. “He’s conscious but torn up. He seems lucid enough. We’re near Folley Ave, by the Big Mouth tackle shop before the pier, but we aren’t staying. I’m taking him to a place I have.”

“Ventura St,” Bruce said.

“Did anyone ever bother even trying to explain the concept of secrets to you?” Jason demanded. “Yes. Fuck. Thanks, now I have to move again.”

“I keep track in case you’re injured. I need to know the places to check,” Bruce said, so matter-of-fact about the assumption that he would come looking that Jason’s mouth clapped shut.

“Whatever,” he said, trying to sound flippant. “You can find us, then.”

He hung up before Bruce could.

“Let’s go,” he said to Dick, pocketing his phone. There was a button sewn into the lining of his sleeve and he pressed it— dozens of feet away, his abandoned helmet fizzled and sent up a small plume of smoke. The visor had been cracked anyway.

Far off on the bay, the thin shriek of a fire alarm sounded, followed by shouts carried across the water.

“B just committed a felony for you,” Jason said, offering Dick a hand.

“That’s how he says I love you,” Dick joked weakly. “Is he pissed? He’s pissed.”

“What? Fuck, no. Not at you. I’m probably gonna get yelled at for something, somehow, but you get to play the ‘I’m bleeding,’ card.”

“Remember when…he yelled at me more?” Dick asked, gasping as he walked. He leaned heavily on Jason while he limped. “You could get away with anything, but if I bought the wrong jeans we’d end up fighting.”

“Dick, I’m really not in the mood,” Jason said, warning. There were some things he didn’t want to revisit right now.

“I’m just sayin’,” Dick continued anyway. “I served my time. You’ve about run the course on yours. It’s time to let Tim or Cass take a turn. Tim’s gonna blow off college, so that should do it.”

“Well, hell, I’ll have to yell at him, too,” Jason said, grateful for how quickly and easily Dick steered the joke into more comfortable territory.

“Just like I did to you.” Dick hissed and Jason paused for a minute, letting him catch his breath. “The torch is passed.”

The next block was silent, and the few people who passed them kept their heads down and didn’t look too closely. Dick seemed like he was fading too much to keep up conversation, and Jason jostled him when they turned to the nondescript door to one of Jason’s holes.

“Dickie, stay awake.”

“Uhnnn,” Dick said, his head lolling against Jason’s shoulder. “So…glad you…were there. Looking?”

“Mhmm,” Jason said, deciding to not get into his feelings about magic and the atmosphere at the moment. “Heard you ditched the party.”

“Huh,” Dick said. He stumbled across the threshold, on the low concrete stoop.

“Watch the step,” Jason said, after catching him.

“Thanks,” Dick slurred. “Asshole.”

“I could drop you right now,” Jason threatened, flicking on the light.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t until Jason had Dick stripped out of the ruined tux, wrapped in a blanket on the couch with a sheet thrown under him, that he began to get worried about how quiet Dick had grown. He was staring blankly at the wall, his breath shallow, while Jason cleaned the ugly bites with an antiseptic rinse. It wasn’t supposed to sting, but Jason knew it did anyway; Dick didn’t shudder or inch away once.

“Dick.” Jason’s mouth was dry. He was bad at this, at being a good brother. He blamed the years he’d lost, but more and more that felt like an awful excuse. “Are you…okay?”

“Did you just ask if I was okay?” Dick asked, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “Wow. I thought hearing that question from B was weird.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason grumbled. “I was just trying to be nice. Geez.”

“I’m fine,” Dick said, after a tense silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t.” Jason got another bandage out.

Another long silence.

“I have to be,” Dick said, tightly. “I have to…to…”

Jason stopped cleaning the seeping wound on Dick’s side because Dick was shaking. The trembling started in his limbs and then he was gulping for air, hunched forward.

Instinct got Jason onto his feet and beside him on the couch, pulling Dick into one of the hugs he was so good at offering everyone else.

“Dickie, I’m one of the big kids now,” Jason said, into his hair. “Don’t insult me by trying to shield me from shit.”

“You’re a kid,” Dick protested hoarsely. “A kid.”

“M’not,” Jason said, keeping his voice calm like he was the one talking to a scared kid. “Haven’t been for a while, whether you like it or not. I promise you aren’t gonna traumatize me.”

It was like he’d unlocked the sluice gate.

The wail that tore out of Dick was full of agony and, though he’d never admit it, did frighten Jason. He held him while Dick wept and gripped his shirt in his fists.

“I’m sorry,” Dick babbled a minute later, his breath still hitched. “I’m sorry. I thought it was her, I thought it was really her, and I’d forgotten what she looked like, Jay, I forgot what she looked like.”

“I know,” Jason said, because he was no stranger to the realization that details and features were blurring in his memories. It was the sort of thing you told yourself you’d never forget, but time was cruel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He rested his chin on Dick’s damp hair and shushed him while his hold tightened.

“S’ok, Dickie. It sucks balls, but you’re okay.”

“I know, I know,” Dick nodded, sounding more composed but exhausted. “Bruce is gonna yell at me. I was stupid. It was stupid.”

“No,” Jason said. “I miss my mom, too.”

He swallowed.

“Dick?”

“What,” Dick said miserably.

“I would have gone in, too. If I’d heard my mom. I forget what she looks like sometimes. I can’t hear her voice anymore. I would have…” Jason didn’t mean for his throat to get so tight. “Fuck. You know what I mean. I would have had to go check. You aren’t stupid.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, sniffling. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jason.”

For a few moments, Jason just held him while Dick’s rasping breath evened out.

There was a knock on the door and then, “I’m coming in,” steady and sure and the door was pushed open even though Jason knew the lock had engaged.

“If he yells at you, I’ll kick him in the shins,” Jason whispered against Dick’s ear and Dick laughed, a thin and fragile sound.

“Dick,” Bruce said, crossing the room. He was still in his tux. He crouched in front of them and reached out to lift Dick’s chin, stare into his face. “You’re alright? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the Manor,” Jason interrupted. Dick sagged against him and he could feel the relief.

Bruce studied Dick for another moment and then his attention darted to Jason.

“The car is parked outside. You’re coming?”

Jason nodded. “I’ll grab him some clothes.”

He disentangled himself and got up, and lingered just inside the bedroom door to shamelessly eavesdrop, his head bent against the frame. If Bruce so much breathed a word of reprimand right now, he was going to kick him out— at gunpoint if necessary.

When had he gotten so protective of Dick?

Was this how Dick felt about everyone else, all the time?

Whatever Dick said to Bruce, if there was anything, was inaudible to Jason.

Bruce’s answer was not. It was soft, softer than Jason had heard since he was recovering from burns at the Manor.

“You’ve had a rough night. You can tell me about it later.”

“It sounded like her, B, it sounded just like my mom.”

“Oh, chum,” Bruce said, the gravel of his voice somehow tender.

Jason went to rummage for sweats that would fit Dick. He joined them while Bruce was dabbing more antiseptic on a bite Jason hadn’t covered yet. Dick was nearly asleep.

“He was underwater,” Jason said, sitting on the edge of the couch again. “Al will need to check his lungs.”

Bruce nodded, his face pensive. There was blood on his cuffs now.

“Did you see it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Jason said. “I felt it, though. The air’s been wrong all night.”

“Hn,” Bruce said. “I know.”

“It’s not your fault, B,” Dick mumbled.

“Hush, Dick,” Jason and Bruce said in sync. They exchanged a look and Bruce’s mouth twitched in a grim smile.

“Gotham,” Jason said, firmly.

“I called Arthur,” Bruce said. “He’s going to sweep the bay for us. I don’t want any of you out there again until he gives us the clear.”

“Yes, sir.” This time, it was Dick and Jason in quick unison. There were times to argue and there were times to follow orders. Jason didn’t particularly want to find out what a siren would sing to him.

“Home, Dick,” Bruce said, standing. “Can you walk?”

“Whatcha gonna do if I say no, Old Man?” Dick teased, trying to smile. It wavered.

“Make Jason carry you,” Bruce said, without hesitation.

“I already lugged his sorry ass three blocks,” Jason said, ducking under Dick’s arm before Bruce could. “What’s another twenty feet.”

“You’re coming to the Manor?” Dick asked again, mostly managing his own weight. “For real?”

“I gotta get Alfred’s baked reward for saving you,” Jason said. “That’s my siren. Alfred singing with scones.”

Dick’s laugh was broken.

“Too soon?” Jason asked. “Too soon.”

“No, I was just…imagining Alfred singing ‘Spoonful of Sugar’ in the pool,” Dick said, wincing when he laughed again. He coughed. “Still in his suit.”

“The scones are soggy,” Jason said. “I still go in after ‘em. It’s worth it.”

“That’s gross, Jay.”

Jason opened the passenger door of Bruce’s car for Dick and Dick all but crawled onto the seat, buckled, and curled up.

“I call driver’s seat,” Jason said.

“That’s not…” Bruce started. He handed over the keys. “Speed limit. Get him home. I’m going to go to the Penthouse and then wait for Arthur.”

“Get in, B,” Dick said. “Please.”

Bruce stared for a long moment in the direction of the bay, something Jason couldn’t read on his face.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go home for now.”

[divinedinosaurs]

Example Writing!

Hi!  These are some of the fanfictions I did long ago!  

For quick reference, there’ll be snippets from fanfiction/original work beneath the cut!

