#if you hear someone wailing in the distance when round 7 drops just know that it’s me and i’m not okay

[ivanttakethis]

I can’t decide which would be more devastating:

Getting flashbacks that we saw in Round 6, but from Till’s perspective that fundamentally alter the way we viewed those scenes (ex: Till being semi-conscious when Ivan found him in the club and knowing it was Ivan trying to comfort him), OR

Flashbacks we’ve never seen before that Ivan doesn’t remember or forced himself to forget because they didn’t fit with his narrative that Till didn’t care about him at all.

it’s going to be so devastating if there are any flashbacks of ivan in r7 dear god. i know it’s likely but i’m Not Prepared

my personal fear is till hallucinating ivan going to take his collar off at some point

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Genji Heavy Industries (Part 7) The Elevator Shaft

I’m such a dork. I have Snake Eater stuck in my head now.

You’d scarcely gotten ten feet from the bottom of the elevator shaft when a flickering light came from above. The light sparkled like a roman candle and for a brief second you can see into the cavernous elevator shaft. 

What was revealed chills your heart.

The orange light illuminated layers of scales. The steel framing deep in the elevator shaft was crawling with sphinxes just like the ones you fought in the basement. They wrapped their long tails around the steel beams and climbed with their monstrous claws. They moved like apes, snakes and spiders. It is impossible to count the number of them, maybe dozens or maybe hundreds. There were also several elevators that were still operational. The metal cars go up and down, brushing past groups of beasts at very close distances. The elevators that are still running at such times are inevitably packed with people  - humans covered in cold sweat from panic, sweat mixed with hormones and adrenaline, perhaps mixed with traces of blood. The smell mixed together and formed a drug-like stimulus for the sphinxes. They rubbed their sharp claws against the cars as they passed by, not having figured out how to rip open the tin can and eat the meat inside. 

The people in the elevator must have heard the eerie scraping and the sound of something breathing heavily outside the car. They screamed in shrill alarm. They had no way to escape.

You were only equipped with the pistol and armor piercing rounds. There was no way you could save all these people yourself. Just like the time in Black Swan Bay when facing such an overwhelming force, the best chance for survival was to hide or flee. But there was no way to hide in the elevator shaft, and there was nowhere to go. These people were dead meat.

You climb high enough to get to the next basement floor. It was marked in Blue paint with the letters B12. The doors were sealed shut. You tried to force open the doors by squeezing your fingers in between them but they were closed tightly and refused to budge. That was probably for the best. The only people in danger at the moment were the ones in the elevators. If the doors were sealed during the earthquake, it was unlikely that many - if any- of the monsters had escaped into the building.

But someone had thrown that flare - you recognized it as a flare - into the shaft. Which meant at least one elevator door was open. It was very high up, but not at the very top of the building, about midway, near to where you had initially boarded your elevator to hell.

You climb with carefully measured steps so as not to make a sound. The shaft you were in had an elevator that was smashed at the bottom of the shaft so it should not be nearly as attractive as the ones with moving trains. You count one step per second, twenty seconds per floor, three floors a minute.

It would take you about seven minutes to get to the floor where the flare was thrown. 

As a way to pass and count the time, you sing to yourself, softly in your mind. It was one of the movies you watched, secretly in the shed, the light glittering on your face under the drop cloth that covered the stacks of firewood. The woman’s voice came through soft and smooth and seductive. You remember it so clearly.

Hey baby…

Thought you were the one who tried to run away…

Oh baby…

Wasn’t I the one who made you want to stay?

Please don’t bet that you’ll ever escape me

Once I get my sights on you.

I got a licence to kill…

Your mental tune was suddenly interrupted. The sphinxes were moving and they were moving all at once in such numbers that you had to cling to the elevator shaft as it shook and vibrated with the combined tons of muscular bodies thundering overhead. Their screams and howls were like a storm of demons that combined with the wailing of the trapped people in the elevator cars in a devil’s chorus.

You were halfway up to where the flare had been thrown. A glittering shadow rushed by you and you catch sight of his long fangs. It was literally smiling ear-to-ear since the cross section of its mouth stretched nearly to the back of its head. The powerful tail struck you in the back. Panting heavily, it didn’t seem to notice you in its haste to get up the shaft. You duck your head against the saliva that rained down on you. 

In that moment, your body shook from the deafening roar of a machine gun and in the next few seconds you were showered, not with saliva but with hundreds of shell casings! It was Caesar and Chu Zihang, it had to be. You were right in assuming they weren't going to run away.

Looking up, the light from the gun’s muzzle flash revealed a heaving ball of bodies, writhing in a single mass where you were trying to go.

A great wind pulled your hair. One of the massive creatures fell very close to you. It hit the side of the shaft and continued to fall into the void, ping-ponging as it went..

“Shit!” 

You press yourself against the elevator shaft and climb as quickly as you could, now jumping rungs and scrambling in a panic. In seconds, you’re covered in blood and gore. Bodies plummeting felt like cars passing by, missing you by mere inches, bristling with razorblade claws as they spin in a freefall. The buzzing sound of bullets whizzed by you. The walls ran with blood like a waterfall and your fingers were starting to slip.

All it would take was one bullet to strike you and you’d be dead. You’d prefer it that way. Your world would just go dark and you would lose all sensation and you would fall into Hell for real. Worst case scenario you would slip on the blood and fall, your voice joining the chorus of deathly terror one last time.

You’re now in the thick of it, bodies were jostling you and bumping into you with crushing force. But you could see him, Caesar, standing on a cross beam behind a Gatling gun. His ears were covered and he was wearing eye protection as if he was just on a trip to the gun range for daily practice. You were covered in gore. He wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from the massive swarm. And he couldn’t hear you scream.

You pull your pistol and fire once. 

The flash of the muzzle and the bullet pinging off his gun got his attention. His jaw dropped and he stared as  though looking at a ghost. But then his jaw clenched. A rain of bullets came again, this time directed at the face of the monster that had opened its mouth wide enough to devour your head in a single snap. 

Caesar reached his hand down to you but you’re too far. ���FIRE!  GIVE ME COVER FIRE!”

He leaped down to dangle by one arm, coming well within range of the beasts’ searching claws. You reached for each other, your fingertips brushing, desperation reflected in your eyes.

“Jump!”

You let go of the rung and jump. His hand snaps around your wrist like a vice. His powerful arm lifts you up on the crossbeam.

But there was no time to celebrate or embrace.

The storm of metal slugs killed the joy of this Devil’s banquet. The rushing front of the group have been shot, but most of the others are only wounded. Their snake-like body is exceptionally strong. The bullets splash a little fire on the scales, a few bullets lodge in the hard bones. Dozens of huge mouths in the elevator shaft opened to the limit, and issued a shrill cry to you and the others above. 

It was actually a roar of rage. Unlike the corpse guards, whose sensory nerves had been killed in the embalming process and whose broken limbs were just like getting a haircut, the sphinxes could still feel some of the pain. The pain was not enough to make them retreat, but rather to inspire their ferocity. 

Caesar retook firm control of the Gatling heavy machine gun, pouring a storm of metal down below.  You two weren't the only ones up here. Chu Zihang was firing an Uzi and Chisei Gen was there, dressed in period armor and shooting as well. Your pistol wasn’t enough to kill these creatures unless you shot them in the eye. You even blew half the head off one with C4 and it fought ferociously despite grievous injury. Finally, you get entrusted with a gun and it's useless! 

The guns quieted slightly as everyone reloaded. "This isn’t enough to kill them effectively! We're just stalling for time!" Caesar yelled.

He was right. The monsters had retreated but were learning to hide behind beams and dash out when the group reloaded. They were pushed down eight or nice floors, but were regaining that ground quickly.

Chisei looked like he was about to toss an empty gun down the shaft but you catch it and start shoving bullets into it. He nodded to you and kept firing with a second weapon. Had another Hydra member been here he would have fallen off the beam in shock. Chisei did not give commendation to just anyone. Only rare shows of bravery and demonstrations of undeniable competence earned nods like that. Chisei had seen you crawl out of Hell only to immediately assist the team. He couldn’t help but nod.

He didn’t know you, but in a few seconds you’d proven to belong among the Cassell Aces.

Since he didn’t have to focus on reloading, Chisei began to scan his dark eyes around the space. You then see the whites around his black pupils. “Look out!” He drew his sword in a shining arc and cut above you.

Black blood showered down and a sphinx’s body fell down the shaft from above. They were moving away from the gunfire to surround you, attacking from below and above! The wounded creature was about to fall into the elevator shaft, but it turned in the air and swept its long, steel-like tail at Caesar. Caesar leaned back and dodged. The long tail knocked the Gatling heavy machine gun off the beam. With the snake tail wrapped around the heavy machine gun, it fell into the elevator shaft with it.

The dark shadows fell continuously from their elevated position, and there were more coming.

Chisei Gen walks along the steel beam with the grace of a stag, swinging his sword to force back the sphinxes and deny them a chance to find a foothold. Caesar drew his Desert Eagle and sent the mercury core rounds into the bodies of the sphinxes one by one. The bullets, developed for dragons, were so effective against them that those who were shot fell with a cry. 

You take the hint, raising your pistol with the mercury rounds and firing into them, aiming for their beaming golden eyes. You don’t waste a single shot, extinguishing those glowing orbs, like blowing out a candle with a bullet. The one-eyed corpses fall limp around you.

The steel beams above and below and to the left and right were occupied by monsters, black and red blood splattered between the beams, the black blood was the Dead Sphinxes', the red blood was Chisei’s. The Sphinx who had sneaked in from above had cut into his back.

Chu Zihang pulled out the Uzi from his waist, wanting to help Caesar and Chisei clear the monsters around him first, but he looked down and the cold air rushed by his head from behind. In the dozens of seconds without the barrage blocking the swarm below, they’d dashed upward, with the closest ones less than twenty meters away from them. Their crying converged into an eerie wave of sound tumbling through the elevator shaft. You must block this wave of attack, or your defense line will completely collapse. 

Chu Zihang violently knocked over the carry bag hanging in front of him. Thousands of bullets fell like brass-colored rain. He threw another item into the elevator shaft, a piece of C4 plastic explosive stuffed with an electronic fuse. He had another carry bag beside him, which was stuffed with even more plastic explosives!

The explosive fell twenty meters and exploded, the air wave and fire compressed within the confines of the elevator shaft and could only spread upward or downward. You watch the beautiful sight of fire-colored clouds rising from the deep shaft. All the bullets exploded simultaneously in the blaze. Thousands of missiles bounced in the elevator shaft at high speed. The serpentine black shadows were engulfed by the rain of bullets and fire, and those bullets fired in a disorderly manner whizz by you, barely missing. But Caesar actually yelled "good". 

