#it's such a relief to feel like i can finally finish healing past the trauma

[bettycrockercorp]

.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

I saw one of your story posts mentioning you might take writing requests for trauma comfort... I've been struggling to write this story myself, and I'm looking for a particular flavor of comfort story.

Everyone seems to always latch on to how Hunter is so perceptive and notices things... but there's things he doesn't notice, even with all his sensitive senses. Particularly when there's not an actual immediate danger with a straightforward solution of "shoot it dead" or "talk to it"

Would you be willing to write something where Crosshair is the one to observe, first notice, and recognize tbe fact their new female member of the team, despite being a very active useful member, is tip-toeing around under the weight of past traumas? Then goes out of his way to take care of someone just as stubborn as he is.

I used to live with abusive housemates. While they weren't physically abusive, they were very creative in every other way of hurting their resident empath and later, attacking my whole family. It took me months after we finally kicked them out, for me to realize that i was literally tip-toeing in my own house afraid to make any noise and break tbe quiet, because i used to get badly berated for even small things like rolling in my office chair to my secobd desk while i did filing and paperwork. I didn't sing or play music for a long time, and i still find myself struggling to talk to people.

I like the idea that Crosshair would be the first to recognize long term behavioral patterns while Hunter is very fast in the uptake with someone who's state has changed in the moment.

You're under no obligation to settle this, of course, so please don't feel pressured! I just love the detailed and thoughtful, realistic way you handle writing about things like this.

My sweet darling, I am so sorry it's taken me so long to finish this. Your request became incredibly personal to me, and I both found myself inspired and struggling with how to respond! I'm honored you came to me with this request - I know how hard it is to admit to being hurt like that. Please be kind to yourself as you heal and know that I'm always happy to offer whatever support I can!

Sharp Eyes, Gentle Hands

Warnings: reference to past emotional abuse, fantasy profanity

WC: 2,253

The silence following the gentle hum of the ramp closing left me sinking beneath a deep sigh of relief. Wrecker had sought me out to say goodbye, and I’d peaked from the little kitchenette of the Marauder in time to wave to Hunter and Echo, but Tech and Crosshair were already out of sight. Still, I found myself treading lightly about the ship as I restocked supplies, updated the inventory manifest, and addressed minor maintenance needs that didn’t warrant Tech’s expertise.

This was the beginning of my second three-month tour with Clone Force 99. I’d been assigned to them as something of a secretary in the hopes of improving their less than ideal track record of finishing their paperwork, but had gradually taken on additional small tasks as time passed. While skeptical at first, the boys seemed to have begun warming to my presence, and I was too eager to maintain that trend, even if I was still only trusted to guard the ship during actual missions.

At present, that extra task consisted of reattaching a cabinet door in the storage room that Wrecker had been a bit too forceful with. After muscling it back into its original shape – mostly – all that was left was to screw it back in. I was so caught up in my work, I barely noticed the hum resonate through my chest, nor the moment that tone gradually gave way to murmured words until, just as I stepped back to appreciate my work, I found myself shamelessly singing aloud.

Satisfied, I gathered the tools and headed into the cockpit to return them. It wasn’t until the shouted gasp tore from my throat, body shying back so violently that I nearly slammed into the wall that I even noticed him. Crosshair wordless lifted an eyebrow at my reaction before returning his attention to the helmet in his hands, fingers skillfully toying with the internal gages as though nothing had happened.

“Um, sorry I-I didn’t realize you were still here.” The apology clawed stiffly up my throat, fire burning across my face. He didn’t bother looking at me as he merely responded with a disinterested grunt. Teeth gnawing against the inside of my lips as I vainly willed my heart to ease its panicked pace, I rushed to quietly place the tools back in Tech’s storage, shoulders tucking firmly about my chest.

“Why do you do that?” The words slipped from his lips almost as though he was talking to himself instead of me, but I balked at the silence that followed, fingers shifting nervously at my sides.

“Wh… do what?” The beginnings of an apology sat like poison atop my tongue, demanding to be voiced in the futile hope that it might defuse whatever confrontation was to come.

“If you’re that scared of us, why did you stay?” His arms crossed his chest, confusion just breaching the innate impatience in those sharp eyes.