SETTING

The soft lavender of early morning is breaking to the gentle silvered blue of sunrise.  Brilliant golden sun rays peek over the lip of the ridge surrounding them, shattered by the crooked black spine of glossy rocks sheltering the agricultural utopia.  They shaft through the air with a magnificence only found now, when no one stirs but beasts.  The light halos the lupen, casting their backs with glowing gold.  A breeze stirs through the vibrant yellow grasses that gave this region, the Golden Hills, its name.  The sunlight glitters off of the metallic blades of grass as it churns magnificent patterns, the contrasting colors of the valley’s shadow and the sun’s brilliance.  

Humming deep in his throat, he closes his eyes and lifts his face to the sun.  Its magnificent rays bathe his face in warmth, and a gentle breeze plays with his hair.  He breathes in and smells the fresh earth and sweet grasses.  The world feels new.  

This is the perfect time.  

For now, in this short time of early morning as the sun crests over the black stone and the world itself only begins to stir, it is quiet.  Other than the gentle murmur of the wind through grass, other than the quiet breathing of the lupen as they sniff at the dark earth, the world slumbers.  The whole world is consumed by a deep and peaceful silence.  

He will miss this quiet.  

But when day breaks so does the silence.  The whispering gives way to a mundane din of men at work in fields and the bellows of heavy-footed bolven.  People shout and cry out at one another; their raucous laughter echoes like warnings.  Amon has learned to flinch at the holler of his name, ordering him to get his ass here – it’s always too loud, too angry, too hard on the tongue.  Nothing like this quiet.  

BANTER

"Oh, boo, reports," Hasdiel says, sitting on the edge of the rickety desk Michael is lounging by, crumpling papers as he does. "That's all you ever do is look at papers." 

The human looks like Hasdiel's taken a shit on Michael's desk. He grins even wider. 

"Your boldness is excused," Michael says coolly, distractedly, still not looking up from the papers in his hand. His noble brow is furrowed almost imperceptibly - his golden eyes placid as always, but dangerous, like the calm sea before a storm. 

"Oh, put away your papers, old vulture, I've found something much more interesting," Hasdiel says, kicking at Michael's knee like a petulant child. Grinning, he produces his prize. "The humans call it a harmonica." 

Excitedly, Hasdiel blows into it. It makes a whining screech so horrible it feels like his ears are bleeding. 

"That's truly awful, Hasdiel." 

Hasdiel grins, dropping his hands to his lap. "I knew you'd love it." 

Michael chuckles, rolling and deep, like someone had chucked Hasdiel's beloved harmonica down a very, very deep well. There's a lack of his usual detached coolness, replaced instead by a distant warmth, like sun rays on a cool spring morning. 

Delighted, Hasdiel gives the harmonica a few more curious blows - each shriek more discordant than the last. Michael, chuckling, sets down his papers. 

"Leave us," he says to the human, who quickly scurries out. Hasdiel winks at her as she walks by and lets loose another scream from the harmonica. 

"You can't be playing that right," Michael says. 

"Oh, I'm definitely not." Hasdiel puncuates it with another scream of his harmonica. "But how adorably human. To make an instrument capable of such melodies" - Hasdiel blows, stringing a few pleasant notes together - "and such horrors." 

He takes a deep breath and makes the worst squeal yet. Michael laughs, tipping his head elegantly back, and those sun rays get a little bit stronger.

FLUFF

“Can’t imagine why not.”  Jean grins.  “You’re cute when you’re excited.  Your eyes light up – it’s really adorable.”

Marco smiles.  The tip of the straw twirls between his fingers coyly.

“Y’know, I almost wish this was a real date,” he says, propping his chin up on a hand.  “I can at least promise to text you if I’m late to dinners.”

“Appealing offer.”  Jean grins.  “Yet another reason you’re so much better than that asshole.  See, if this were a date, I’d treat you to something nicer than a shabby diner.”  His empty glass sits accusingly in front of him.  “…Though the milkshakes are fantastic.”

“They are,” Marco agrees enthusiastically.  “But if this was a real date, I’d suggest sharing one.  Much more romantic.”

The realization that Jean would very much like a real date with Marco smacks him upside the head.  He feels his cheeks heating like a schoolboy.  A nervous knot ties in his stomach.  Chuckling awkwardly, Jean wraps his hands around the milkshake glass and stares at his emptied plate.

“I, uh.  I – um.  Maybe… we could… next time?”

Goddamn.  That was – awkward as fuck.  Marco might just leave him now.

But it doesn’t seem like that.  In his periphery, Marco’s eyebrows shoot up, and his lips part small, excited O.

“Y’know… for an actual date?” Jean elaborates, feeling foolish.  His cheeks are actually on fire, he’s sure of it.  “If… that’s something you’d like?  Maybe somewhere nicer if you’d…?”

“Jean.”  A warm hand closes around his fingers, chilled from the cold glass.  “I would absolutely love to have a real date with you.”

MORE SETTING

Eren’s always loved the lively sprawl of a good traders’ den.  

Never, ever has he found a boring one, but some are just absolutely incredible. The thriving of a noisy, crowded, crime-riddled mess of markets and stalls that all seem to have one massive heartbeat, all the whores and beggars and merchants and thieves and mercenaries dancing to one colorful rhythm – that is what he loves.  

There’s always something happening in a good traders’ den.  Usually, there’s many things happening.  Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it things happening with one main stage for a select few events like the most exciting theater play.  

Dreki Kló is no disappointment.  Eren can’t help grinning from ear to ear as a running woman with a dagger in hand accidentally collides with a man beside him so hard they both crash into the waves.  Bubbles froth upwards, a few limbs breach the surface.  Only the woman emerges again, but she seems to have lost her dagger.  

The air smells of piss and sweat and ale.  Eren breathes in deeply and grins all the more broadly.  

ANGST

I kiss his forehead tenderly and let my body fall heavily back against the mattress again.  Jean, carrying on with his massage, waits patiently for me to find my words.  His ginger touch makes me feel safer, a physical anchor to him and the world around me.

Everything happened a long time ago, of course.  But trauma is a wound.  And like any wound, it infects if it is closed hastily with thick thread and blunt needles without washing the dirt from the sore.  One who does not care to cleanse, to receive help and accept the healing – one who sews it shut impatiently to have it over with, who ignores the severity of their injury – is doomed to have it reopened again and again.  The horrible memories can fester worse than any wound, like a plague of the mind, and I know it better than any.

That said, my wound wasn’t cleaned properly.  I had the stitches torn open time and time again, none of it by my own accord, and I always was left in a daze of pain worse than the last.  It feels – odd, to say the least, to be the one prying these memories from their tightly sealed case in the back of my mind.

[...]

There are things I do not tell him.  I do not tell him how it wailed, how it swam towards me in vain hope of rescue.  I do not tell him how it reared its head from the water while the thunder crashed and drowned out its cries.  I do not tell him of the lightning that formed silver sickles in its pale yellow eyes when it met my gaze and bleated for salvation, and how the salt clogged my throat when I screamed its name, how my numb legs pumped fruitlessly in the pitch black sea.  I do not mention the horrible, sticky warmth of the water as I drew nearer, and how a red tinge clung to my clothes for weeks afterwards.  I do not tell him that the warmth of its spilled blood was the only reason I didn’t freeze and die there beside it in the cold, dark sea. 

It is not that I don’t trust him with the gruesome details – Jean would understand the horror of it all better than any, I think.  But it is also… raw.

Dirt in the wound.  Dirt that must be cleaned.  But not now. 

TENDERNESS

The straps beneath my stump are difficult for me to reach – they’re smaller and slender.  After a few fumbled attempts of pulling them through the buckles, Jean clucks his tongue and moves closer.  He brushes my fingers away.  

“I’ve got this,” he reassures, glancing quickly up at my face.  I hesitate, but my hand falls back complacently by my side, a silent declaration of trust I’m not quite sure he understands.  

“I can do it myself, you know,” I murmur.

“I know.”  His fingers pause for half a second, resting against my breast.  “I want to.”

He glances at me so quickly only the swift flash of gold from his lovely eyes can betray him.  A light pink colors his cheeks.  Ducking his head, he busies himself in adjusting my armor.  

There is a gentleness in his movements that takes me aback.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that nimble fingers work so delicately to fasten it all into place.  But that isn’t merely it – he seems tentative, careful, as if with a wrong touch I may fall to pieces like a delicate spring bloom.  So different than the callus touch of Berk.  It’s strange, but in its strangeness is intrigue.  

Jean tugs down on the leather.  Satisfied with its snug fit, he turns attention to straightening out every last detail.  Straightening the strap across my chest, shifting the pauldron, growing so close I can smell his hair to straighten its collar.  

He smells of pine.  I know not how he could, on an island with no evergreen, but it’s nice.  A kick of nostalgia hits me hard in the gut at the memories of Berk’s lush forests.  

Jean’s ministrations draws my attention back.  His hands linger across my abdomen, flattening the scales of my armor slowly.  The gentle pressure feels ever so heavenly.  I lean slightly into his touch.  

SUSPENSE

The one-armed Chief faces the Boneknapper, his expression stone.  His bear cloak ripples in the wind as regally as any king’s velvet.  Braced in one strong hand, a slender broadsword gleams wickedly.  Its flash of silver is the only thing keeping the dragon at bay.  

The Boneknapper snarls.  A shiver runs down its back, rattling its bones together threateningly.  Its long, wickedly sharp talons sink into the oozing mud with every cautious step, leaving long-fingered prints in its wake.  

The pair size one another up and circle each other slowly.  Clattering bones and snarls, careful steps and silence.  Neither seems willing to make the first move.  It is the tense calm before a storm, the moment a doe looks into the hungry eyes of a wolf before she flees, the still second before the poisoned arrow is released.  If either one strikes, there is a mutually assured potential for this fight to end in defeat.  

It is an unsteady calm.  