Caesar's two-handed Desert Eagle fired in unison at a sphinx that was hissing with his mouth open. It was so close to Caesar that the fire from the muzzle and the last mercury core bullet penetrated its mouth. The mercury destroyed its brain. This one fell into the darkness with a mournful cry. To your right, Gen Chisei also stabbed another through the heart. 

Black blood clung to his body and flowed slowly as all four of you fell silent.

You had the advantage of weapons and terrain, but probably no more than fifteen Death Servitor Sphinxes had actually been killed. The explosion didn't kill these dangerous creatures either, and they continued to climb up with their long tails wrapped around the steel frame after plunging a few levels, covered in blood. The human side had lost its most important weapon, the Gatling heavy machine gun. 

The positions on the steel beams could no longer be held. Caesar gathered you in a powerful hug and together you jumped into the building. You’re a room that’s filled with huge murals, Torii gates and curtains like an ancient temple. Fire was serving as the light to his place, eating up the walls and the curtains in a rapidly progressing blaze. Caesar set you down and, together with Chisei, pushed a heavy iron wheel shrine to block the elevator door. 

Chu Zihang rushed out from a room that was filled to the brim with weapons and he threw a submachine gun and magazines at you. Without a word you load up. Everyone knows that this is just a delay.  Soon these beasts will charge into this temple in the middle of Genji Heavy Industries to enjoy the feast. 

Even if they don't rush in you’re still going to die. The fire is still burning, although there are not too many flammable things here, sooner or later the fire will go out. The burning will soon consume the oxygen in the air and you will suffocate.

Wordlessly, you finish taking in the situation. Dying here doesn’t bother you too much. After all, you figured that sooner or later your luck would run out. What hurts your heart is that Lu Mingfei is not here. You hoped he wasn’t dead, or trapped in an elevator. You hoped he got out. But all you could see was his panic and concern as he rushed around with his box of documents and your hope died.

[lady-divine-writes]

Husband, Guardian, Muse (Rated NC17) Chapter 2/3

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Human au. Warning for death, alcohol abuse, thoughts of suicide, but with a happy ending :)

Read on AO3.

Crowley spent five days fighting his fever, barely able to move, completely unable to keep anything down, and he was grateful for every excruciating second. It gave him something to think about besides the inevitable. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t get better, that the illness would do his job for him. He slept so deeply during that time, he thought he was dead, but instead of a peaceful eternity spent with Aziraphale, there was nothing – endless darkness until he woke again.

And that scared him most.

Because if there was nothing to go to after death, Aziraphale wasn’t only gone in the physical sense. It meant he no longer existed. And after their relatively short life together, Crowley would never see his beloved husband again.

On the sixth day, he had enough. His legs trembled and his stomach threatened to turn him inside out with every step he took, but he didn’t care.

It was time to get started.

Crowley refused to look at his phone. He wasn’t going to check his messages or his emails. He didn’t want to see pleas from their friends begging him to call them back, wondering how he was doing, asking how they could help. He got a taste of that at Aziraphale’s funeral, and each idea they had was the same. From short vacations to year-long trips around the world, they all wanted to take him away from his life, from his troubles … from everything that reminded him of his husband. Crowley knew that they meant well but he couldn’t. He had a connection to this cottage, not because it felt like a home, but because it felt like a mausoleum.

He couldn’t leave.

He did feel like a heel for not letting anyone know that he was alive … for the time being. Especially Tracy Shadwell. But if he texted Tracy or called her, Crowley would probably spill the beans, then everyone Crowley knew would be on his doorstep, ready to spend 24/7 sitting vigil by his bedside to make sure he didn’t down a bottle of pills.

It had occurred to Crowley that planning on killing himself was the worst way he could repay their friends, all of them, for their kindness, their love, and their never-ending support.

In that vein, what Crowley was doing could be considered unforgivable.

But he couldn’t concern himself with that, so he switched gears to something that aggravated the heck out of him, something he wouldn’t be sorry to leave behind.

Crowley knew he’d probably accrued over a dozen messages from village hall, calling with ideas for his painting, and he couldn’t care less. They had paid him in advance. They would get what he chose to paint for them and like it.

So what if they threatened to sue him?

He’d like to see them try.

This first painting, the one Aziraphale had chided him for putting off, was supposed to be a dramatic landscape view from a hilltop east of the county where they lived. He had planned to drive up there and map out the area, do some preliminary sketches, gauge his perspective. But those plans had also included a picnic lunch with Aziraphale, and then outdoor sex on their favorite blanket. Considering that that was no longer an option, Screw it, he thought. I’m gonna wing it.

It wouldn’t be a stretch. Crowley had this particular location set to memory. He and Aziraphale had driven all over it in Crowley’s Bentley. They knew the place by heart - where the roads led, the dips and curves that passed beneath the tall trees, where the creek crossed the old cow road, and the man-made trails that carved their lazy ways up and up.

He and Aziraphale had made love along most of those: in the back seat of his car parked hidden from view, even lying out on the grass under the sun on one or two more adventurous occasions.

One time in the rain.

Crowley sighed.

He was torturing himself now.

He needed it to hurt, or he might find himself content to live with the memories.

He chose a blank canvas from a pile of prepped ones on the floor and dropped it unceremoniously onto his easel.

This wasn’t going to be his best work. Far from it, as a matter of fact.

Why put one hundred percent into it? If you’ve seen one stinking landscape, you’ve seen them all. As long as it was a step up from something he’d find hanging in a Marriott, it’d be fine.

Crowley barely regarded the canvas before he started dropping paint on it, not giving a single fuck when the grass bled into the sky too far on one side, or how the hill looked more like a humpbacked snake than a majestically sweeping expanse of green. In his head, he could hear Aziraphale chuckling, high-pitched and giddy. Crowley grinned at the thought of Aziraphale standing beside him, teasing him over how lopsided his painting was, how it looked like someone taking hallucinogenic mushrooms had created it.

Crowley would shut him up by reaching out a stained hand and threatening his favorite coat.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale would screech. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Crowley would reply. The painting abandoned, Crowley would chase Aziraphale throughout the cottage, skidding past furniture and dodging drying canvases along the way. Aziraphale would head outside in the hopes of saving his precious books, stacked on every flat surface, from being knocked to the ground. Crowley would follow, purposefully keeping several paces behind.

Because Aziraphale running was adorable to watch!

But not far from the patio, Aziraphale would grow tired and slow up, an old service injury in his knee flaring and causing it to ache. He’d call out breathlessly, “All right, you wily serpent, you! You win! I give! Just … stain it somewhere it won’t show!”

But Crowley wouldn’t ruin Aziraphale’s favorite coat. Not for the world.

Somewhere along the route he’d have grabbed a rag to start cleaning himself up.

He’d still win, of course - overtake Aziraphale in the end.

But only because it was fun.

Which meant he deserved a prize.

He’d grab Aziraphale round the waist and drag his body against him, panting and flushed and simply perfect in every way. The coat would be safe, but bits of paint would end up stuck to Aziraphale’s hair by the time they finished making love, clinging where Crowley ran his fingers through it, streaking the pale strands shades of rainbow. Aziraphale would catch it in a reflection somewhere and frown, but then he’d laugh, his eyes lighting up, the love radiating from them too magnanimous to contain.

Crowley stopped daydreaming when he felt tears leave his eyes. He wiped his cheeks on the sleeve of his work shirt, shoving away memories of an afternoon spent a colorful mess.

Crowley looked at his painting, prepared to mock the disaster he had wrought as a way of leaving that memory behind. He pictured the travesty of having this worthless piece of shit hanging at village hall with his name emblazoned on a brass plaque underneath and felt wryly satisfied. But then he stopped. He stared. His pallet slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor, spattering his shoes and marking the wood.

Gone were the globs of paint and the humpback snake.

During his fantasizing, he had fixed the painting, changed it from monstrosity to memory (and a vivid one at that) of the hillside in spring: wildflowers dotting the grass, the sun a suggestion in the quality of the light and the shadows it threw. If he had been aiming for perfection, consciously attempting to convey beauty and the promise of new life, he could never have been able to come close to this.

But recognition of his own exceptional technique wasn’t what drew his eye.

It was the stretch of road in the distance.

On it, a Bentley drove along with two passengers inside. Crowley assumed he was the one behind the wheel, but the man in the driver’s seat was most definitely Aziraphale, turning to gaze over his shoulder, sublime smile on his face.

He looked so happy, so carefree.

He looked so real.

Crowley reached out a hand, fingertips hovering over the place where Aziraphale’s face looked up at him.

“What the---?”

Honk, honk!

Crowley jumped at the wail of a car horn coming from his driveway. But once surprise subsided, it swiftly turned to annoyance. The idea that someone who couldn’t get him by phone had driven out to his cottage infuriated him!

Crowley considered not answering out of spite, but the urge to throw open his door and hurl insults at this intruder was too overwhelming to resist. He left the painting on its easel and stomped through the cottage to the front door.

Honk, honk!

“Yeah, yeah, I get it!” Crowley growled. “You’re so important, you can’t even get out of your car and ring the damn bell!”

Honk, honk!

“Come on, Crowley! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

Crowley stopped cold in his tracks.

He stood paralyzed, gaping like a dying fish, choking on the million words rushing to come out but couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything - couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. For what seemed like forever, he couldn’t make himself do anything.

Honk, honk!

“Crowley! You promised me a picnic! I have the blanket!”

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley ran for the door. “Aziraphale? Angel?” He couldn’t believe he was saying it, as if Aziraphale would actually be there. He wanted to slap himself for even thinking it was a possibility. But there he was, reaching for the knob, hoping against hope for what he would see once he opened it.

Honk, ho -- -

The sound cut off when the door flew open, and for a second, Crowley heard a laugh and saw a flash of blue eyes in the passenger seat of his Bentley.

A Bentley that had been kept covered since the funeral.

He didn’t drive it home from the cemetery. Generous associates had it delivered when they heard it had been towed.

Crowley had been indifferent.

He didn’t think he’d actually drive it again.

Crowley stood in the doorway, his brain trying to reconcile what he was looking at.

A car.

It was just a car.

Nothing supernatural about it.

Crowley stepped outside and looked closer, examining it to find out why it had been honking on its own.

How a cover that fit snuggly had suddenly blown off.

Especially when there was no wind at present.

Crowley searched the driveway, the cottage, and the field beyond for some sign that someone, probably some stupid neighbor’s kid, had been pulling pranks. He covered the Bentley again, concentrating on it other than Aziraphale standing in the driveway honking the horn.

Praying it would stop his hands from shaking.

Crowley took one final look around before retreating back to the cottage. He double-locked the door behind him, feeling ridiculous when he did. He returned to the painting, to the peaceful hillside and the happy couple in the car driving off into the sunset.

A revulsion filled him.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

He couldn’t let village hall have this memory, and he couldn’t put on public display something that would never be again.