“I-I’m not… um, I’m sorry you thought that, but I promise I’m not-” My words died the instant he stood from the chair, helmet laid forgotten atop the seat. My gaze instantly darted to the worn metal beneath us as that too-familiar dread locked around my chest, breaths carefully shallow, silent, lest even that somehow worsen whatever offence I’d already made. But he said nothing in the long seconds that followed, and, hesitantly, I stole a timid glance at him. His brow was cocked, but, still, he made no effort to lash out or reprimand me, merely waited for me to finally grasp his point, and my heart dropped.

“No - I’m sorry; it’s not…” The flurry of excuses tangled over my lips, the beginnings of a tremble just beginning to creep over me. “I’m not… I’m not afraid of you, I’m just… trying to stay out of the way.” I assured him, but he merely rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth, those frightfully intense eyes burring into me.

“You practically flatten yourself against the wall when we walk too close to you. You stopped eating the yellow ration bars after Wrecker mentioned they’re Hunter’s favorite, even though they’re your favorite, too. I don’t think you’ve ever instigated a single conversation unless it was to update a report, and even then you act like…” His teeth ground together, words suddenly falling silent. I’d felt myself sinking beneath every wretched observation, shoulders bunching around me, expression carefully blank; waiting.

“Look, I’m not…” When I risked another fleeting look up to him, I was shocked to see his glare turned pointedly away from me, jaw shifting stiffly around unspoken words. “You don’t need to… hide every time we’re in the same room.” The discomfort in the softness he was trying to force into his voice was obvious, but the simple fact that he was making an attempt left me speechless.

“Kriff, I don’t even know what I said that made you so damn timid.” A touch of that impatience returned, fingers snatching the toothpick from his lips, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me, and that made the guilt stirring in my chest all the more prominent.

“It… it wasn’t…” My hands drew together in front of me, thumb absently picking at my nails. “My-my last crew was… pretty strict with me.” I barely breathed the excuse, unable to risk meeting his eyes. “I just… I didn’t want to cause trouble here, too.” He leaned absently against the back of the co-pilot chair, watching me with a silence that left my skin crawling.

“You realize we share living space with Wrecker?” The skepticism in his blank statement wrenched a burst of laughter from me before I could rein it back, teeth clicking together even as my lips still pulled up into a small smile. For the briefest moment, something like relief seemed to flash through his eyes, and a sliver of that tension slipped from my shoulders.

“We’re not regs.” He continued dismissively. “Whatever osik they pulled with you isn’t how we operate here.”

“It wasn’t regs.” I felt myself tense for some reprimand in the face of my quiet correction, but he didn’t move, gaze watching me silently; waiting. “I was assigned to a mercenary battalion before this.” His head tilted back slightly, eyes narrowing. “That’s part of the reason I ended up here: I requested an assignment with a clone squad, but the regs don’t usually work with freelancers, so…” I motioned subtly toward him, shoulders drawing tight into my chest.

Crosshair was silent for a long moment, expression painfully unchanged. My mind raced for some way to anticipate what he was thinking – was he annoyed to learn the reason I’d ended up with them? Was he enraged that I feared the same treatment from his brothers that I’d received from the mercs? Was he completely indifferent?

Movements unrushed, void of the impatience I’d expected, he retrieved his helmet and started toward the ladder.

“Gonna do a patrol.” He explained, slipping on the bucket. “I’ll let you know when I’m back.” I couldn’t begin to fight the shock from my eyes, the silent gasp from my lips, immediately aware of his unspoken offer: he was giving me space; allowing me a moment to collect myself in the comfort of isolation… and I didn’t have to fret over not realizing when he returned…

“You should sing more often – Echo and Wrecker like that sort of thing.” Again, I found myself utterly frozen, jaw shifting uselessly around words I couldn’t begin to form, but he didn’t wait for a response. With a few swift movements, he was gone.

-

Things changed after that. Not with any grand or outwardly notable gestures, but it seemed to shift the very dynamic of the squad in the most subtle ways. It started with caf.

It was hardly unusual for the sniper to be the last to force himself into the kitchenette to join us, jaw ground against the early morning grogginess. I was just finishing the breakfast scramble as he trudged to the caf machine. Without a word, he set a steaming cup on the counter beside me before taking a seat with his brothers. I stared blankly at it for a moment, only then realizing that I’d fallen into the habit of waiting for the others to get their own cups before getting some for myself. When I stole a brief glance toward him, he showed no indication that he’d done anything abnormal, head tilted back against his chair with his eyes closed as though he might steal even a few seconds’ more sleep.