And then, suddenly, it’s broken.  

[sinbinsidney]

gospel around his fingers

Dex slams the door shut and presses against the wood, leaning his head back and sucking in a deep breath. He stares blindly up at the ceiling and–

“Nurse, I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in the room. Not counting me.” Lardo pretends to flip a lock of hair over her shoulder. “We all know I’d smoke you bitches,” she adds, grinning. Her teeth flash in the low lighting, and she knocks back the last of her drink as the gather group lets out joking boos.

They all “ooh” at Nursey as he raises a challenging eyebrow and smirks at Lardo. He makes a show of looking around the room, leering slightly at the other players of spin the bottle – Holster, Dex, Tango, Ollie, Wicks, and a few members of the volleyball and soccer teams. Bitty is grinning from his spot on the floor next to Lardo and Dex, watching as Nursey catches the eye of each person.

“Dex!” The memory is abruptly interrupted as Chowder’s voice comes from beyond the door. “Come on, man!” Dex tries to straighten up, but his legs refuse to work. He sinks down to the floor, back still pressed against the door, trying to suck in deep breaths of air. He drops his head between his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and–

Dex watches as Nursey tilts his head and grins at Lardo again; he can hear the sounds of the party around them as Bitty leans against him for a second, swaying with his inebriated fit of the giggles. Dex’s drink is in a cup by his side, questionable contents a source of courage in this dumb game Holster has suggested. He’s buzzed, but not drunk, since the night is still pretty young, and he has a 8AM tomorrow he really hates showing up hungover for.

He’s brought back to the game as Nursey leans forward into the middle of the circle.

“No fucking question,” he says, “I know who’s the prettiest.” Dex rolls his eyes. He looks down to locate his drink, not really willing to sit and watch Nurse make out with someone. Again.

The immediate crowd around him goes quiet.

Dex feels a warm palm curl around his jaw, tipping his face up.

He meets Nursey’s green, green gaze, and his own eyes widen with shock.

Nursey leans forward, and his breath is warm across Dex’s skin.

Dex can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe. Jesus, it’s been awhile since he’s freaked this badly. He fists his hands in his hair, trying to get a grip, and feels a muffled thump against the door at his back.

“Dex!”

His lungs won’t fucking work.

Nursey’s lips are soft, his stubble scratching slightly, but his mouth is gentle against Dex’s. His hand drifts up over the sharp corner of Dex’s jaw and into his hair, thumb stroking over Dex’s temple. Dex reflexively curls his hands over Nursey’s ribs, eyes slamming shut as he inhales sharply in shock. Distantly, he can hear the muffled sounds of cheering from the surrounding crowd of people, but all he’s focused on is the rabbiting thump of his heartbeat in his ears.

Nursey makes a little sound as he feels Dex’s hands on him, chest lifting as he leans into Dex’s touch. Dex fists his hands in Nursey’s shirt and lets out a noise of his own when Nursey pulls away for a second, long legs scrambling as he fits himself into Dex’s lap.

He feels like he’s moving in a daydream, everything syrupy sweet and slow as Nursey worries his lower lip with his teeth, licking over the soft bite in apology. Dex opens his mouth, lets him in, tugs him closer by the hand he has tight in the fabric over his heart and the palm wrapped around his waist.

Bitty knocks into his side and he’s abruptly torn out of the daydream. He jerks back from the wet heat of Nursey’s mouth; Nursey falls back into the middle of the ring, eyes wide and shocked as he lands on his ass. Something shutters in his eyes as he turns to grin at Lardo.

“There. Prettiest in the room,” he snarks, standing up to perform a sweeping bow as the crowd whistles and cheers, applauding like it was a fucking performance, which -

Oh.

Dex feels his stomach drop, ice rushing through his veins even as the aching scorch of humiliation burns its way across his skin. He scrambles up from his seat, knocking his cup to the side as he staggers back from the ring of people who turn to look at him, laughing and grinning.

He stammers out an apology and turns away, barely feeling it when he slams his shoulder into Chowder’s as he takes off. He needs to get away, right fucking now.

A performance. Of course.

He barely feels it when Chowder finally puts enough force behind the door to push it (and Dex) out of the way. Dex sees his battered Chuckies come into view through the gap in his knees as he stares blindly down at the floor, trying to keep enough air in his lungs. He feels Chowder press a hand to his shoulder as he kneels down, frantic murmur of his voice breaking through the cotton stuffed in his head.

“Get Nursey, he knows how to help with this.” Dex begins to frantically shake his head, but Chowder just shushes him and shifts his hand to the back of Dex’s neck, trying to ground him.

Dex is trying to stop the shaking in his hands as they clench in his hair when he feels someone else kneel next to his side.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, you’re okay. In and out with me, man, it’s okay,” he hears. Nursey takes the hand tugging on his hair and presses it to his chest, leans down to quietly speak near his ear. “Feel me breathe, in and out.”

Dex shudders through a breath, failing to match Nursey, but he gets a ragged gasp out. Distantly, he knows he’s going to be mortified about this happening in front of other people, later, but at the moment he’s just relieved to have some oxygen.

Nursey wraps his hand around Dex’s neck, curling it over Chowder’s where he’s still on Dex’s other side; their palms feel warm even through the heat in his skin. Dex’s palm is still over Nursey’s heart. He concentrates on the steady thump of it as his chest rises and falls with the measured breaths he takes. Chowder counts him out, low voice softly reciting “In, two-three-four-five-six, hold, two-three-four, out, two-three-four-five-six-seven.”

Eventually, the dizziness in his head clears, and he slowly lifts his gaze, not meeting their eyes. He keeps doing the calming rhythm of breathing they had led him in, but there are no more gasps. He unclenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Sorry,” he rasps. Chowder makes a quiet noise, shuffling on his knees a bit. Dex looks up to meet his gaze, already feeling a little blush stealing over his cheeks. “Uh,” Dex clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Dex,” Chowder’s voice is gentle as Dex shifts his weight forward, preparing to stand.

“Hold up, Poindexter, just give yourself a second more,” Nursey says. Dex swallows and doesn’t look over.

“I’m fine,” he says, leaning heavily against the wall as he stands up.

“Dex–”

“I’m fine.” Chowder’s mouth closes with a snap, slight frown etched on his face. Dex sighs and opens his arms. “Sorry, Chow.”

He’s immediately wrapped up in a Chowder Hug™, arms tight around his ribs and chin tucked over his shoulder as Dex startles a bit. He relaxes into the hug much faster than he normally would, ducking his head and closing his eyes as he pats Chowder’s back.

“Okay, alright,” he says, once Chowder shows no signs of backing off. “Chowder.”

“Chow.”

“Chris.”

“Sorry! Sorry. Just. Sorry.” Chris says as he steps away. “Are you okay?” Dex tries to give him a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace.

“I’m good.” He shrugs. “Probably going to head home, though.” Chowder nods in understanding and keeps close to his side as he leaves. “Come on, Chow, get back to Farmer. I’m good, I promise.”

Chowder looks him over with a critical eye. “Are you sure?” he asks, tilting his head. Dex nods tiredly.

“I’ve got him, Chowder.” Nursey’s voice comes from behind them, barely heard over the distant music from the Haus. Chowder grins and thumps Nursey on the back, pressing a hand to Dex’s shoulder before he leaves.

Dex takes a deep breath and sets out determinedly towards his dorm, letting Nursey fall into step beside him.

“Can we talk about this later?” he asks.

“If, by later, you mean in ten minutes once we get into your room? Yes.” Nursey’s voice is still level and measured, his eyes straight ahead when Dex sneaks a glance at him.

They don’t talk for the rest of the walk, letting the sounds of Samwell River fill the silence as they head to East Quad, where their sophomore dorms are.

It’s only when Dex is sitting cross-legged on his bed, back pressed to the wall, and Nursey is on his desk that he speaks.

“So. Is this a freakout because you kissed a dude, or…?” Nursey asks. Dex sends him a tired glare.

“Nope,” he bites out. Nursey blinks at him expectantly. Dex rolls his eyes. “Alright, therapy time? Is that what this is?”

“That’s what this is.” Dex sighs.

“No, it’s not a gay freakout. Got over that after a talk with Jack when he and Bits came out.” He looks down at his fiddling fingers, feeling the silence stretch between them again. “He’s helped me work through some shit,” he finishes gruffly.

“What is it, then?” Dex looks up and meets Nursey’s gaze for the first time since their– their kiss ended. All of the sudden, anger rushes through him. An image of the smirk on Nursey’s face as he bowed springs to the forefront of his mind, and he’s fucking furious.

“Fuck you. Fuck. You.”

“Woah, Dex–” Nursey puts his hands up, furrowing his brow.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Dex–”

“Fucking, look at me. You think I find it amusing, to have someone who looks like you make fun of me like that?” Dex springs off the bed, pacing around as he works himself up.

“Wh–”

“I know what I fucking look like, alright, I don’t fucking need your goddamned input.”

“Dex!”

“What,” he bites out, whirling around to face Nursey, who stood up as Dex continued to rant.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dex scoffs, baring his teeth at Nursey.

“‘The prettiest person in the room?’ Yeah, let’s pick the big-eared, gangly, awkward ginger. He’ll find it fucking hilarious.” He crosses his arms.

Nursey stares at him, mouth slightly open.

Dex fucking hates him. Hates that dumb look on his face, hates how humiliated he feels, how part of him cringes every time he remembers how into the kiss he had to seem, how everyone knows how much he wants Nursey.

How much Nursey doesn’t want him.

To his horror, he can feel his eyes beginning to burn, jaw starting to tremble. He turns away hurriedly, shoulders tight.