He grabbed a bottle of paint thinner and doused the painting, watching the colors run, the couple in their little car smearing down the canvas and dripping over the edge. He watched until the picturesque hillside was reduced to nothing more than slop. Then he turned his back on his memories and went to bed.

***

“Crowley! Are you going to wash my back or not?”

“Hold up, angel! I’m … uh … doing something”

“What are you …? Oh, God! Tell me you’re not masturbating … or something equally vulgar!”

“Ha! What if I am?”

“You know, my love, I’m pretty sure you’re going to wear that thing out with over use!”

“Never!”

“Wait … are you … sketching me!? I’m in the shower!”

“I know. That’s why I’m sketching you.”

“But I’m naked! And I … wait a minute … it … it can’t be that big, can it?”

“Yup.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“Are you …?”

“Aziraphale, I just spent half-an-hour with your cock in my mouth. I think I know how big it is.”

“Oh. Well, continue on, then.”

Crowley woke to the sound of his own laughter. He felt so light, so happy. He laughed so hard, tears leaked from his eyes. It shook his head, which caused him to wake. The more conscious of his surroundings he became, the more aware he was of two things: a grainy texture on his fingertips, and the muted sound of falling water.

It was raining again.

Crowley opened his eyes. He didn’t want to, but he was curious about the substance on his skin. Eyes adjusting to the low light, a sketch pad and charcoal pencil came into view, lying beside him on the bed.

He’d been drawing in his sleep.

Unusual, but it had happened before.

He lifted up on his elbows to get a better look at the drawing. It was crude, but amazingly, one of his best. He blinked away more sleep in order to identify the subject.

Realization shot like an arrow through his chest, but he wasn’t surprised.

He had drawn Aziraphale taking a shower, hands tangled in his hair, steam rising around his body, a sly smile on his lips at being watched.

Crowley loved that smile.

He could get lost in that smile.

He got lost in it now, so lost, he barely remembered the rain. But not rain, he realized as the memory dissolved and Crowley’s mind began to wake.

The shower.

And above the sound of falling water, he heard another, more magnificent sound.

Someone humming.

Crowley bolted from his bed. It had to be real this time! There couldn’t be any doubt! The shower was only a few feet from where he lay. He heard the water and the humming as clear as day. Crowley raced into the bathroom, air thick with steam, mirrors covered in condensation. His heart leapt as the sounds became louder.

“Crowley! Is that you? I …”

Crowley threw the curtains open, ready to embrace his wet husband with open arms.

Everything stopped.

No water.

Steam gone.

The mirrors dry.

He stood in shock, staring at an empty shower of cream-colored tile.

Crowley found himself caught between emotions - a desire to howl in anger along with the beginnings of a complete nervous breakdown.

He chose anger, feeling it best if he stayed sane a little longer.

He tore down the shower curtain. He stormed through the bathroom and pulled the mirrors off the walls, tossed bottles left and right. He punched the tile, cracking the porcelain and cutting his hand. The stab of pain pulled his focus. He stared at his bleeding hand, his chest burning as his heart pounded to break through his ribcage. He stood among the wreckage of the master bath and sighed.

So much rage.

So much sadness.

So much useless destruction.

None of it was going to bring Aziraphale back.

Crowley made his way to the kitchen, past the wasted pallet on the floor, past the painting still dripping acrylic, and headed for the sink. He turned on the cold water and stuck his hand underneath. Head bowed over the basin, he watched the blood from his cuts rinse away. His eyes drifted closed as the water soothed his stinging hand. He imagined Aziraphale draping an arm around him, fussing over him, kissing his temples, massaging his neck, telling him everything would be alright.

When his hand went from stinging to numb, Crowley fumbled for the faucet with eyes closed and shut the water off.

In the silence, Crowley heard a sigh that wasn’t his own.

He didn’t open his eyes.

He wanted Aziraphale back.

But he was done seeing ghosts.

He wanted it all to end.

“Paint it,” Crowley heard a quiet voice say. “Paint what you want.”

When Crowley opened his eyes, the blue eyes he knew had been there were gone.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

It Takes a Village, Chapter 7/12

Yandere gets kidnapped during a day out with Dr Iplier, and it’s up to an unlikely hero to save him.

Obviously, this chapter is a little more intense than the previous ones. No shame if you skip it.

Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, harm towards a child, threats of death towards a child

Tags: @tired-eldritchhorror @peribloke (ask to be tagged)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Read on AO3!

Enjoy!

~

It’s a beautiful day in the city, and for this reason, Dr. Iplier decides it’d be fun to take Yandere out for a stroll.

He’s been able to go out with Yandere often since he decided to forgo treating humans for the moment, and Yandere sure seems to enjoy it. He’s always gawking at the things they see, pointing at dogs getting walked and laughing at the occasional street performer. Dr. Iplier uses the trips to go shopping, too, to get small things and food staples, and Yandere nearly always comes away from those trips with a new outfit that Dr. Iplier thought he’d be adorable in or a new toy he couldn’t resist spoiling him with.

Unbeknownst to Dr. Iplier, though, his trips with Yandere soon attract some unwanted attention.

On this day, a group of three men are standing together, half-hidden behind the corner of an office building. They’re watching Dr. Iplier walk along, pushing Yandere in a stroller.

“You sure this is worth it?” says one man.

“Yeah, he’s just some dude,” says another, “What makes you think he has money?”

“Are you both idiots? Look at his getup,” says the third man, the leader. “He’s a doctor, doctors make a ton. And he’s always spending a ton on that baby there.” He points to Yandere, who’s sitting happily in his stroller. “We get the baby, we ransom the baby, Doc pays, and we’re sitting pretty. It’s easy.”

“So what, we just kidnap a baby in broad daylight?” asks the first lackey.

“Why not?” The leader smirks. “We just wait until he’s somewhere secluded, then we jump him. There’s three of us and one of him, it’ll be easy.”

“It sure sounds easy…” the second lackey muses. He shrugs. “Fuck it, let’s do it. I could use some money.”

“Alright,” sighs the first lackey, “But let’s make it quick. The longer we take the more likely that hero is gonna show up.”

“What, you worried Silver Shepherd’ll beat you up again?” the leader laughs, “Forget Shepherd. He’s an idiot in a cape, he couldn’t even get us arrested. Now let’s keep following the doc, and when I say so, we get him. Alright?” The others nod. “Good.” He grins. “Let’s do this.”

~~~

Dr. Iplier doesn’t realize that anything is amiss until he cuts through a shaded alleyway between two brick buildings to get to a shop faster.

Then, all at once, he’s being tackled and grabbed.

“Hey, let me go! What the–!” Dr. Iplier is cut off as he’s forcefully yanked away from Yandere’s stroller by two pairs of hands. He struggles but can’t break free. One man briefly releases his hold on him to punch him in the gut, knocking the wind and the fight out of him.

“Dada!?” Yandere cries, scared and confused. He yelps as his stroller is suddenly moved by someone, a third person.

Dr. Iplier manages to look up in time to see the man reach for Yandere.

“No!” he shouts, fighting all over again and ignoring the pain. “Don’t touch him! Don’t–”

“If anyone hears us and comes running,” the man says, continuing to reach for Yandere, “You and the kid are getting your heads kicked in. Get it?”

The men holding Dr. Iplier back grin and tighten their grips on his arms. Dr. Iplier forces himself to be quiet, even though every fiber of him is burning to defend his son. Yandere, though, shrieks as the man grabs him and undoes his straps, pulling him out of the stroller. He struggles harder than Dr. Iplier did, wails louder than he yelled.

“You shut up and quit squirming, or pretty soon you won’t be able to do either!!” the man growls, shaking Yandere.

“Don’t shake him–” Dr. Iplier starts, cut off by a hand clamping over his mouth. The man holding Yandere covers Yandere’s mouth, too.

“Shut up already, you–” The man yells in pain as Yandere bites his finger, hard. He pulls his hand away, revealing a bit of broken skin and a drop of blood. Dr. Iplier only has a moment to be proud of Yandere for defending himself before the man slaps Yandere across the face. The high-pitched squeal that rips from his throat is unlike any sound that Dr. Iplier has heard him make before. His heart drops and he feels like he’s going to vomit.

“No, no, no, please, don’t hurt him, please–” he mindlessly babbles through the hand over his mouth.

“I warned ya.” The man’s hand is back over Yandere’s mouth again, and this time he hardly even dares to cry, much less bite him again. He nods to the men holding Dr. Iplier. “Knock him out.”

“Wait–!”

Dr. Iplier’s protest goes unheard as he’s heaved by the men and slammed against a brick wall, headfirst. Pain bursts in his skull and stars dance behind his eyes, blinding him. He lets out a choked cry, too dazed for a full scream. Yandere screams enough for them both, and it’s all Dr. Iplier can hear as he’s shoved a second time.

The stars in his eyes turn to spots, then to smudges, then to deep darkness.

~~~

Silver Shepherd has a knack for knowing when and where trouble is brewing. It’s his own personal spidey-sense, allowing him to stop crimes before they go too far, save people from harm or death, and sometimes prevent crimes if he’s lucky.

Today, though, he’s already in the middle of dealing with an armed robbery when he feels that familiar prickle, the goosebumps on his arms and the tingle in his legs telling him to go, go to this place, something’s happening, go, before it gets worse. Unfortunately, his sense can’t tell him the severity of the crime, so he has to hope no one’s getting away with murder as he subdues the robber. This particular robber isn’t a hardened criminal, more like an idiot who wanted to show off and get some extra cash.

“C’mon man, I can’t go to jail, I’m only twenty!” the robber cries from the chair Silver handcuffed him to. The gun is on the counter of the convenience store they’re in, far out of his reach.

“Then you’re old enough to know better,” Silver tells him, “And you should’ve thought about jail before you decided to threaten some poor cashier with a deadly weapon for a few bucks.” Said cashier is still hiding behind the counter in fear. “I mean seriously, working in customer service is hard enough without jerks like you coming into stores brandishing guns and trying to steal!”

The robber just glares at Silver and says nothing more, so Silver walks to the counter and looks over the side, addressing the clerk.

“Are you holding up alright?” he asks.

“I-I guess,” the cashier says from where he’s crouched on the floor, shaking. Silver feels a pang of sympathy; the kid can’t be older than sixteen. Chances are this is his first job. Silver comes around the counter to help him stand.

“So, normally I’d stay,” Silver begins as he pulls him up, “But there’s someone else in trouble that I need to help. You called the police earlier when I told you to, right?”

“Yeah,” the kid says, “Well, I p-pressed the panic button, you know, u-under here.” He gestures to the counter.

“Good, they should be on their way soon. In the meantime, you should probably lock up and wait outside. I don’t think you want any customers coming in to see all this…” He smiles sympathetically. “…and I don’t think you want to stay in here with that guy, either.”

“Y-Yeah.” The kid manages his own shaky smile. “Thanks a lot, like, s-so much.”