Then it was the arguing. Echo and Tech’s banter rarely escalated, but when it did, neither were innocent of resorting to shouting on occasion. I couldn’t remember what had prompted the latest disagreement, but their voices boomed throughout the entirety of the Marauder until even Hunter stepped in in a futile attempt to silence them. I’d made the mistake of treading into the cockpit just as things between them began to grow heated intending to merely return Echo’s power calibrator and quickly found myself frozen in the corner, waiting for a safe moment that wasn’t soon to come.

Long after the Sergeant had joined the fray, succeeding only in adding to the chaotic flurry of raised voices, Crosshair stormed down the ladder, brows pinched and lips wrenched into a scowl, but then he saw me, sharp eyes instantly noting the tool clutched in my grasp. Ignoring his brothers, he merely held his hand out to me, motioning for the device. I tried not to let him see the slight tremor in my limbs as I hesitantly placed it in his waiting palm. Saying nothing, he merely nodded toward the ladder. I was halfway through the porthole when I heard the loud thud followed by a shocked cry of pain, and, in the next breath: silence.

That was the last time any of them got into a shouting fit like that around me. Twice, just as tensions were beginning to rise, Hunter went so far as to conveniently find a reason to summon me. It didn’t take long to realize he’d caught on and was too willing to use my presence as an indirect means of quelling tempers. The second time, he shot me a knowing wink, and I found myself biting my lips against the fit of quiet laughter.

When we found a rare moment of calm, Crosshair pressed things a bit further. A fire crackled in the stillness. We didn’t have to return to Kamino for a few days, so we made camp beside a small lake, secluded in a forgiving wilderness. I barely noticed the lithe man lean toward Wrecker, lips shifting almost silently, but then his brother’s eyes shot open, excitement lighting his face.

“You can sing?!” My heart dropped, body instantly going stiff.

“…uh…” Caught, I could only stare at him in shock, gaze darting briefly to see the subtle smirk on the Sniper’s lips before the towering clone was talking once more, pleading.

“Will you sing somethin’?! We hardly ever get to hear music!” The refusal clawed at my throat, aghast at even the thought of denying the innocent delight in his request.

“Wrecker.” The warning in Hunter’s voice was enough to dampen the large man’s glee, and I found myself distraught to see his smile fade.

“M… maybe just one.” I agreed nervously, and the thrilled gasp it earned was nearly enough to ease the frantic racing of my heart. Echo and Tech glanced up curiously, and I had to pointedly ignore the feeling of everyone’s eyes watching me.

The first words left in something nearer to a whisper than a melody, but the hint of pride just threatening to shine in Crosshair’s gaze emboldened me in a way I would never have expected. By the second verse, I left the lyrics dance over my lips. My cheeks were still flushed, blood still pounding through my ears, but I couldn’t dismiss the simple joy as I took in the wonder in Wrecker’s face, Hunter’s quiet smile, Tech’s datapad lying forgotten beside him.

In the days that followed, I’d caught most of them occasionally humming the tune, and, more than once, found myself joining them with a shy grin.

That innate need to tuck into the wall as we passed each other slowly began to fade, but the next few times it happened with Crosshair, he wordlessly touched his hand to my arm and guided me upright. It was never a quick movement, the gentle pressure an invitation instead of an order, and each time, I found my heart racing long after he’d left.

After several weeks of those quiet moments, I intentionally bumped his shoulder with mine in a moment of frightful bravery. The look of pure shock in his suddenly wide eyes nearly sent me fleeing, certain I’d made a terrible mistake, but then his lips curled into grin, breath catching in a silent chuckle. His hand reached up to carefully ruffle my hair before he continued on his way.

It wasn’t perfect. I still found myself unable to find my voice unless someone else spoke first; felt that panicked dread if I set something down too loudly or made simple mistakes, but that fear faded quicker, my responses felt a little less meek as they drew me into quiet conversations more often. It wasn’t perfect, but the patience and kindness they offered allowed me to take those first steps toward making it better.

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[abusedandromeda]

PTSD and Everywhere at the End of Time

So just an hour earlier, I finished a long ass journey by watching Everywhere at the End of Time and all I’ve been hearing is how depressing the ending is, but honestly, I have different emotions on it. Since this does have things to due with past trauma and PTSD, I’ve decided to post it on this tumblr instead of my main.