“Get out,” he says, voice thickening.

“No, Dex, come on. You don’t understand,” Nursey says. Dex feels the first tear spill over his cheek, catching on his jaw.

“Out.”

“Dex–” Nursey grabs his shoulder and whirls him around. Dex flinches away and turns his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh.” Nursey’s voice is soft. Dex lets out a shuddering breath and clenches his jaw.

Defiantly, he turns and faces Nursey head on, brows drawn down and shoulders shaking minutely as a tear catches on the corner of his mouth.

“The only reason I like early morning practices is because you come in with bedhead and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Nursey says breathlessly. Dex blinks in shock, lashes clumped with the tears he’s trying valiantly to hold back.

“I told you, it’s not fucking funny, Nurse,” he chokes out from behind the lump in his throat. Nurse shakes his head vigorously, taking a step forward, gaze still locked on Dex’s face.

“The way the light catches your eyes when we’re at breakfast is breathtaking,” he continues.

“Nurse–”

“I dropped a dumbbell on my foot the other day when I saw you doing your squats.” Nursey starts to babble. “I have pages dedicated to the way your hands look when you work, entire collections devoted to the way you talk, laugh, smile, scowl, anything. I love the way you sound when you tell Chowder ‘sweet dreams’ because you know it makes him smile, even though you think you sound like an idiot. I get butterflies whenever someone says your name, Dex, I just–”

“Derek.” Nursey cuts off at the sound of Dex’s voice. He drops his gaze and takes a deep breath in. “You…you weren’t just fucking with me?”

“No, Dex.” He looks back up at Dex, and there’s more than a little fear in his eyes. “I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” he finishes quietly. Dex doesn’t say anything, just looking back at Nursey.

He reaches forward and presses his hand over Nursey’s heart, feeling the rabbiting beat of his heart under his palm, a fast echo of his own pulse in his ears. Dex lifts his hand and cups Nursey’s face with it, thumb brushing the soft skin just under his eye. Nursey shudders out a breath and closes his eyes, long lashes tickling the edge of Dex’s finger.

Their second kiss is almost the exact opposite of their first: no cheering, no audience. Just the quiet rasp of Dex’s fingers over Nursey’s stubble, the little noise Nursey makes when Dex sinks into the kiss a little deeper.

Dex breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against Nursey’s.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, too,” he says breathlessly. Nursey laughs, teeth flashing in the pale light of the moon streaming through Dex’s windows. He takes the hand he has tucked into Dex’s back pocket and the one pressed against his shoulder blade to spin Dex around and kiss him again, letting him fall back onto his bed.

Dex looks up at him, eyes wide, as he scoots back and lets Nursey clamber up and over his lap, straddling his hips as he leans down to reconnect their lips.

He leans his weight on the hand he has pressed next to Dex’s head and uses the other to card through Dex’s hair, which feels so fucking good Dex thinks he could be purring.

“Love the way your hair looks when it’s messy,” Nursey says as he kisses his way across Dex’s cheekbone to his ear, voice low. Dex gasps a little when he feels Nursey press a kiss to his ear and suck a mark into the skin just below it, right up against his jawline.

“Derek.” Nursey drops his head to Dex’s chest, huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t – don’t stop?”

“Never, babe.”

“Oh, pet names? Is that what we’re doing?” Nursey hums and kisses Dex again with a smile on his lips.

“Hells yeah.”

“I hate you.”

“You think I’m hot, you think I’m sexy, you wanna bone me, baby” Nursey croons in a sing-song. Dex blushes red and grumbles indistinctly.

“Shut the fuck up, moron.” He pulls Nursey down into a kiss by the hand he has curled around his neck, fingers playing with the little curls there.

“That’s not a pet name,” Nursey says into his mouth.

“Why are you talking when I’m trying to kiss you?” Dex pouts at him. Nursey can’t help but to crack a grin and kiss Dex’s cheek.

“Aw, come on, you know I love you.” Nursey doesn’t realize what he says until Dex chokes on air, eyes wide and shocked.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I’m the worst, what the fuck.” He tries to scramble off of Dex, but his foot gets caught in the blankets and he tumbles off the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor with a thump.

“Jesus, Nurse? You okay?” Dex rolls over to look down at him, grinning. His cheeks are bright red.

“Mgrph nfrthmp,” Nursey says, face down on the floor. Dex rolls his eyes. He leans down and pokes at Nursey’s shoulder.

“Hey, Nurse. Nursey. Nurse-a-rino. Derek. Der-bear. Derring-do. Dirk. De-de-de-de-derek. D–”

Nursey rolls over. “Oh hey, there you are.”

Nursey won’t quite meet his eyes. Dex pats his chest and leans back up onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I love you too, you know.” He grins as Derek chokes below him.

“What?” He sounds shocked. “You – you do?” Nursey’s head pops up from the edge of the bed. Dex pats his head, stroking gently over his curls, humming as he nods, apparently unconcerned. His heart beats far too quickly in his chest, and the fiery blush across his cheeks gives him away.

Nursey’s on him again in half a second, laughing as he pushes at Dex’s shoulder, wrestling with him in the small space of a dorm bed.

“You asshole, I thought I fucked up so badly, oh my god. I hate you,” he gets out between laughs. Dex is smiling up at him, easily fending off any of Nursey’s attacks. He gets his legs wrapped around Nursey’s waist and blinks up at Nursey through his lashes.

His red hair is mussed and falling over his forehead just a bit, his freckles illuminated in the moonlight. He bites his lower lip, letting his teeth drag over the petal-soft skin. Nursey stops his wrestling and stares, transfixed, as Dex tilts his head a little coyly.

In a flash, Dex has him pinned on his back, twisting his hips and flipping them over until he’s on top, taking advantage of Nursey’s distraction.

“Gotcha,” he says quietly into the space between them. Nursey lets his head fall back onto the pillow and smiles.

“Yeah, Dex. You’ve got me.”

A/N: Thanks for reading! I have no idea where sophomore dorms are, so I just kind of put them somewhere.

Title comes from Profane by Ashe Vernon (who is kickass and definitely my favorite poet).

[twdgfanfiction]

Chapter 36 - The Northern City

The further Lee and his companions drove up north, the colder he could feel outside the vehicle, the snow outside thicker than any of the snow he seen fallen back in Howe's. The road they drove down showed nothing but open fields on both sides, trees seen in the distance that made up a never ending forest. Beside him, Alicia had already fallen asleep, her head resting against his shoulder as he stared down at her peaceful face, her mouth slightly open as she snored softly. They'd been driving for hours, and he started to feel his legs cramping up from sitting down for so long, looking away from Alicia as he glanced out of the window again. Al said nothing, knowing things were still awkward between her and Lee ever since the rebellion, and so she just kept driving down the snow covered road.

After a few more minutes of silence, Al gave in and finally piped up. "Okay, I'm gonna go crazy with this silence. How long have we even been driving for?"

Glancing down at his watch, Lee noted that it was almost four in the afternoon, raising an eyebrow as he replied. "It's been nearly seven hours. We got another one to go before we reach Wellington."

Groaning in annoyance, she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, not really holding onto it due to the straight road for miles ahead. She quickly glanced at the speedometer, before she returned her gaze on the road. "My legs are cramping up bad. I can't wait to just get there, see what those guys got set up."

"Edith said they were numbering in the hundred." Lee recalled, turning his head to Al as he added. "Could do Howe's some good learning some of Wellington's skills."

"No wonder they're running out of food, though. You ain't growing shit in this weather." The female guard pointed out, looking off into the distance as the grey clouds covered all the sky, the sun hiding behind them and casting the surroundings in dull colours, the white snow standing out against the dark trees and tarmac. Lee nodded in agreement, the heat from the vehicle's radiator the only thing keeping them from freezing all throughout the journey, the warm air being blown around the small cab.

The guards inside the truck, sitting with the supplies, were likely freezing their asses off, and he jumped slightly when he suddenly heard banging on the wall behind them, a muffled voice cursing before they yelled. "We gotta make a stop now! I need to take a leak!"

"Are you fucking serious?!" Al shot back, forgetting to watch her voice as it woke Alicia up, the latter jolting from her slouched position before glancing around, confusion and a tinge of fear on her face until she realised where she was. Staring at Alicia, the female guard swore quietly. "Shit. Sorry about that, Alicia."

"What's with all the yelling?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand whilst yawning.

"I'm about to wet myself, stop the fucking truck!" The voice shouted out. Lee groaned deeply as his hand covered his face, shaking his head as Alicia sat there dumbfounded, an embarrassed look and her reddened cheeks showing how off guard that comment caught her. Blinking a few times, she said nothing as Al let out an exasperated sigh, slowing the vehicle down and moving it to the side of the road.

When the truck stopped, she opened the driver's door, jumping down on the snow covered floor as Lee opened his door, quickly turning to Alicia as he hopped down. "I'm just gonna stretch my legs for a minute. You coming?"

"Nah, I'm fine sitting here." She rejected, sitting there as he nodded, closing the door again before turning around. Moving to the back of the truck, he watched as Al opened the door, the four guards sitting there with the most unappreciated expression Lee had ever seen on someone, Joel standing at the back with an annoyed look as another guard, a younger male with a youthful face and ginger hair, his puffy jacket zipped up to fight against the bitter cold, jumped down.

"Jesus, how long have we gotta wait for you to piss yourself?" Al snapped, looking around with a paranoid expression. "You realise we're sitting ducks because of your tiny bladder, Liam? If we get killed because of you, I'm coming back as a walker and ripping your fucking dick off!"

"Fucking chill, alright!?" he growled, moving away to urinate. "I ain't gonna be long, then we can get moving."