“No need to thank me,” Silver insists, “It’s what I do. Maybe I’ll see you ‘round in better circumstances.”

“That’d be cool,” the kid agrees, “Bye, Silver.”

“Goodbye, and take care!” Silver replies, before leaving the convenience store.

The sun is bright and warm on his face as he exits, but he has no time to enjoy it. After having ignored his sense of danger for a few minutes, his skin is crawling with apprehensive energy. No time to walk, he thinks, and he jumps. Instead of falling back down, he goes higher, taking to the sky between buildings and over the heads of the people below.

“Woah, that dude’s flying!”

“It’s Silver Shepherd!”

Silver doesn’t have time to acknowledge the passerby, and instead flies higher, out of sight. He can’t help but feel a prickle of guilt for it, even as his danger sense continues to send sparks over his skin. Once he has a suitable distance between himself and the street to keep from being seen, he takes off through the air, following every turn his danger sense tells him to make. Only a couple minutes later he’s there, and he touches down at the mouth of an alley, shaded from the sun, with brick buildings on either side. There’s no one and nothing around but a lone stroller in the center of the alley. Silver’s heart sinks.

Oh no, not a baby.

He runs to the stroller, and immediately notices two things: First, that the stroller is empty, and second…

“Dr. Iplier??” he gasps, leaving the stroller to kneel beside him.

The doctor is unconscious on the ground a few feet from the stroller. Silver hadn’t been able to see him from the mouth of the alley. A quick once-over finds an awful lump on Dr. Iplier’s head. Someone must have knocked him out on purpose, but for what? Silver looks back to the empty stroller. He knows why Dr. Iplier would have a stroller, he knows who’s supposed to be there, but he can’t see or hear any other signs of people in the alley.

At that moment, Dr. Iplier groans and starts to stir.

“Doctor, hey, can you hear me?” Silver asks him. Dr. Iplier tries to push himself up, and Silver grabs him in time to keep him from falling back down. “Take it easy, you’re hurt, you might be concussed.”

“Yan,” Dr. Iplier gasps, dazed but quickly coming around, “Yandere, we were walking, these guys showed up–”

“Slow down,” Silver tells him gently, “Tell me what happened, slowly.”

“These three guys followed us here,” Dr. Iplier continues, voice edged with panic, “Two of them held me back and pulled me away from Yan, one of them grabbed him, he hit him–!” Dr. Iplier covers his mouth and screws his eyes shut, as though the memory physically hurts. “The guys grabbing me threw my head against the wall and knocked me out. And Yan, where–!”

He catches sight of the empty stroller, and his face drains of color.

“Oh no,” he gasps, eyes filling with tears, “They took him, they took him–”

“Doctor, listen to me,” Silver says, grabbing his shoulders, “I know this is a bad situation, but we can’t freak out. The more we panic, the more time we lose. Alright?”

Silver’s seen Dr. Iplier’s expression more times than he can count. Not on Dr. Iplier himself, but on the faces of every parent whose child Silver had to save. That same anguish, that same terror, that same paralyzing panic. But when there’s someone there to be calm for them, to remind them to keep their heads and to emulate the right mindset, their panic almost always recedes, at least a little. It works for Dr. Iplier, and he breathes in deeply, trying to ground himself.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He laughs a short, bitter laugh. “I’m not usually like this when bad things happen. I don’t need to tell you that, though, do I?”

He doesn’t. No matter how horribly Silver gets injured on the job, Dr. Iplier is calm and collected as he patches him up. Truth be told, Silver has never seen him so frantic.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Silver assures him, “Let’s just get home so we can get your head fixed and figure out what to do next.”

Dr. Iplier nods, and right as Silver is preparing to fly him back to Ego Inc., his phone buzzes.

“What the–” Dr. Iplier mutters, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “There better not be anything catastrophic happening back home, I can’t–” His eyes go huge the moment he opens his phone. For several long moments, he stares at the screen, mouth slightly open, eyes welling with tears again.

“Doctor, what is it?” Silver asks, a sinking feeling in his chest. When Dr. Iplier doesn’t answer, he scoots around him to look at the phone over his shoulder. He can’t hold back a gasp.

It’s a text message from an unnamed number, showing a photo of a man with Yandere held roughly in his arms. Yandere is slightly blurred from movement, but it’s easy to see the bruise spanning his cheek and the tears running down his face. His eyes are scrunched and his mouth is open in a wail. The man holding Yandere isn’t very visible; the photo is zoomed in too close to Yandere to see much more than his left arm crossed over Yandere and pinning him to the man’s chest. Just as frightening, if not more so, is the written message beneath it.

12 hours from now, bring $3 mil in cash to the corner of Johnson and Orange Street or the baby dies.

While Silver and Dr. Iplier are staring at the text, trying to process it, another one comes through.

Just in case you don’t think we’re serious…

A few moments later, another image is sent. It’s Yandere again, still held by the same person, though his grip is slightly different. His right arm is visible now, with a gun in his hand, pressed up against Yandere’s fluffy black hair. Yandere’s eyes are wide with fear now, his mouth in a shaky pout, but his form is much less blurry than the previous photo. No doubt he’s been frightened into stillness.

“Oh god,” Dr. Iplier gasps, tears starting to run down his cheeks, “Oh god, they’re going to kill him, he can’t defend himself like this, they’re going to kill him–”

“Doctor, hey! Remember what I said before!” Silver cries, but he’s shaken too, and he knows it shows in his voice.

Dr. Iplier barely hears Silver as he bursts into tears, and Silver decides he has to get him home and regroup now, whether Dr. Iplier is calm or not.

~~~

When Silver and Dr. Iplier arrive in the lobby of Ego Inc., the Host is already there, as is Darkiplier. They must already know that something happened, judging by Dark’s pensive expression and Host’s worried one. Dr. Iplier is still crying as they come in, and Host is by him in seconds, taking him into his arms. Host hugs him tight and he strokes his hair as Dark approaches, aura whipping around him in anger.

“The Host foresaw Yandere in danger,” Dark growls. Silver shrinks back, and Dark’s steely gaze turns to Dr. Iplier. “Where is he?”

Dr. Iplier pulls away from Host enough to address Dark, but Host keeps one arm around his shoulders.

“H-He’s been kidnapped,” he manages through his sobs. He holds out his phone, still on the awful texts, to Dark.

Dark takes the phone from him, and Silver can see the instant he registers the photos of Yandere. His eyes blaze and his shell splits, revealing different shadows of himself and split-second screams of fear, despair, and most of all, rage. Silver looks over to see Host narrating softly to himself, finding out what’s on the phone as well. His brows furrow and his expression tightens as he murmurs. Dark whirls on Dr. Iplier, startling Host into momentary quiet.

“You let someone kidnap Yandere!?” Dark roars, sending Dr. Iplier cowering and crying harder against Host’s side. Host’s nostrils flare as he tightens his hold on Dr. Iplier’s shoulders and steps forward.

“Dr. Iplier did not let this happen!” he yells back, getting in Dark’s face. “Yandere is his child! He would never willingly allow anyone to hurt him!”

“He tried to stop them!” Silver interjects without thinking. He falters as Dark’s fiery gaze snaps towards him. “I mean, he told me there were three people, and, um, two of them held him back, you know, and–”

“Then why didn’t you stop them?” Dark asks, voice dripping with derision added to anger. “Or did you fail as you always have?”

Silver bows his head, distantly grateful for his mask covering his blush as his face heats with shame. Practically none of the egos take him seriously, he knows that, but it always hurts to be reminded.

“I was stopping an armed robbery somewhere else,” he says, voice small, “By the time I got to Dr. Iplier, he’d been knocked out and Yandere was gone.”

Dark turns back to Host, who is speaking under his breath, letting his narrations go over Silver’s story.

“Well?” Dark asks.

“Silver is being truthful.” Host’s voice is icy. “The kidnappers shoved Dr. Iplier’s head against a brick wall to subdue him. He was outnumbered and overpowered, and Silver had no way of knowing what was happening. By the time the kidnappers confronted Dr. Iplier, there were no paths left where Yandere was left unharmed.”

“What paths are there now?” Dark demands.

Silver watches Host murmur and listens to his voice dip up and down as he ventures through the future with no small amount of awe. It’s not often he sees Host flex his power like this, and it amazes him every time. When Host is done, he addresses Dark.

“There are many possible futures in which Yandere is brought home safe.”

“And the rest?”

Host pauses, mindful of Dr. Iplier still crying into his trenchcoat.

“There are paths where Yandere comes home with greater injuries than he has now…” Host admits, “…and several paths in which he is rescued too late.”

Dr. Iplier sobs harshly, and Host turns away from Dark to hug the doctor close again. Silver shudders to think of those men hurting Yandere, much less killing him. Dark doesn’t like the thought of it either, judging by his furious expression. He looks at the photos again.

“Perhaps Wilford can teleport to where they are…” he begins.

“Is that my cue?” Wilford says as he suddenly appears with a pop next to Silver. Silver yelps in surprise and jumps backwards, nearly tripping over his cape as Wilford strides over to Dark. He spares a glance around at everyone, taking in their various unhappy and angry expressions. “Geez, what’s up with all of you?”

“This,” Dark answers, handing him the phone.

Wilford takes it, and his genial expression almost instantly turns stormy. His eyes widen and turn bright pink as his brows turn down, and his nostrils flare. Almost immediately a vein pops out in his forehead, and Silver can see his jaw clench around his deep frown. Silver steps away, closer to Host. He doesn’t often see Wilford get this angry.

“Oh, that bastard is going to look splendid on my wall,” Wilford growls.

“Can you take us to him?” Dark asks.

Wilford peers at the photos, zooms them in, and appears to try, but his aura fizzles and bursts in meaningless pink puffs.

“It’s no good,” he huffs, “I can’t see enough of the room they’re in, the photos are too damn close!” He throws the phone annoyance, right over Silver’s head.

“Hey, hold on!” Silver yells, running for the phone.

“You idiot, we need that!” Dark snaps at Wilford.

They start to argue as Silver catches the phone in one of his giant gloves. He looks at the photos again, trying to think of a new course of action. If Wilford can’t get a good look at where they are to teleport there, then what now? He stares at the man’s arm holding Yandere, not certain what he’s looking for, but trying to find something useful. There’s nothing unusual about it, except…Silver zooms in on the second photo, seeing a black speck on the man’s arm, next to where Yandere’s own tiny hand is grabbing on for purchase. He hadn’t noticed it before in his and Dr. Iplier’s panic. Dirt? No, too dark, too thin against the skin. A tattoo? Much more likely. Yandere’s hand could be covering the rest of it. Silver looks to the side of the photo, where the man has his other arm up, hand holding a gun to Yandere’s hand. He can just barely see the edge of another tattoo in the same area as the one on the other arm.

Small, likely matching, tattoos on either arm. There’s no one person it could be, but Silver has an immediate hunch, judging from what he can see of the man’s build and skin tone. Has he done it? Has he figured out who took Yandere??

At that moment, the phone is plucked from his grip by Dark’s aura.

“Hey–!” Silver exclaims, turning towards Dark in time to see the phone drop into his open hand.

“I’ll be taking this to the Googles,” Dark says, “They’ll trace the number and we’ll have a better idea of what to do next.”

“Wait, hold on!” Silver cries, running over, “I think I know who the guy in the photo is! You can sorta see his tattoos, and–”

“How many thugs with tattoos are there in this city, Silver?” Dark asks, patronizing. Wilford snickers.

“Um, uh, a-a lot,” Silver stammers, “But, these ones, they’re, I mean–”

“Yeah, well, um,” Wilford interrupts, mocking, “No offence, Shep, but you best be leaving this to the big guns.” He stretches his suspenders and winks.

“B-But I’m sure I know!” Silver insists, “The Googles can look him up, and we can–”

“This is not your decision,” Dark snaps, staring down at Silver with narrowed eyes. Silver cowers, instantly quieting. “Wilford and I will take it from here. Your help is not needed.” He says the word “help” with icy sarcasm.

“I…” Silver tries, but his confidence withers and dies under Dark’s glare.

“Know your place, Shepherd. And don’t get in our way.”

With that, his aura swallows him up and he disappears, off to the control room. Wilford spares one last chuckle at Silver’s expense before following in a puff of pink smoke.

Silver sighs.

“I should’ve known not to question them,” he mutters, pulling his cape into his hand to twist it worriedly. “But the number has to be burner, those guys might not even have it anymore.” He looks at the Host, who still stands nearby, comforting Dr. Iplier. His head swivels to Silver as he senses his eyes on him.

“Does Silver want advice?” Host asks, “Or does he want an excuse to pursue his theory?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“There are many, many futures that hang above us now, waiting to be realized.” Host continues. “Only a scant few see Silver Shepherd making the situation worse.”

“What about the others?” Silver asks, new hope blooming in his chest. Host smiles just a little.

“There are one or two in which Silver does nothing, but there are many in which Silver attempts a rescue. Quite a few see him succeeding.” He peers at Silver like he can see right through him. “But it does not matter what the Host says, because Silver already knows what the right choice is.”

“You’re right,” Silver answers, a slow smile coming over his face, “You’re right, I know what I have to do. What I want to do.” He stands up straighter. “Thank you, Host. And make sure someone looks at Dr. Iplier’s head.”

“He will,” Host replies, offering another soft smile before turning to lead Dr. Iplier away.

Silver, meanwhile, leaves the building with a determined spring in his stride.

He knows what to do, and more importantly, he knows where to go.