With their friend relieving himself, Joel moved to the edge of the truck and sat down, his gun sitting in his lap as he glanced up at Lee, quickly looking around whilst asking. "You know how much further we got?"

"Another hour. You guys holding up alright?" he questioned, glancing at the crates full of supplies that they pack in the back. One of the guards was sitting on the box of food, a book in her hands whilst her gun was propped against the wall facing her, whilst the others just sat on the floor with bored looks on their faces.

Staring inside the truck, he listened as Joel complained. "Man, my legs are dead. Can't wait to get out of this goddamn truck and see what all the fuss about Wellington is about."

"Well, we ain't going anywhere until Pissy Pants over there is done." Al sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the truck, her foot tapping against the snow when she added. "I really don't like this. I hope Liam will hurry up."

"How long does it take to piss?" Joel snapped, looking over to where Liam had wandered off to, spotting the young man with his back to them, his voice loud as he called out. "Liam, goddammit, how long you gonna take?!"

"Jesus Christ, alright, alright! I'm coming back!" he shot back, zipping up his trousers and making his way back over with his gun held in one hand. Lee shook his head, deciding to make his way back to the cab to get ready for the journey again, reaching the door when he heard yelling. Panic quickly set in. Turning his head, he saw that Liam fell over, a walker quickly grabbing hold of his leg and sinking its teeth into his ankle, blood dripping out and staining the white snow a dark red.

His screams of agony rang through the air, Al rushing over as she stove the walker's head in, the head collapsing in from the harsh blow. With the threat taken cared off, she kneeled down beside him, her face fallen in shock as Lee ran over to them. Fishing the pistol out of his jacket, he aimed it, looking around them to see if there was any danger around them. Unable to see anything, despite the thick trees, he lowered his weapon, heart beating fast as he then turned around, looking down at the injured Liam as he laid there, Al by his side as she glanced up at their leader.

Clutching his leg, he could only whimper in pain as she looked at his bite wound, Lee sparing a glance at it whilst wincing. The walker had torn completely through his pants, tearing fabric that was stained with his blood, the skin underneath chewed to shit with muscles torn to shreds, his achilles heel severed deeply and causing blood to gush out. Al froze at the sight, unable to do anything to save him as, whilst shaking her head, she cursed loudly. "Fuck, what the shit happened?!"

"The fucking thing was hidden under the snow! I didn't know until I literally stepped on it!" Liam cried out, grunting as he stared down at the bite wound. "I'm gonna die, aren't I?"

"Just stay still," Lee started, kneeling down to get a better look at the bite wound with a disgusted expression. Trying to move the fabric to get a better look at the damage, he accidentally hurt Liam, the guard yelping in pain as he tried to pull his leg away. Flinching at the movement, Lee quickly swore. "Shit! I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!"

"Fucking, shit!" he grunted, gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to control the pain.

"Fucking hell! We ain't got anything to cut it off, or bandages to wrap the wound up!" Al revealed, unsure what to do as Lee stared down at Liam's face, seeing the fear and pain clear in his eyes. The sounds of his screaming didn't go unnoticed, as walkers appeared in the distance, moving slowly due to the cold of the north. Al was right, if they would take him, his wound would only cause Liam to bleed out, putting the rest of them in danger when he turned.

"You can't leave me here!" he begged, looking up in the direction Lee was staring in, noticing the walkers making their way to them as he yelled desperately. "Oh god, you can't let them get me!"

Staring down at him, Al appeared thoughtful, before she closed her eyes, taking a moment to calm herself down before standing up, aiming her rifle at him as she apologized. "I'm sorry… We can't do anything for you."

"Please, I'm begging you-!" She fired, ignoring his pleas as the bullet shot through his forehead, his body freezing from the impact before collapsing to the ground. Lee flinched at the loud sound, staring at Liam's corpse with a saddened look, feeling somewhat nauseated from the sight of his glassy eyes staring up at the sky, frozen in fear. The walkers gave them no time to grieve, or to take his body, as they closed the distance between them and the remaining survivors. He saw the corpses coming closer, pulling Al with him as she still stared at the body.

"We gotta go!" he yelled, pulling her away as he turned away, waving at Joel as he stood near the truck, his voice echoing as he screamed at him. "Get the door closed, now!"

He obeyed his orders, jumping back into the truck and shutting the door, protecting him and the other guards from the undead. Moving backwards, Lee watched in panic as some of the walkers came closer, growling as he tried to get Al to run for it, the latter just standing there as she stared at the body. Quickly, he shook her, glancing nervously at the walkers as he tried to get through to her. "Al, we gotta go, now! We can't stay here!"

With saddened eyes, she sniffed, staring up at Lee as she replied. "Liam, he's-"

"He's gone! We can't do anything to bring him back, and if we stay here, we will die! Now, move!" he interrupted, practically dragging her to truck and leaving Liam's body behind. The walkers were too close, some distracted with the body whilst others stumbled after the retreating survivors. Rushing back to the truck, Lee jumped in the passenger's side, slamming the door shut whilst Al got in through the driver's door, shutting the door behind her as she started speeding down the road, leaving the walkers behind them.

Sitting there, they both spared each other a look, whilst Alicia glanced around, her voice worried as she asked them. "What happened!? I heard screaming."

Al didn't reply, instead staring down at the steering wheel with an emotional expression, whilst Lee just stared out of the window. Arms crossed, he sighed deeply, and finally explained what happened to her. "One of the boys didn't see a walker under the snow, and accidentally stepped on it. The thing… tore completely through his ankle. There was nothing we could do."

"What? He was out there for five minutes! How could it have happened that quickly?!" she gasped, shocked to find out what happened. Al was silent, just staring ahead with a solemn look on her face, both Alicia and Lee staring at her with concerned expressions before the former called out to her. "Al? I'm sorry you were out there when it happened."

"I had to put him down. There was no way around it." She muttered, sounding like she was convincing herself rather than the others, and continued as Lee watched on. "Liam was a little shit, got on my nerves all the time, but he was just a boy. Fucking hell, he was younger than Alex was."

"There was nothing else you could have done. He didn't want to be eaten by those things… you made the right call." Lee tried to comfort her. His words seemed to have some effect, as she nodded with a sad smile, before it fell into a frown once more and she looked away, continuing to drive in silence. Lee and Alicia said no more, unable to bring her out of her glumness. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms whilst staring out of the window. The rest of the journey would be a long one.

After an hour had passed, he noticed a large wall in the distance, the giant structure spanning for miles in both directions and covering everything within the community. It was impressive, something that the three survivors gawked at as they drove closer, Lee sitting forward as he noticed a large gate blocking entry into the huge city, a small box sitting on top that allowed the guards keeping watch to see far into the distance for any danger. Alicia stared at it with a surprised expression, turning to Lee as she muttered. "That would keep any walkers out."

"How long do you reckon that took to build?" he replied, still staring at the wall as Al slowed the truck down, opening the door when they came to a complete stop. Jumping down, he stared up at the box, noting one of the guards staring down at him with a wary expression, whilst the other was someone he recognized immediately.

With a smile, he called up to them. "Edith! It's been a while!"

"Holy shit, Lee? What're you doing here?" she asked, moving closer to the railing along the open box above the gate, staring down at him before looking over at the truck, her face falling into a confused expression. "That ain't our truck. Where's our people? They were meant to be back yesterday!"

"There's been a problem, we need you to let us in!" he replied loudly, watching as Edith moved backwards, away from the railing. Standing there, watching as she talked quietly to the guard beside her, Lee was silent as he saw her nodding before she disappeared from view, turning around to shrug his shoulders at Alicia, the woman sitting in the truck with a worried expression. Quickly, he heard something creaking behind him, turning back around to see the doors leading into the community opening, Edith standing there with a gun in hand. Moving to the side, she gestured for the truck to drive through, the vehicle slowly passing Lee as he walked over to Edith.

She just stood there, watching the truck drive by before turning to Lee, her voice quiet as she asked him. "What's gone on? You look like shit's about to go down."

"We need to talk to your leaders, Edith. We have big problems." He muttered, noting her unsure expression and interrupted her before she could say anything, his voice low and sharp as he grumbled. "I'm not discussing it here, not when people can hear and panic. You have to trust me."

"Alright… Alright, I'll take you to the headquarters." With that, she motioned for him to follow her, the duo making their way over to the stopped truck. Al was already out, conversing with Sam as he joked about something, a quiet laugh coming from the female survivor as she appeared genuinely happy for the distraction. Alicia just watched from the back, having opened the back door to let Joel and the other guards out, all of them standing as Lee and Edith approached them.

Noticing them, Alicia walked over slowly, a soft smile on her face as she complemented the community. "It's such a lovely place here. How do you guys keep it going?"

"We're pretty strict with all the rationing and bringing people in, we've had to turn some folks away these past few months because of all the shortages we're going through. When spring comes, we can start using the fields again without worrying about the frost killing all the crops." Edith explained, turning to Sam and Al as she ordered her brother. "Sam, take the truck and the guards to storage, I'll take Lee and Alicia to headquarters for talks."

"Alright, come on. I can show you how lovely Wellington is when you move past all the dead things walking about." He joked to Al, unnoticing of her flinch as her expression fell, the memories of what happened just before fresh in her mind. Sam appeared to have unnoticed her change in expression, rather hoping into the truck with her as he held his head out the window, quickly addressing his sister. "Don't be too long. We're swapping posts at nightfall."

"I won't. Go on, we need those supplies secured." She sent off, watching as he pulled his body back into the truck and slowly drove down the road. Standing there with her and Alicia, he looked around the community, noticing the widely spaced houses and land. The long road ahead had trees on both sides, some driveways branching off the main road and leading to the homes. It appeared that people lived there, a couple sitting on the porch whilst their children played in the snow, enjoying the scene as they threw snowballs at each other.

The grown up watched Lee and Alicia however, unsure what to make of the newcomers. Lee watched them as well, listening as Edith explained quietly. "You gotta forgive them, we've had problems with people these past few weeks."

"There's problems here? What sort of problems?" he asked, somewhat worried about the safety of their allies.

Edith appeared wary, unable to answer his question as she brushed off. "That's something I can't disclose. Don't worry, we've handled it."

"Where's this headquarters then?" Alicia asked, eager to get the meetings underway as she added. "We've been driving for hours. I could really do with getting these talks over with and rest up."

"Oh, just this way. The headquarters are in the center of town." She replied, guiding Lee and Alicia down the shovelled road. No snow was on the tarmac, looking like the people of Wellington kept the main road clear of anything to allow the trucks to drive through without incident, though there was still plenty of snow for the children to play with. One of them laughed loudly, throwing the snowball at her friend, but she missed her target and nearly caught Lee, the older man dodging the projectile and looking over at the child with a stunned expression.

Realising what she did, she stared at him with wide eyes, before her friends giggled and dragged her away, running to avoid being told off by Edith or their parents. The adults shook their head at the scene, turning to Lee with a sheepish look whilst he just brushed it off. Alicia was amused by the incident, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow, laughing softly when he shook his head and kept walking. Edith stood in front of them, smiling at some of the survivors when they greeted her. Unable to stay for a chat, the trio kept moving, the female guard piping up. "We've kept the houses in the suburbs to house people in, but we're finding it hard to provide shelter for all the people living here. Some have had to stay in the school, the nursing home, even the abandoned shops."

"Damn, I'm sorry to hear that." Lee frowned, pausing for a few moments before he added. "How are things going on with you and the others? It's been awhile since we've last talked."

"Sam's been the same. He won a packet of cigarettes gambling the other night, until it turned out he was counting the cards. He had to be put in jail for the night because of complaints." She mused, noticing Lee's and Alicia's surprised expressions. "He didn't take the caution. It was his own fault, I told him to stop counting the cards."

"Okay, besides Sam's gambling addictions, what else has been going on?" Lee joked, finding it somewhat funny that her brother got caught and thrown in jail over counting cards. During these times, he could think of far worse crimes, but knowing the male survivor like Lee did, he couldn't put it past Sam.

"Huan and I are going strong. We had a day off for a dinner together, it was pretty romantic." She revealed, slowing down so Alicia was by her as she confided in the other woman, her voice quieted so that no one could overhear them. "We had such a lovely night, you know."

"From that tone, I would imagine." Alicia shot back, a smirk on her face as she asked her. "You know any dirty words in mandarin?"

"All of them." Lee coughed loudly, feeling awkward with the two women talking about sex just a foot away from him. Edith decided to leave the conversation at that, walking back in front of the two newcomers as she added quickly, clearing her throat. "We're almost there."

She was right. The open spaces and the largely spaced houses grew less and less as they walked, the group finding themselves standing on a large junction. Without cars crossing all the time, it was packed with people instead, survivors getting to their homes or places where they worked, some pushing crates on trolleys that were full of supplies, likely taking them to the storage in the center of town. Lee watched the busy scene, finding himself somewhat overwhelmed with the amount of activity going on around him. He had not seen this many people living together since before the plague.

Crossing the junction, he glanced up into the distance, spotting a tall tower sticking out from behind the busy shops around them, the houses becoming closer to each other with less land for each home. Trees continued to line the road, before they slowly disappeared as the road widened, another junction reaching the group as they paused, Edith turning left as she muttered to them. "This way, we ain't far."

Following after her, Lee stared up at the building to their left with awe. It was a beautifully structured building, with two points on the roof sticking up as spikes and a part built up to hold a large bell, the bell no longer in use to avoid bringing the dead from miles around. Some people were sitting in front, near a monument and a long pole, the american flag flying in the cold winds. Standing in front of it, he listened as Edith explained. "This was the Memorial Library, but we made it into headquarters when we first started the community here."

"We should go in, then." Alicia suggested, making her way along the path with Edith beside her. Lee paused, staring up at the library as the sun started falling down behind it, casting the path and grassy areas in front in shadows. After standing there for a few moments, he finally started making his way after them, eager to get out of the dropping temperature and harsh winds.

Inside, the tall shelves spanned along the entire length of the building, rows upon rows full of books. People sat on the chairs, reading quietly to themselves, whilst a elderly woman sat at the desk near the entrance. Thick, curly grey hair sprung from their head similar to how Clementine used to wear her hair, something that jumped out to Lee immediately as he, alongside Edith and Alicia, approached her. Brown eyes set behind thick reading glasses, the old woman glanced up when Edith cleared her throat, a soft smile on her face as the younger survivor whispered. "I'm here with Lee and Alicia, they're from the community down south. Where's Elijah and the others?"

"They're talking about something upstairs, in their office." The woman replied, looking over at Lee and Alicia as she welcomed them. "I hope you enjoy your visit here, dears."

"Thank you, ma'am." Alicia replied gratefully, her and Lee following after Edith as she motioned for the two visitors to follow her. Walking towards stairs that led to the first floor,

"This place is so beautiful." Alicia awed, looking around as the trio walked up the stairs quickly, glancing over at Lee as she asked him. "I would've thought this place would have been trashed in the chaos."

"Actually, a small group had barricaded themselves in this library for the first few days this happened. The walls weren't erected for a good month, and we were still dealing with dead people until the walls kept everything out." Edith explained, reaching the top of the stairs as she paused, waiting for the other two survivors to reach her as she added. "I enjoy the times I have off to come here and just read. It helps with ignoring what's happening outside our walls, though Helsa at the front desk is strict with how quiet you gotta be."

Reaching the top of the staircase, Lee glanced around, slowly returning his gaze to Edith as she coughed. "Anyway, we should get you two to the office. Marissa doesn't like to be kept waiting on important businesses."

"Oh, I remember Marissa." Alicia replied, taking a short awkward pause as she agreed. "Yeah, maybe we shouldn't keep her waiting."

Lee nodded at that, following after Edith as she shown the two visitors the way to the office on the other side of the floor. All around them, people were reading and talking to each other, using the library as a place to chill and talk about their days, likely helping the people living in Wellington to forget all about the troubles lurking outside their walls. Recalling the meeting a few weeks back, Lee remembered Marissa, and he was pretty sure that the others working as his advisors remembered her too. Although she is very capable and independent, being passionate about saving her people, her temper was not one of her strong points, and he could remember Elijah having to keep her out of some meetings because of her falling outs with Christa.

Hopefully, she would be calmer in her own community, but he could only wish it so.

They reached the door leading to the office, the group quiet as they stood there, Lee able to hear voices muttering from behind, whilst Edith slowly reached for the handle. Opening the door, she stood there, gesturing for Lee and Alicia to enter without her. Doing so, Alicia walked in first, nodding to the leaders standing around a circular table whereas Lee moved to follow her, only being stopped by Edith as she muttered to him. "I'll be out here."

Nodding, he walked in. The office wasn't really an office, more like a staff room for the people who worked there before, the large circular table low standing and chairs situated around it, the leaders sitting down. The whole scene was almost informal, more like friends talking amongst each other rather than people discussing the future of their community. Marissa, sitting in her chair with her arms crossed and her leg resting on her knee, was the first to look up at Lee, piercing brown eyes and shortly chopped black hair.

"It's been awhile, Lee." She started, uncrossing her arms as she straightened herself up, sitting in the chair with her hands on her knees. "We got word just shortly before that you arrived at our walls, without our truck."

"Yeah, I'm afraid I got bad news." Lee sighed, taking a seat between Alicia and Marissa.

The black man sitting beside her, ran his hand over his bald head, before it moved down the side of his face and rested underneath his chin, his slight stubble neatly shaved and his mouth pulled in a frown. He was the only one not wearing a coat, rather settling on wearing black hoodie, his boots resting on the table before he took them off, sitting up properly to start the meeting. Lee quickly recognised him as Carter, listening as he asked Lee. "What's happened? We really can't deal with more bad news at the moment."

"The truck never came to Howe's. I went out to find it with my people, but… it was too late. The truck got ran off the road and everyone inside was slaughtered." He explained, watching as Marissa stood up, walking over to the window looking over the streets of Wellington. "There was nothing we could do to save them."

"My daughter was on that trip, is she….?" Elijah asked, pausing as he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. With slicked back grey hair and facial hair that matched, Elijah just sat there with his buttoned up coat, a sweater covering his neck to help protect against the cold. Lee turned to the older man, a saddened expression on his face as he shook his head, watching as Elijah frowned. "My Rinna..."

"What did it? Do you know?!" Marissa asked, turning around to stare at Lee with an angered expression.

"We suspect bandits were responsible. I'm sorry, Marissa, I wish we had more for you guys to know." Alicia apologized. The enraged survivor cooled down, showing an upset look on her face as she looked away.

"They were good people. Those supplies, we haven't got any spare to be wasted on those fucking lowlifes!" she hissed.

"Elijah, I'm sorry about Rinna." The young woman beside Elijah spoke up, brushing one of her dreadlocks from in front of her face as she turned to Lee, smiling softly as she brightly thanked him. "Thanks, for going out to find them. It's good knowing what happened, but what are we gonna do with these bandits?"

"We can't keep using those roads. They're likely set up along it, and'll take any vehicle they see coming down it." Carter pointed out, looking around the group as he added. "Problem is, that's more ground to cover. It'll take longer."