~~~

Abel Eyler.

Silver’s dealt with him before, him and his two goons. The three of them aren’t exactly big players in the crime world, but they make more than their share of trouble around the city. All three are slippery, Abel especially, and their crimes have escalated every time they escape, getting worse and worse as they get bolder. Last time they mugged a pair of women on their way home from a concert late at night, and now this.

Abel is identifiable by the small tattoo on each arm; a shamrock overlapping an infinity symbol. The tattoos are cheap, not very well-made, but they’re meant to symbolize Abel’s seemingly infinite luck, the infinite crimes he gets away with, the infinite police officers he’s outrun and escaped.

Maybe today, his luck will finally run out.

Silver makes his way through the city into an old, poverty-stricken area full of crumbling apartments sprayed with graffiti. He knows this area well. People are always getting in trouble here: Domestic violence, gang violence, and drug busts, among other things. Abel and his gang have been here before, and Silver has a hunch that they’ve returned to their old stomping grounds.

He comes by a homeless man at one point, who Silver gives a few dollars and asks if he knows anything about Abel. The man points Silver to an apartment a few doors down, saying he could hear a baby crying a while ago but it has since quieted. Silver’s nerves spike as he thanks him and heads to the building.

He puts his ear against the door, and his super-hearing just barely picks up some odd sounds coming from below.

The basement.

Silver goes around to the back of the building, flying over a fence in the process, and reaches the door to the basement. He listens again just to be sure, and yes, he can definitely hear small, sad noises coming from inside. He remembers the second photo sent to Dr. Iplier, the one with a gun up against Yandere’s head, and shudders. As quietly as he can, he forces the door open. Luckily, he’s had practice, and from what he can hear, Abel and his men didn’t notice a thing. Silver listens to them talk as he heads down the stairs into the darkened room.

“You think the doc’s ever gonna reply?” says one henchman; Ricky, if Silver remembers right.

“Probably not, right?” says the other; Frank. “He’s just gonna show up with the cash. How many more hours do we gotta wait before we get rich?”

“Pipe down, both of you,” snaps Abel. Silver feels a burning in his chest to hear him. “We’ve attracted enough suspicion already with this kid’s yelling. We just gotta lay low until we can get the money.”

As Silver gets closer, he can better hear Yandere’s quiet whimpering. He feels a pang of sympathy for him as he peeks around the corner of the room, finally able to see the others. There’s enough shadow around him to keep him from being seen so long as he’s still, so he waits, assessing the threat and figuring out who to go for first. Abel is the furthest from Silver, sitting on an armchair with the gun from the photo still in his hand. Yandere is near him, placed on the floor, crying as quietly as he can manage. His cheek doesn’t look any better than it did in the photo. Ricky and Frank are sitting on a couch, with Frank clearly bored of waiting around and Ricky much more anxious.

“What if we get caught before that?” Ricky asks. “That doctor could’ve gone to the cops anyway.”

“Not if he gives a shit about the kid,” Abel counters. “We see any cops when we get the cash tomorrow, and we kill the kid.”

“You know…” Frank muses. “We could just kill him now. That way we don’t have to worry about keeping him quiet.”

Silver’s blood runs cold as Ricky and Abel consider.

“That’s way too risky!” Ricky cries, “How’re we gonna return the kid if he’s dead??”

“We’d just put him in a box or something,” Abel says, thinking out loud, “Tell him not to open it until we leave…then we get the cash without babysitting.” He grins. “Looks like you do have a decent idea every once in a while, Frank.”

“Damn right,” Frank says proudly.

Silver’s heart beats faster as Abel bends down and grabs Yandere in one arm, holding him much like he did in the photo. Yandere screams out at being picked up, but Abel points the gun at his face to silence him.

“Shut up,” he growls, “This is already gonna be loud, I don’t need you making it louder.”

“Are you really sure about this, Abel?” Ricky asks, “There’s no way someone isn’t gonna hear the shot. Shouldn’t we at least take him somewhere else?”

“And risk being seen with this loud little shit?” Abel asks, giving Yandere a rough shake, making him yelp. “Nah, it’s better to do it in here.”

“That’s really not a good idea.”

Abel looks up, and Ricky and Frank turn in their seat, just in time for Silver to grab them both by the hair and knock their heads together. They slide to the floor as soon as they’re released, out cold. Abel merely grins.

“You gotta ruin everything, huh, Shepherd?” he asks, tightening his hold on Yandere. He doesn’t move the gun from where it points at Yandere’s face.

“I could say the same to you,” Silver replies evenly, walking around the couch and past the goons to get closer to Abel. “Stealing a baby for ransom and planning to kill him? That’s a new low even for you.”

As Silver speaks, Yandere’s head turns toward him, eyes following his walk around the couch.

“Sibew?” he asks, tentative but hopeful.

“Yep,” Abel answers Yandere, “But it doesn’t matter. He’s not fast enough to stop me if I fired this gun right now.”

“Maybe not,” Silver admits, “But you know, this baby doesn’t know who I am because of my reputation.”

“Wait…” Abel’s expression sours. “You know this kid??”

“Yes.” Silver’s eyes narrow. “And I don’t take kindly to people who threaten my family.”

“I’m not scared of you, Shepherd!” Abel pushes the gun into Yandere’s cheek, making him wail.

“Clearly.” Silver takes another step closer. “But I’m not the only person looking for this child. People much more powerful than me are out for blood looking for him. If you give him to me without a fight, I’ll give you and your friends the chance to escape.”

“What, you won’t even arrest us?” Abel asks, now confused.

“There’s not enough time,” Silver explains, “You’re lucky those people I mentioned haven’t already found you. The moment they get here you’re all as good as dead.”

“Aren’t you gonna save us, then?” Abel says, grinning despite his confusion. “You don’t like killing people, do you?”

“I don’t, but it’s not up to me. I already told you those guys are more powerful than me,” Silver reminds him, “And this isn’t like what you’ve done in the past. You’ve made this personal. I’m not going to keep you guys here but I won’t go out of my way for you. It just can’t be done. Your choices are to hand the baby over and leave or refuse and be killed.”

“I’m holding the baby, remember? I’ll take him with me.”

“I’ll stop you. This isn't like the past when I had better things to do than catch you. And when I stop you, I might decide to stop being so generous and handcuff you to the staircase railing, so you'll be here when the others come looking.”

“You have to be bluffing!” Abel doesn't sound as sure of himself as he did a few minutes ago, but he stays loud and brash regardless, still holding the gun to Yandere.

“What if he's not, though?” Ricky groans from the ground, apparently recovered enough to contribute. “This kid ain't worth it, man.”

“Three million dollars is worth it!” Abel argues.

“That doctor doesn't have three million dollars to give you,” Silver interjects, “The only way he could get that money is if the police were able to secure it for him, and there's no way they could get such a huge amount. They'd have already had him text you back asking to negotiate.”

“So he didn't tell the cops,” Frank says from the floor, barely audible but somehow still smug.

“No, but he didn't need to. Because he has me, and those people I mentioned before. The ones who will absolutely kill all three of you if they find you, whether the baby is alive or not.”

Abel considers, frowning deeply. Silver stares back, keeping his nerves down and projecting quiet confidence. Finally, after several long moments, Abel angrily stuffs the gun into the waistband of his pants and storms over to Silver, roughly handing Yandere over.

“Here’s the stupid kid,” he growls. He looks down to address his goons, still rolling on the floor, dazed. “Come on, let's beat it already.”

“Give us a minute, will ya!?” Ricky protests, groaning.

Silver just grins as Abel curses and starts trying to pull his men away. He leaves the room with a wave, which Abel pointedly ignores.

As he walks up the stairs, Silver expects Yandere to fuss and struggle. He's heard from others how picky he is about who holds him, and it's not like him and Yandere are normally close. But Yandere just clings to him for dear life, crying into his chest. Silver’s heart aches like it always does when he sees a child in distress–worse, even, since no child has never been family before. Silver tries to soothe him as he exits the basement.

“I know that was scary, I know,” he murmurs, stroking Yandere's hair despite his giant gloves. “But you're safe now, those bad men aren't gonna hurt you anymore.”

“Wan' Dada!” Yandere sobs.

“I know you do, I'm gonna take you home right now,” Silver reassures him, “Your dada will be so happy to see you.”