"The main roads cut straight through Virginia, that's where the truck was ran off. If we go around the state, it'll take too long, and we ain't got the gas to make up for the extra distance." Lee frowned.

Elijah nodded at that, and quickly spoke his mind. "Our community is running out of supplies fast, the extra time might mean we run out before the supplies get here. What if we desperately need something from Howe's? Or vice-versa?"

"We should find out more about these bandits. Their location, their goals, anything! With that, we can destroy the fuckers before they can hurt more of our people." Marissa snapped, leaning against the windowsill as she frowned, her voice quiet to stop others from overhearing outside. "How did they even come across the truck? Elijah, what if…?"

"No, we are not thinking that. What we did, we did for the good of Wellington." The older man rejected, not meeting Lee or Alicia's gazes before they glanced at each other.

"What is this about?" Alicia finally asked, looking away from Lee as she stared at Elijah and Marissa, noticing Sash rubbing her neck nervously.

"Guys, we should tell them. They're our allies, after all." She insisted. Carter nodded in agreement, glancing over at Elijah and Marissa as the other two leaders thought about it, leaving Lee to sit there with a distrustful expression on his face. Their secrecy wasn't helping his nerves, and they only got worse as Elijah sighed deeply, looking up at Howe's leader as he finally confessed.

"You have to understand, Lee, we can't abide people breaking the rules here. With supplies running low this winter, we've had problems with people stealing from the storage to help their loved ones, food, medicine, anything. Those that were caught had to be punished, so we came to an agreement to exile all those that break Wellington's rules." Lee sat there, staring at Elijah with a surprised expression.

"We suspect that those people might be in the ranks with the bandits. Marissa's scouts gave in reports about the increasing numbers of bandits in West Virginia, settling down in Charleston. That's a big problem for us." Carter explained, turning to Marissa as he asked her. "Has any of your scouts found out more information?"

"No. Those that made it back had nothing new, only that they were growing in numbers." She frowned, finally moving away from the window, rather going over to a file cabinet and open the drawer, pulling something out and returning to the table. Quickly, she threw what turned out to be a map on the table, spreading it out and pointing at where they were, quickly explaining to them. "Because of the large distance between us and Howe's, and the highways being fucked, we gotta make sure we keep away from Charleston. Those fuckers will steal everything from our community until we all starve, but I ain't gonna let those assholes get the chance. I'll send my scouts out tomorrow to scope other routes we know, see what's what."

"It wouldn't hurt for more people to go with the trucks. More security would mean that they can't be as overwhelmed, especially if the bandits are spread more thinly over the terrain." Sasha pointed out, quickly adding as she looked over at Carter. "Do you think you can spare the extra guards?"

"We're gonna have to. My guards know what needs to be done for the good of the community, it's how I trained them." He replied.

"If gas is an issue, we still have the horses at Howe's. They're able to go places that trucks can't." Alicia pointed out, turning to Marissa as she offered. "Your scouts could scope out more if they use horses. They're more discreet than a truck."

"That's not a bad idea. It'll be safer for my scouts than on foot or in the truck, especially if that's what the bandits are looking for." Marissa nodded, looking over at Sasha as she asked. "You're gonna need to work over the food reports to spare some for the animals. With the stuff coming from Howe's, we can do this if we're careful."

"I ain't one for being a downer, but ain't we scraping by for our people?" Carter asked, frowning deeply as he sighed in annoyance. "These bandits really ain't making things easy."

"Nothing's easy anymore, Carter, get used to it. We just gotta do what we gotta do to survive, that's it." Marissa scowled.

Sasha knotted her fingers together, glancing up at the annoyed female survivor with a nervous cough. "Maybe, if we weren't so harsh, then those people wouldn't have ran for the bandits?"

"Those people made a choice and they have to live with the consequences, we have to have rules." Marissa shot back, glancing around at everyone as they stared up at her, eyes narrowed as she continued. "I was not the only one who decided to exile them, that was all of us! Now, you guys are acting like I wanted this! Like I kicked them out for laughs!"

"Settle down, Marissa." Elijah scolded, standing up to place a hand on her shoulder, her thin jacket unzipped and showing her tank top underneath.

"Look, I ain't here to listen to you guys bickering, I just wanna know that my community is safe without people, who have grudges against you, coming after us!" Lee snapped.

"Lee." Alicia scolded, staring at him with a deep frown before turning to the other leaders. "Look, we want this alliance, in fact Howe's is fucked if we break it off, but we have to sort this problem out before it hurts people we love."

"Don't worry, we want this sorted out as well. You're not the only ones trying to protect the people you love." Elijah replied calmly, glancing outside at the darkened sky, the street lights not working and rather the guards on night duty using flashlights to find their way through the dark. Inhaling deeply, he turned back to the visitors, gesturing to the door as he offered. "It's getting late. You and your people are more than welcome to stay here for the night and leave in the morning, especially with all the dangers of travelling at night."

"That's very generous of you, Elijah." Alicia smiled, standing up slowly with a slight nod. Lee stood up as well, stretching out with a deep groan whilst the oldest leader chuckled.

"It's no problem at all. Edith will show you where you can spend the night." He finished, saying no more as Lee opened the door, showing Edith standing there with her gun resting in her hands. Waving back to the leaders, Lee and Alicia exited the room, the latter closing the door behind her to give Wellington's leaders some privacy to talk amongst themselves.

Quickly, Edith moved closer, a worried look on her face as she asked them. "So, how did it go?"

"They ain't happy, but Marissa is looking at new routes away from a settlement that bandits have made in West Virginia. It also came to our attention that people were kicked out of Wellington for stealing." The mention of the exiles caused Edith to frown deeply, her gaze falling to the floor whilst Lee stared at her, his voice concerned as he asked her. "Edith? Is something wrong?"

"I… I knew about all the exiles, people were desperate through this winter. I can't deny that I thought about it myself. Sam… he won't say it, but he's scared. We all are." She explained, her voice dropping as she revealed. "Lee… That's not the only reason that people are running to the settlement."

"What do you mean?" he asked. Edith didn't reply, rather staring at the door leading to the office before gesturing for the two to follow her, Lee and Alicia glancing nervously at each other before they obeyed, walking behind Edith as they made their way to the stairs leading downstairs. The group was silent, Lee staring at Edith's back with a deep frown, feeling worry gnaw at his stomach. Remaining quiet, he kept that way until they exited the library, leaving the building behind them until he finally spoke up again. "Edith, what's going on?"

She paused, her head slightly bowed as she thought about what to say, her back to Lee and Alicia whilst they waited for a response. Slowly, she turned to them, coming closer whilst keeping her voice low, glancing around to make sure people couldn't overhear them. "It isn't just exiles that went to Charleston. Over the months, we've had people coming up here begging for safety, and we took them in. Eventually though, we couldn't take anymore, not without the last of the supplies being used up. So, the leaders made a decision."

"What did they do?" Alicia asked, moving closer to Edith as the latter sadly stared at them.

"Carter gave the order to all guards on the gate to turn people away. I've had to send families, children, back into the cold for the walkers and to starve." She muttered, looking away as she continued. "Carter told me that it's for the good of the community. We need to do it to survive, but what's the point of surviving if this is what we have to do?"

"I'm sorry you had to do this." Lee sighed, spotting a pair of guards walking down the road with flashlights, glancing at the group before they continued along their patrol route down the road. Edith just shook her head, ignoring Lee's sympathy as she instead changed the subject. "Come on, Sam likely brought your friends to the church down the road."

"We're sleeping in a church?" Lee asked, staring at Edith as the group slowly started walking down the road.

"We ain't got much space. All the houses are used by the people that live here, and the church isn't that bad." She replied, staring straight ahead. Lee shrugged his shoulders at that, remaining silent as the group walked down the street, the church tower easily spotted against the pale moon behind it, stars twinkling far in the distance. The building towered over them, casting everything below in its shadow, and the cold winter winds blew harsher than they did during the day, causing Lee to shiver quietly to himself. Alicia had her jacket zipped up, stuffing her hands in her pocket as she walked close to her friend, both of them keeping each other warm.

"I can't wait for summer to come. I'm done with feeling this cold." She sighed, staring up at the church as she muttered to Lee. "It isn't gonna much better inside there, that's for sure. People didn't think of others living in there when they first built it, huh?"

"You got that right." Lee agreed. Standing by the closed gate, Edith paused, staring up the path that led to the large double doors leading into the church, before opening the gate. Leading them upwards, he stared up at the stained glass windows, taken away with the beauty of the church as he continued to walk up the path, the snow crunching under his shoes. Opening the doors, they creaked loudly, before Edith gestured for them to enter the church with a nod of her head. Obeying, they entered the old building, the door shutting behind them as Lee looked around.

Candle were lit in rows on both sides of the church's front segment, the arches leading into the main part with the ceiling built high above, the moonlight shining through the stained windows. People were sleeping on the pews in sleeping bags, Lee spotting Joel and the other guards huddling together in a row, keeping close to each other for security whilst they slept. Pausing, he turned to Alicia, noticing her staring at the architecture with an amazed look, her mouth slightly open as she was taken aback by its beauty. Edith stopped walking, turning to the others as she pointed near the altar, her voice quiet to avoid disturbing the others. "There's some sleeping bags by the altar that you guys can use. I'm gonna leave now, I have some things to do before I can go to bed. I'll see you both in the morning."

"Alright. Thank you, Edith." Lee nodded, watching as Edith returned the gesture and walked past them, returning to the door as she exited the church. Left with only each other, they just stared at each other, Alicia smiling softly before she made her way over to the altar with Lee quickly following her. The altar was bare, nothing left besides rolled sleeping bags by its side. Picking one up, Alicia moved to the first row of pews at the front, unrolling her sleeping bag to place it down on the hard, wooden seat.

"I'm glad that the leaders came clean about the exiles, but I'm worried, Lee." She confessed, turning around to Lee as he approached her, sleeping bag in hand, as she continued. "What if the bandits start going after our trucks? What if our people get hurt in this fight?"

"I know, I'm worried too. We get back to Howe's and we hash it out with Christa and Jack, see what our options are. Until then, we should get some sleep." He suggested, rolling his sleeping bag onto the floor. Removing his shoes, he laid them beside him, before he settled down in the sleeping bag, removing his jacket to use as a pillow. Once comfortable, he just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

"Alright, that sounds like a good plan. Goodnight, Lee." Alicia yawned, closing her eyes and softly drifting off to sleep. Lee just laid there, feeling the cold on his face, and sighed deeply, careful not to wake Alicia or anyone else in the church up. Exhaustion hit him suddenly, once his body had slowly gotten comfortable, and he could feel his eyes closing, unwilling to fight and letting himself fall to sleep.

His nightmares returned. He couldn't understand what was happening, but screaming was loud in his ears, along with fire and gunshots, the feeling of something cold under his feet, almost like snow. Flashes happened before his eyes, Howe's destroyed, the gates smashed with the vehicle plowing straight into the wall of the once used mall, people rushing out and fleeing into the forests to avoid the gunfire and death. He could see himself, rushing to the carnage too late, Alicia and the others in tow as she collapsed to the floor. Her screams of grief, her daughter's name being called out as they searched the wreck, it all seemed so real to Lee.

Sarah couldn't be found. Omid, Christa, Nick, no one. Lee was all alone, left with a ruined community and a mourning mother, Joel sitting in front of his sister's corpse, the blood split staining the once pure white snow. When Lee woke up in the morning, he sat upright, sweat dripping down his face and his breathing heavy, and all the worries came flooding back.

[pisati]

I feel like I want to write something, but I don’t know what.

my thoughts always stray back to that one year, and those few years that followed, but not out of any kind of longing anymore. it was a lot that happened that was entirely new to me. there’s been so much nothing lately. and my tendency for the last few years to think back on the few good things had me replaying them over and over. it seems kind of hashed out at this point. what good does it do me to remember?

I barely remember it, at that. I barely remember yesterday. the only thing keeping my memory of 5 or so years ago fresh is timehop. I don’t even remember tweeting half the shit I tweeted last year. maybe since I’ve spent the last few years re-reading everything from years previous, that’s slightly more ingrained. most of each day going by is complaining about school work, trying to let out my thoughts on my metaphysics assignments so I could work through them (since I had nobody to talk to about it). the few tweets alluding to things that happened. I’m about to come up on 5 years since T and I were anything. timehop reminded me that this time two years ago he’d called me in an effort to stay more connected to his friends, and I was gutted to realize that I’d made his contact picture the picture of us at point state park, sitting on the edge of the fountain. charlotte had taken the picture; both of us blinded by the sunlight and the wind whipping my hair back across his face. I didn’t like the picture itself much but I looked so goddamn happy; of course I kept it. I had no recollection of even setting it as his contact photo, though, and I probably wouldn’t have remembered anyway, since what conversations we did have anymore were mostly through facebook messenger. but then he called. 

I’m a little embarrassed now, thinking back. feeling so strongly over something that only lasted, what, 5 or so weeks? we hardly knew each other. we wouldn’t have worked out anyway. I spent so long in such a melancholy over him. I guess it’s just like that when it’s the first time anyone genuinely seems to give a shit about you. I really wasn’t keen on letting it go. going back to this. what has been this for the last 5 years. 5 years now. geez.

maybe a little bit of a weird analogy, but there’s that scene in that one old episode of spongebob where squidward travels forwards and backwards in time and when he tries to escape he breaks the time machine; things get real noisy and weird for a few seconds before it all disappears and goes silent. and there’s nothing. that’s kind of what this contrast feels like. so much, then nothing. it can feel like a relief at times, but at others the silence is deafening. the aloneness is so intensely magnified in it. where’s the time machine? where’s anything? where, where, where?

I do almost miss that filthy little house on 10th street. I had bought slippers with puppy heads on the fronts to wear around the house because I would have wanted to chop my own feet off touching those floors in bare feet. the day I moved in was the first time I saw it, and I cried, ha. I did what I could with it. I had moved in two days before my 19th birthday. I was so anxious I made myself sick from not eating. my one housemate was kind enough to take me to the store to get light foods I could eat, plus ginger ale. I could barely walk, I remember. we may have taken a walk on my birthday, and I felt so weak. once I got my room settled, though, it started to feel better. I remember everything still being a mess; I had hardly had the energy to put clothes away, and I had to go buy light-blocking curtains from walmart because the streetlight outside my window made my bedroom glow orange at night. but I remember curling up in bed next to my overflowing nightstand, and pulling out my copy of The Book Thief. I laid there and read and read. I latched on to the main character, seeing her through new eyes. she was so strong through so much adversity, at such a young age. she was frightened too. imagine having your whole world upended like that. that’s kind of what it felt like to me, anyway. she could do it. I could be like her.

that bed was fucking awful. we could only have furniture that our landlord provided, and it was all old, shitty furniture from god only knew where. my twin bedframe was low to the ground, I had I think a boxspring and a mattress, and it was so noisy. every time I moved it creaked. mom didn’t feel like buying me a new bed set either, so I had to make do with my XL twin set from my dorm. every few weeks I’d have to take everything off my bed and re-position the fitted sheet. I had so many goddamn pillows, but it wasn’t too big a deal, since up until the end of march I was the only one in my bed. the house was designed so poorly too. sometimes I ended up using the toilet with one foot up on the bathtub, because it was so tiny that I couldn’t sit comfortably without hitting my knees or sitting at an angle. I learned to appreciate the spiders that made their webs in the corners above the tub. sometimes it smelled like cigarettes; probably because kids would smoke behind our house and my roommate would turn the fan on when he showered. I swear the kitchen floor was at an angle. the time the construction workers tore out our front stoop with no warning and we had to start using the side door that we shared with the driveway for the pizza place next door; I remember being afraid I’d forget the step down and fall on one of the delivery cars. we didn’t know when trash day was so we’d just put our trash in the pizza place’s dumpster. I’m sure we weren’t supposed to, but nobody said anything.

so many good small-town memories. just nice things to look back on, you know? so sometimes it’s nice to just sit in it. remember the uncomfortable heat. the smell of the shampoo and conditioner that came in those huge pump bottles. the apple cinnamon glade candles I used to make my room smell less like the rest of the dirty old house; that very distinct smell. how the walk to my nearest class was literally across the street, rather than 20 minutes. the walk down to carriage house at three in the morning; looking up and seeing the moon; feeling like we shared some late-night secret. drunk sheetz, hot chocolate and everything bagels from the starbucks at folger hall. so many hours in rehearsal; the echoes in the stairwell down to the bass/cello storage room. commonplace. midnight jesus cakes. the feeling of pure joy I got from knowing my professors genuinely enjoyed teaching me and that I genuinely enjoyed learning from them; how they pushed me to reach higher, even if it was away from them. how my orchestra professors were sad I was leaving; I was such a mediocre cellist but they just enjoyed having a non-major so invested in it. I can’t even describe the feeling I got when I visited my old philosophy department the fall after I graduated from UMD, and my first philosophy professor remembered me and was so thrilled that I got such a good education at the school where he got his PhD. he knew I was going to do well there; he wrote my letter of recommendation that I’m sure got me accepted. he even stopped the department director in the hall, and she remembered me too, even though she’d only taught one of my classes for half the semester, covering for my professor who’d had surgery. she knew I’d wanted to transfer, but put in the paperwork for my philosophy minor anyway. I was happy that she seemed genuinely happy to hear I’d done so well too. I couldn’t even believe she remembered me. 

things are really different on campus now; they’ve torn down some old buildings that I’d had classes in and built new ones. the philosophy department is in one of the new buildings; it used to be in the administration building, and I’d tutored symbolic logic there. one day I think I was waiting in an office for anyone from my class to show up and I heard cello music coming from downstairs; there’s a recital hall in that building as well, and I knew I recognized my orchestra’s first-chair cellist practicing. I remember sitting there, smiling to myself, thinking good on you, Steve, it sounds great. that was the building I got my acceptance letter in. standing in one of the side hallways, they called each of our names and handed us envelopes with our decisions in them. it’s a very unique acceptance program; the only university I know of where you can do very early admissions, like, early October, when typical early acceptances don’t start going out until late winter or early spring, if you bring all your physical application materials to campus and they tour you around while your application gets reviewed. I remember being nervous to open my letter, even though I didn’t have a doubt I’d get in. mom started crying as soon as she saw me smile; I think it was more my baby got into college than oh thank god, at least my dumbass kid can get in somewhere, ha. I was just relieved it was over and done with. I still have my letter, I think. dated October 10th, 2011. it congratulates me on my acceptance into the school of health and human services with the intention to study interior design. how far we’ve come, hm?

these things, I remember. I’m not sure how that works. my long-term memory is better, I think. sometimes. maybe it’s because I made those memories before things got bad. they were formed properly. stored properly. at least, more so than now. I remember the topics of my midterm and final thesis papers in both philosophy of language and metaphysics, 6 and 5 years ago, respectively, but hell if I can remember anything I did three days ago.

I guess it’s time to sleep, though. I took a little nap earlier which was a mistake, so now I’m up at 5am. such is life.