Yandere sniffles, but seems a little less upset than before. Silver isn’t exactly sure what to do next. Obviously he has to get Yandere home, but he’s not sure how. He could walk, of course, but that’d take forever. He flew here, and it’d be easiest to fly back, but not every baby enjoys flying like Silver does. Some do love it, but others get sick or freak out, and after everything Yandere’s been through today, Silver doesn’t want to make him feel worse…But then again, the sooner he gets home the better he’ll feel, no matter how he gets there.

“Yandere, I’m gonna fly us home,” Silver tells him, “So you need to hold on tight, okay?”

“Fie?” Yandere asks, tilting his head.

“Yep.” Silver lifts off the ground, beginning to hover. “See?” He inclines his head down. Yandere looks down, too, and gawks at Silver’s feet standing a few inches above the ground. He seems okay, and Silver knows from experience that getting it over with is better than going slow, so he takes off into the air until he’s at his desired height. Yandere jumps a little as they go but otherwise doesn’t react.

Silver stays hovering in place, now much higher off the ground, as Yandere looks around himself and down in confusion. This is the critical moment, right before it sinks into a baby’s mind that they’re in the air and they decide whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. After looking around, Yandere looks back to Silver.

“Ub?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Silver laughs, “We’re up!”

Yandere laughs, too, and Silver feels a wave of relief go through him knowing that he’s not traumatizing Yandere further.

He flies home slower than normal at first, but Yandere keeps shouting for him to go faster. Silver has to remind him more than once to be still and hold on, as he keeps bouncing and wiggling in excitement, pointing out clouds and birds and buildings around them. All Silver can hear is the rush of the wind and Yandere’s giggly shrieks. By the time Silver touches down in front of Ego Inc., Yandere’s hair is a poofy, fluffy mess, and the only tears left on his cheeks are from the wind in his eyes. He’s still laughing and shouting with excitement as Silver walks inside.

“Mo’ fie!” he yells.

“We can’t right now,” Silver tells him, “You gotta see your dada, remember?”

Yandere gasps, as though he did forget, and becomes excited all over again.

“Dada!!” Yandere cries.

“We’re getting there, calm down!” Silver laughs.

He tends not to fly indoors–normally walking suffices–but for Yandere, he flies up the stairwell to the third floor instead of taking the elevator. Yandere clearly enjoys it, and he’s full of giggles as Silver heads to the clinic. He figures Dr. Iplier is there, either healing from his head wound or trying to get back to work.

The answer turns out to be more or less both. He enters the clinic to see Dr. Iplier with a bandage around his head, pacing the floor as Plus follows him around, trying to urge him back to bed. The Host is there too, observing the scene. By the looks of it, this has been going on for a while.

“Doctor! You are injured and you need to rest!” Plus insists as he follows Dr. Iplier, “You have a concussion, and if you overwork yourself, you increase your risk of–”

“I know, I know!” Dr. Iplier snaps, nerves clear in his voice.

“Then get back in bed already!”

“I can’t, not until Yandere’s back here. I need to know he’s safe!”

At that point, the Host smiles gently.

“The Host suggests that Dr. Iplier direct his attention to the door,” he quips.

Dr. Iplier does, and then does a double-take as he sees Silver standing there with Yandere in his arms.

“I found him,” Silver says with a lopsided grin.

“Dada!” Yandere shouts, reaching out for Dr. Iplier.

Dr. Iplier’s shock melts into deep relief as he practically runs to Silver, taking Yandere from him and hugging him close.

“Oh, Yan,” he gasps, already teary, “Oh, my boy, my baby, you’re here, you’re okay–” He presses kisses to Yandere’s unbruised cheek, his messy hair, and his forehead, over and over. Yandere giggles at all the affection, throwing his tiny arms around Dr. Iplier’s neck.

Silver can’t help but feel a burst of joy watching them reunite. This is the part of his job that he never gets tired of: The moments where he succeeds, where he saves someone’s life or brings them home, and he gets to see their loved ones rejoice at having them back safe and alive. Host and Plus are feeling good, too, both smiling gently as they watch Dr. Iplier smother Yandere with kisses. Host seems to feel Silver looking at him, and he meets his gaze with a different sort of smile, like he’d been hoping for this future all along. Silver stands a little straighter, proud to have proved Host right. Dr. Iplier eventually looks up from Yandere to speak to Silver.

“Silver, thank you,” he says, tears of joy beginning to roll down his cheeks, “Just…thank you so much.”

“No sad!!” Yandere yells, reaching for Dr. Iplier’s face to wipe his tears. Silver and Dr. Iplier both laugh.

“No need to thank me,” Silver says, earnest and gentle, “It’s what I do.”

Still, Silver appreciates it, more than he could ever say.

A few moments later, Dark and Wilford suddenly appear in a mess of black fog. Silver manages not to yelp in surprise–an achievement, considering Wilford is covered in blood. Apparently Abel and his men weren’t fast enough, Silver thinks with a shudder.

“I don’t get it,” Wilford huffs, “We went right where the Googles told us to go and we didn’t–” He stops as he finally notices Yandere, who begins to make grabby hands towards him and Dark. “Kiddo! There you are!”

Wilford steps forward to take him, but Dr. Iplier steps back.

“Not before you shower,” he says.

“Oh, come on!” Wilford mutters, “Yan doesn’t care about blood!”

“Normal Yan doesn’t, but I’d rather not traumatize him further,” Dr. Iplier retorts. “Besides, it’s unsanitary.”

Wilford huffs before poofing away.

Dark, however, is clean, and when he moves to take Yandere, Dr. Iplier lets him. As he holds Yandere, his aura settles around them both, calmer and bluer than Silver has ever seen it look before. Yandere coos happily as he hugs Dark’s neck, and Dark allows himself the tiniest smile in return.

“I’m glad you’re home, love,” he murmurs, smoothing down Yandere’s messy hair.

But then Dark looks at Silver, and despite the calmness of his aura, his gaze turns hard and piercing. Silver notices a single spot of blood on his shirt collar and represses a shiver, but despite this, he doesn’t feel quite so powerless facing Dark this time. He meets his gaze with the same self-assurance he’d met Abel’s with, and waits for Dark to speak.

“Thank you,” Dark finally says, voice even but tense, like it physically hurts him to swallow his pride.

Silver knows he could gloat, say he told them so, or any number of things to put Dark down. But…he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to. Yandere is home, safe and happy, and that’s all that matters.

“No need,” Silver replies simply, “It’s what I do.”

[ellanainthetardis]

Hayffie discuss heavy things today! I hope you will enjoy this chapter! (assuming people are still reading lmao)

[ff] or [ao3]

56. 7 Months & 19 Weeks

April let out a small whine at the next boom of thunder and Effie automatically ran her hand up and down her back to soothe her.

“Shh, darling… There is nothing to be afraid about.” she hummed. “Hush, little baby don’t you cry… Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”

She kept on singing softly but April didn’t really calm down.

The lighting storm was bad and Effie honestly didn’t know how Haymitch was sleeping through it. She had been awake and staring at the wall, trying not to flinch with every new roar of thunder, long before she had heard April stirring through the baby monitor. She had reached the nursery before the girl had started wailing but it had been a close thing. Snowball too had been awake, pacing around the crib, not quite at ease.

She had hesitated, of course, mindful of the doctor’s recommendations about picking her up. But when April had gripped the crib’s bars tight and hauled herself up, not quite understanding why her mother wasn’t offering the comfort she needed, Effie had given up on prudence and had lifted her up in her arms. She had been careful about it but she had felt much better once her daughter had been nestled against her chest, her little head tucked under her chin.  

She had gone downstairs to let Haymitch rest and had settled on the couch with the throw away blanket. Now April was sitting on her stretched legs, Snowball was curled up in his bed next to the roaring fireplace and Effie had a front row seat to the lightning storm outside.

“Do you know you were born on a night like this?” Effie smiled at April, picking up the pacifier the girl had just spat, watching her as she rubbed the cat rag doll against her face, betraying how tired she was. She didn’t want to lie down though. Every time Effie settled her against her, her daughter wriggled and rolled back to a sitting position. “Thunder can be scary but it can bring good things too, you see?”

It would bring nothing good to the District. December wasn’t yet as harsh as it had been the previous year but there had been a few snow falls already and the violent rain would transform Twelve into a giant mud pit. The faint honking of the geese in the distance told her the birds weren’t any happier about the weather than her daughter and her dog were but she estimated that if they could survive a blizzard in their pen, they could live through a lightning storm. She would have gone and checked if she had been truly worried but she really didn’t want to get wet just because Haymitch’s birds were getting nervous.

“Look how beautiful the sky is, darling…” she insisted, turning April a little to the right so she could see through the window over the edge of the couch. The dark night sky was regularly struck by a flash of lightning that allowed her to see the whole street as if it was daytime. It only lasted a second, then she only had time to count to five before thunder boomed. “The storm is over our heads…”

Or it would be really soon.

The lamp she had turned on kept flickering and she was quite sure electricity would give in before the end of the night. It was a recurrent problem in Twelve.

April didn’t like the sight. She let out a sound of protest and plummeted forward. Effie caught her and broke her fall before she could hit her stomach. The almost eight months old baby wasn’t the only one who wasn’t liking the storm. Effie hauled her up closer to her chest, letting her snuggle, and rubbed her round belly with her free hand, hoping to soothe the relentless kicking that had begun a few minutes earlier.

She smiled when she realized she could feel the hits under her palm and automatically strained her neck to look in the direction of the dark corridor. Haymitch would have liked to feel Aidan but she didn’t want to make the trip up the stairs and she wasn’t sure she wanted to wake him up either.

Ever since Larcher had told them about her condition… Haymitch was impossible.

She knew he meant well and she had expected him to become overprotective but… Well, she wasn’t sure she would be able to bear four months and a half more of this. He was constantly looking over her shoulder, barely ever leaving her side – she had been forced to slam the bathroom door in his face more than once – cautioning her to be careful every time she did something else than lie on the couch or their bed. The other day, she had begged Katniss to take him and Snowball to the woods just so she could breathe.

Katniss, who understood the need for some alone time all too well, had been good enough to not only drag a kicking and screaming Haymitch away but to keep him there for a couple of hours. Peeta had refused to leave her alone in the house – just in case – but had stuck to the kitchen, leaving her upstairs by herself, free to do whatever she had wished.

She felt like a prisoner in her own home.

Eileen visited her now and then but between the coffee shop, the weather and her own children, her visits were unfortunately short and few in between.

Since she wasn’t allowed to do the laundry – a task that had been delegated to Peeta because Haymitch couldn’t be trusted not to shrink everything or turn it pink – or the cleaning – that was now Katniss’ chore, and Effie was too polite to say anything but she was desperate to be more thorough than the girl – and had basically been forbidden to do anything judged taxing, all she could do was sit and busy herself sketching clothes or knitting or sewing.

She loved doing those things but it used to be a hobby and now it was something she did to not go crazy with inactivity. Even her time with April was under scrutiny. Someone was always popping their head in the room to make sure she wasn’t overdoing it or doing something that could be dangerous for her or the baby she was carrying.

She sighed and placed her hand on the back of her daughter’s head.

“They will drive me insane long before this baby is born.” she told her very seriously. April wriggled and rolled again so Effie helped her sit up once more, pursing her lips at her. “You should really try to sleep now. You will be a very cranky girl tomorrow.” She got a sharp noise in answer and a long stride of gibberish nonsense that made her smile. “Can you say Mama? Ma-ma…”

It was too early for that probably but April seemed to be a master at “ba-bla-bah” noises and it really wasn’t that far in sound…

April wasn’t really interested in learning to talk though. She brought the rag doll to her mouth to suck on it and Effie quickly took it away to replace it with the pacifier. “Don’t do that. It is filthy. The cat is for cuddles, not for chewing.”

Unconcerned with her rebukes, her daughter sucked on the pacifier, coiling her small fingers around her wrist with surprising strength. Effie was always surprised at how strong she could be. Thunder boomed and April startled badly. Her grip on Effie’s arm tightened when she let out a sharp cry, the pacifier falling from her mouth yet again.

“It’s alright, darling.” Effie promised, wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks and making soothing noises. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here.” After a few minutes, April calmed down enough to accept the pacifier back but she was clearly sulking. Effie bumped her playfully on the nose with the rag doll, relinquishing the toy when the baby grabbed it to cuddle. “Mama will always be here, darling. Always.”

One of her hands left April’s hips to rest on her stomach and she briefly closed her eyes.

At least, I hope so, she thought.

She had read everything that were in the books about her condition and she couldn’t say she was reassured by the knowledge it wasn’t an uncommon thing. She had never heard of placenta praevia before but according to the books, it wasn’t that surprising. They were more common in pregnancies that were close together so it made sense that it would be a thing in the Districts where protection had never been available. Pregnancies in the Districts also often resulted in still-born babies, miscarriages and dead mothers. Before the war, at least. Things were better now.

Still, it was a risky pregnancy. A few books advised abortion if it was too serious and if it was detected soon enough.

They hadn’t discussed it – they hadn’t discussed the situation properly since coming back from the clinic – but she supposed Haymitch had read the same things she had and that it was why he was so frayed with worry. She suspected he hardly slept. When she woke up in the morning, he was always lying next to her, watching her wistfully. He ran around the house all day, either trying to make himself useful by taking care of April or fetching things Effie hadn’t requested and didn’t need in a self-professed quest to make her feel better.

He was trying to hide his shaking hands from her but she had noticed the tremors and the headaches. She knew what it meant. She wished he would tell her when he was struggling with the urge to drink but she knew better than confronting him about it.

They were both trying to avoid or delay a fight that seemed to her inevitable.

“If… If I have to leave you, April…” she whispered, not quite sure why she was saying that at all. It felt like bad luck to think about it. But she also knew firsthand how fragile life was and… “You have to know I fought as hard as I could to stay. I love you so much…” She sighed and dropped her head against the back of the couch, barely hearing the next boom of thunder. “I would die for you, you know. In a heartbeat. And I would die for your brother too. And… And it might not be fair but I know you will be alright because your papa will be here to take care of you, of both of you and…”

Her eyes filled with tears that she blinked away.

The idea that she might not be able to see April grow up, to even see Aidan at all… It was too much. Not only unfair but suffocating because of how painful it was.

She didn’t know if she was being overdramatic or not. The children and Haymitch’s behavior didn’t help. She felt on borrowed time, frail and breakable. The knowledge that a C-section was surely waiting at the end of the road was hard to bear. The prospect of staying in a hospital again…

She had faced death before. She had been desperate for it at times. But right then… Right then dying terrified her more than it had ever done.

“I’m gonna fall apart if I lose you.”

The words were delivered in a quiet matter-of-fact voice just behind her and she startled badly. April, at least, seemed happy for it, she outstretched a grabby hand in her father’s direction, making becoming noises around her pacifier, her wish clear.

“No, you won’t.” she countered while Haymitch stepped around the couch to join them. He sat next to her and held their daughter’s hand. “You will take care of the children.”

“I’ll drown in a bottle.” he retorted in an angry growl. “I won’t off myself ‘cause, yeah, there are the kids to think about, provide for. But I sure as hell know myself, sweetheart. I lose you, I fall apart.”

“Haymitch…” she sighed.

“I mean it.” he snapped. Of course, it was the moment the electricity chose to shut down, leaving them in an ominous darkness. Neither of them did well with darkness. She wasn’t surprised when he stood up to stroke the fire. “You can’t die. That’s behind us. You can’t leave me with two babies and just say I’m gonna be fine ‘cause I need to take care of them. You can’t just opt out. We said we were doing this together, Effie. Together.”

“Well, I certainly never said I wanted or was planning on dying, Haymitch.” she snapped. “I simply said…”

“You said, it comes down to a choice, we need to put the baby first and I say…” he shot back.

“I cannot lose another child.”  she cut him off.

“And we cannot lose you.” he spat. “So where does that leave us, sweetheart? You tell me.”

“Hopefully, with both the baby and me healthy and alive.” she deadpanned. She shook her head, distractedly combing her fingers through April’s hair when she startled at another round of thunder. “I do not want to die, Haymitch. But, yes, if it comes down to a choice between the baby and me…”

“No.” he scowled.

“He is your child too.” she reminded him, angry on the baby’s behalf.

“You think I don’t know?” he snarled. “You think the thought of losing him doesn’t kill me? You think it’s easy for me to say I’d let our baby die just to save you?” His jaw clenched and he turned away from her. The flames were projecting strange shadows on his face and she couldn’t read his features. “I need you, Effie. The kids need you. We can survive without this boy, we can’t survive without you. It’s just the clever choice to make. It’s the only…”

“This isn’t the Hunger Games, Haymitch.” she interrupted again.

How many times had they done that? Had that particular conversation? Always in the dead of night as if it would make it easier, usually in front of the bay window with a bottle of whiskey for him and a cigarette for her. It had always been a debate, sometimes just for the sake of it, because they both felt choosing which tribute to favor warranted it, when they had both already known which child had the best chance of making it – and often both agreed that neither of them would last more than five minutes.

He flinched. “I know.”

“Do you?” she wondered.

He was silent for a long moment and then his shoulders slouched. “I can’t lose you. Don’t ask me to.”

“I am not asking you to.” she breathed out. “I want to live. Don’t you think I want to live? I won’t lie to you, it hasn’t always been like that. There were days…” She shook her head, not needing to remind him the state she had been in when she had first come to Twelve. “I want to live, Haymitch. So badly. I want to see my children grow up and have babies of their own. I want… I want to dance with you at Katniss and Peeta’s wedding. I want to grow old with you. I want so many things…”

Haymitch walked back to the couch slowly and dropped next to her again. April was tired and cranky but once he nestled her between them, with her head on his chest, she calmed down. Effie kept running her fingers in her daughter’s blond hair, listening to the gibberish she babbled around her pacifier.  

“It is all very premature anyway.” she declared, trying to sound dismissive but failing. “We do not know what will happen.”

He said nothing. Not for a long time.

April was asleep and she had rested her own head on his shoulder, slowly but steadily drifting off, when he finally spoke. “We need to update our wills.”

“What?” she frowned.

“I hate this.” he grumbled and she knew the only reason he didn’t fidget or kick something was the sleeping baby on his chest. “I fucking hate this but it got me thinking… There’s nothing in our wills about what happens to our kids if we both die or are incapacitated.”

She realized that he was right. “Oh… Well… I do not see why you would…”

“Come on.” he scoffed. “Let’s not pretend I’m gonna stay healthy forever.”

“Haymitch.” she growled.

“Yeah, not so fun to think about the one you love dying, is it?” he taunted but then shook his head. “We should decide. Just in case.”

She pursed her lips and curled up tighter against his side, resting her hand on April’s head. “Alright.”

After a few minutes spent in silence, he snorted. “So? Who’s your first choice? Please, don’t say your family.”

“Of course not.” she scoffed. “I suppose Annie and Johanna come to mind but…”

“They already have Finn.” he finished. “And I’m not sure they can cope with three kids.”

“Exactly.” She made a face. “We would have to ask them and they are awfully young to shoulder such a responsibility and Katniss probably wouldn’t be one hundred percent alright with it but…”

“Yeah.” he said immediately. “The kids are my first choice too.”

“Yes.” she agreed with some relief. It was a very obvious decision and she didn’t know why she had expected that to be more difficult than it was.

She pulled the blankets higher over her, covering his lap and April too. They should all head back to bed, she supposed, keep April in their room if it would make the girl feel better but she didn’t really want to move. The storm was moving on and she found some peace in watching the lightning in the sky.

“I want this baby too, you know.” he said quietly, letting his head drop on top of hers. “Just… I don’t know, sweetheart… We went from being happy to being all… scared in a second and…” He shrugged. “The media circus doesn’t help.”

The press, as was only to be expected, was all over her pregnancy like vultures despite the official statement they had passed along through Plutarch, confirming that Effie was pregnant again and asking them once more to respect their privacy. She hadn’t thought it would work but she had still hoped for some decency.

Some paparazzi were apparently camping in front of her parents’ house, harassing them for information. Her father was forced to call Peacekeepers twice a day.

She resolutely chased her parents from her mind. She hadn’t told them about her problems, knowing her mother would fuss and insist on coming to stay with them. Neither she nor Haymitch would survive that right then.

“I know.” she sighed. “We shouldn’t think about it this way, though. We cannot live in fear for the next five months. We have to be happy and see the bright side… We have a healthy daughter and Doctor Larcher promised me the baby is doing fine for now…”

“Yeah.” he smirked. “True. We should start working on April’s room.”

They had put that on the backburner along with the nursery. They had been living in a sort of limbo for two weeks and it wouldn’t do at all.

“Yes.” she said resolutely. “We will do that. Tomorrow. And we will pick some furniture for the nursery. Mother sent magazines.”

“Alright.” he snorted indulgently. “We’re just gonna… We’re gonna focus on the happy stuff.”

“Exactly.” she grinned. “Speaking of…” She grabbed the hand with which he wasn’t holding April and brought it to her stomach, shifting a little so the angle wasn’t painful for him. “Just wait for it.”

He had to wait five minutes but she knew from her previous pregnancy that he could wait a lot longer to feel a kick. He loved that: feeling the baby kick.

His face lit up when he felt their son for the first time under his palm. Her grin widened.

“Hello, jellyfish.” he murmured, gently rubbing his thumb on her round baby bump.

She chuckled. “See? This is what we should focus on. Happy moments. All those first times…”

“Like April saying Mama for the first time?” he teased. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been training her.”

“Like you haven’t been trying to make her say Papa behind my back.” she chuckled. “Do not think you can keep any secret from me, Haymitch. I know you too well.”

She expected a witty retort, some more banter… What she got was an almost brutal kiss that took her breath away.

He licked his lips when he drew back, his grey eyes far too bright.

“Yeah, you do.” he whispered softly.

And because she did, she heard what he wasn’t saying.

Don’t ever leave me, Princess.

It wasn’t a promise she could make but she would certainly try her best not to.  

“We will all be fine.” she declared. “You will see. In five months, we will have another baby and we will all fine and this will all feel like bad dream. We have to believe it.”

Blind hope had never been his thing. He was too much of a down-to-earth person for that.

However, he forced a smirk and purposefully stroke her belly with his thumb. “Alright. No more gloomy thoughts.”

She rewarded him with a bright smile and another kiss.

[toevenexist]

The Darkening Pt.6

 Hello!! So here is part 6! I will be uploading chapter 7 tonight as I ended up writing a single 4,000+ chapter so I split it into two. 

I really appreciate all the continued support! Thank you for the Reblogs,Review and likes!

Anyway I’m sorry for hurting Amelia!! I hope you enjoy this (sorry again)

Link to masterpost

xxxx

The silence in the house was pierced by the sound of crackling gravel under car wheels. Owen gently lifted Ellis from his lap, placing her beside him on the couch, she curled against the back cushions, hugging a worn woolen blanket.

He moved to the window. Rain hammered against it hard, he could barely see out. His stomach dropped when he saw Arizona’s expression, distorted by the water running in streams down the glass. He froze. She pulled a child from the ambulance. The back doors swung open and Owen saw Richard. ‘Amelia… Where is she?’

“Help… we need help, OWEN! ALEX!” Arizona shouted as she brought the girl towards the house. Owen swung the door open. The smell of rain washed in fast with the wind.

“Evelyn can you take the kids upstairs? This is Ray” Arizona spoke with constraint, moving across the room. “Ray this is Evelyn.” Evelyn smiled down at her, picking up Ellis and guiding them both upstairs. Alex rushed past them, down the stairs, confused, “Whats goi…” Arizona cut him off,

“Get out to the Ambulance… It’s Amelia” she said, speeding out the door. 

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!?” Owen yelled as he ran across the drive. His clothes were quickly drenched by the rain. He stepped up into the ambulance and froze. Amelia was limp on the gurney, loosely covered with a bloodstained blanket. He didn’t know that much of the blood wasn’t hers, but was Ray’s parents, from the bat.

Bruises bloomed brightly all over her arms and chest, exposed to the breeze. Her breathing was erratic and shallow. He kicked through the shreds of her clothing like shallow water, moving toward her. He gasped, “Amelia...Amelia wake up” he cupped her face in his hands, the blood smelled sweet and sickly.

“Owen we need to get her inside” Richard said, passing handfuls of items and equipment from the cupboards out to Arizona and Alex. He stopped, “Owen, pull yourself together! Please! You’re the most equipped to help her”

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING OUT FOR EACHOTHER” He cried, hands waving in the air.

“OWEN!” Richard boomed, bending to take the brake off of the gurney. Owen stood still, panting, tears collecting in his eyes. Richard began to roll her out, snapping Owen from his daze. The daylight made the blood appear all the more vivid. Owen grimaced.

They pushed her through to the kitchen and lifted her onto the table. She awoke suddenly, screaming. “OWEN!!” she reached out with her left hand, breathing sharply.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It alright” he held her hand gently. His other hand ghosted beside her face, fingertips tickling her skin sweetly, the sensation calmed her. “O” she wheezed, gazing at him through lidded eyes. He pressed a kiss against her lips as she let  out a sob.  

Her eyes were bright blue against the dark blood that coated her face.

“Okay, Robbins get a fresh blanket, she’s cold to touch” Owen said, looking down at his wife. ”Richard... catch me up?”

“Every...thing… hurts” Amelia searched for Owen’s hand again, voice quivering as much as her reaching hand.

He nodded, taking her hand in both of his, kissing it. “I know.... It won’t last... okay” he nodded, gently placing her hand at her side. She whimpered, closing her eyes. “Airways appear clear, decreased breathing sounds, subtle hyperresonance, BP is borderline low” Richard listed.

“We need…” Owen began. Arizona entered to room then.

“I found a portable ultrasound” She said, handing it to Owen.

“Perfect...” He pulled back the blanket to expose Amelia’s blueing chest. He coated the transducer with gel. “Amelia… try and breathe as normally as you can okay?” He told her,  pausing, trying to distance himself. He pressed the transducer down.

She yelped, rolling away sharply before screeching in pain and rolling immediately back. She began to weep, her cries making Owen recoil.

“No, no, no” she wailed, screwing up her face.

Owen set the transducer down, against the table. “Amelia… I” his eyes travelled from her watering eyes to her convulsing ribs, bruises, like nebulas, beginning to form.   

Just then Evelyn came in, she gasped, crying “Oh” before moving beside Arizona, who was addressing Amelia’s head lac. She took hold of Amelia’s hand “It’s okay dear, it’s okay, it’ll be over soon” she spoke soothingly. Amelia opened her eyes and stared unwaveringly into Evelyn’s. Owen began again, trying to block out Amelia’s painlaiden whimpers.

Nausea gripped him. The lights snapped on in the room, further illuminating the horrors inflicted on Amelia’s body. Alex called up from the basement, that he’d turned on the generator.

Owen worked quickly, sliding the transducer across the surface, finding multiple rib fractures. “She has a small pneumothorax on the left side” he spoke, he could hear his mother speaking quietly to a tearfull Amelia. “Fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh ribs broken on the left side” He pulled the transducer away, then started again on the other side.  

Alex hustled into the room then, carrying a duffle bag. “I have drugs. Picked them up from the hospital as we were leaving”   He said, dropping the bag on the floor and crouching beside it. Owen pulled the blanket up over her chest, and rubbed his hand against his forehead, unknowingly leaving a smear of Amelia’s blood there.

His features twisted with worry as he watched her breathe. She was visibly calmer, her eyes were closed. Evelyn still held her hand. She was telling Amelia about they day she had married Owen’s father.

“Get her on oxygen. We’ll check the pneumothorax systematically, if it doesn’t reduce in size I’ll perform a tube thoracostomy. If I could I’d get her an epidural infusion of a local anaesthetic”

“We can do that” Alex said, looking up from the bag. Owen turned to him.

“Her radius is fractured” Richard said, still looking down at the monitor of the portable sonogram. Everyone’s eyes moved towards him. “Non-displaced” he continued. Alex stood and placed containers of drugs down in front of Owen, and an epidural kit, “I’ll go look for a splint” he said, leaving quickly.

Richard looked up at Owen, sighing. “Owen...She’s going to be okay” he said, passing Arizona the machine. “Ribs and arm…everything else is bruising” he said, covering Amelia’s legs with a second blanket. Owen nodded. He folded his arms around his body and held himself.

Arizona had moved on to Amelia’s abdomen, palpating it firmly with the transducer, causing Amelia to wince. Owen peered over her shoulder, analysing the screen. It was clear. They both exhaled with relief.

Arizona turned, locking eyes with him, “Let’s get that Epidural done?” she said, raising her brows. She reached out and squeezed his arm comfortingly. Owen fixed his eyes on Arizona, trying to attain some of her calmness.  He nodded.

Richard moved around the table and began to prepare the epidural. “Mom…” Owen placed his hand on her shoulder. He stood beside her and she looked up from her crouched position beside Amelia. He nodded, leaning and kissing the top of her head “Thank you” he whispered.

She smiled tightly, a sad smile, her eyes were jaded. She stood and moved aside.

Amelia looked up at him, panic suddenly warping her face in addition to pain. He stooped quickly.“Hey… you’re okay” Owen said, crouching down so his face was level with Amelia’s. She calmed, solaced by the warmth of Owens presence beside her. Her eyes drooped until almost shut, she gazed at him through crescent moons.

“We’re going to get you sitting up okay? So we can put in a thoracic epidural” he spoke slowly, nodding. She puffed out a breath before speaking, “Okay.”

Her hand searched in a quiet frenzy, for his to hold. “Okay…” he said, squeezing. Hot tears rushed to his eyes.

“Splint!” Alex said, speeding into the room. Amelia’s eyes moved in his direction and tracked him as he rounded the table. “Here” he said, delicately strapping it to Amelia wrist. She closed her eyes, feeling some pain leave her body through her fingertips.

“Ready?” Arizona said, now wearing a fresh mask, pulling on some gloves.

“Here” Evelyn said, coming back into the kitchen with fresh sheets in her arms. She tied one to Arizona’ front and carried the other to Owen. “Let’s get you up” Owen said, standing. “Alex spin her legs, as me and Richard lift her torso.”

The movement was swift, barely enough time for Amelia to register the pain of the movement. It was the new position that distressed her. She moaned loudly, pressing her head against Owens abdomen. Arizona draped the second sheet over Amelia’s shoulders.

Amelia hissed through her teeth, balling a fist around a handful of Owen’s shirt. He supported her weight, hands splayed on her shoulders. He watched Arizona’s hands work proficiently.

He felt a stool move against the backs of his knees, “Sit” his mom spoke, gently pressing down on the top of is back. He pulled it closer with his foot and sat. Amelia rest her head heavily on his shoulder. Shaking,  her body gently convulsed with sobs. “Owen” she cried. He pressed a kiss against her head. Her hair smelt of ethanol and blood.  

“I know…” he said, pursing his lips, as he swallowed his anguish. His mom soothed circles against his back.

“Okay Amelia. Stay very still. This won’t take long” Arizona said, pausing for a moment as Amelia panted, as she tried accumulate a new, composed, impervious, head.

“I’m going to carry her upstairs” Owen spoke without taking his eyes off of her. Rain continued to lash against the windows, a constant rhythm set against the the erratic movement in the house. Amelia was asleep, her breathing was finally steady. Everyone was slowly settling down, Adrenalin easing off, lethargy moving in.

“Someone follow behind and carry the fluids, epidural flask and the oxygen” he asked, his eyes filling with tears. “Owen” Richard said, placing his hand on Owen’s shoulder, he flinched, shaking it off. “Alex will you help me?” He spoke quickly, walking around the table. Alex looked between the two men, nodding, “Sure”.

“Owen” Richard said again, watching Owen stoop and pick her up. He froze when Amelia whimpered, moving her splinted arm over his shoulder. He padded slowly from the room, careful to not shake her.

“He’s just angry Richard” Evelyn said. She sprayed the table with disinfectant and began to wipe it with a sponge. Richard sank down onto the stool. “He needs someone… to be angry at” she rinsed the sponge under the tap. Richard nodded solemnly. “Give him time” she said.

LINK TO PART 7

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