Trigger warning for existential stuff and themes surrounding death

When I first started listening, my feelings were kinda lukewarm. I was a little anxious due to past reviews of it, but because the beginning was memed so much, I was a little less anxious before moving onto the next songs. The worst part was the beginning stages. The music and effects were amazing, but my god was I so on edge that I felt physically ill. It felt like up a roller coaster, but you never fall. Like you’re anticipating the turning point with every crackle and new change in the music. You know what’s going to happen, you just don’t know when.

This is also when I thought about my grandpa. He didn’t die due to dementia, he was actually very healthy…and then he up and died. Don’t know what happened, but it made me think of my own future and I started feeling scared of my own death. Like thinking of the last time I’ll ever fall asleep and I’ll never wake up. Suicide was something I thought about a lot, but death was still something I was scared of. Suicide was a solution for silence, death was permanent if that makes sense?

When the music faded to a tone of random noise, it was very overstimulating. I just didn’t know what to focus on at all. I couldn’t even feel anxious, just…something was too much. Everything was too much. At the same time, I was also losing interest when it was the same tone due to the fact I was a tiktok addict and tiktok killed my attention span.

Then, there was nothing. Well, ALMOST nothing but crackling and I hated that shit. If y’all have PTSD, then y’all know the feeling. Silence is the worst. You’re constantly waiting for that bomb to go off, or for the other shoe to drop. But the more you wait, the more anxious you get and no matter how bad the outcome is, you just want fucking SOMETHING to happen. That’s why I nearly cried in happiness when I heard SOME music and got frustrated when the music just up and left. It was like finally having that band snap.

I’d also like to add that the lack of interest did come back, but you could also argue that the chaotic music and the nothingness quickly becomes a new normal for dementia patients, and I think it’s relatable to C-PTSD folks specifically. I’ll talk about it more in another post, but you eventually come to crave the chaos of the repetitive trauma that new changes, and even the your calm healing journey is jarring to you.

I thought the ending would make me more emotional, or make me start crying, but it did click for me like for other people. It was that relief when the choir came in. My suffering was over(it was a long ass 6 and a half hours)…and it wasn’t a bad thing. And I think that’s why I have a more positive outlook on the end that other people (not 100% positive, just less depressing).

I feel as though the relief I felt would be the same as someone with dementia, that their suffering was finally over and they can finally move onto the next life, or something bigger. I feel as though death isn’t something permanent but just another thing on our to-do list before we go onto the next thing on our list, our next life. At some point, suffering has to end, whether it’s a bad ending or a good ending, and what a bad or good ending is is up to interpretation. Death doesn’t have to bring everyone down forever. For some people, death can be a good thing. When I heard my dog, Hercules, died, I was crushed, obviously. But I knew he wasn’t suffering anymore. He wasn’t suffering with people who were constantly yelling at each other and stressing him out. He can now move onto another life where he’ll find owners who’ll give him the stress free life he deserved.

I think I’ve kinda gotten over that fear of death, knowing that it’s not an end but a thing I have to do at some point so I can go onto my next future. And that relief from the end of my suffering is the relief that now I don’t have anything holding me down anymore.

I know this was a little shorter, I might add to it in the morning but I think this pretty much sums up! Hope y’all enjoyed! (As much as y’all could lmao)

[marauderundercover]

This Side of Normal Ch. 5: The Battle

Prev

AO3

“Absolutely not.” Jason says, crossing his arms, an offended look on his face. 

“Please!” Marinette begs, doing her best to show her anxiety without having to spell it out in front of Adrien. Although they’d only known Jason for a month, he was really good at reading their facial expressions and body language to see when they were upset. Marinette needed Jason to see that now. She needed him to take a Miraculous. He may work in security and have a bunch of battle training, but they’d still be going up against someone with magic. Someone that wouldn’t hesitate to hurt all of them to get what he wants. 

“Come on Jay, it’s just a bracelet.” Adrien says, his shoulders tense. Marinette takes in a deep breath, frantically shoving her panic deep down where hopefully it’ll stay until after the battle. 

“It’s not that it’s a bracelet, kid. It’s that I don’t need it.” Jason argues, much as he had for the past ten minutes. 

“If not for yourself, do it for them.” Wayzz says, speaking up for the first time. Jason shoots a weary glance at the kwami and quirks an eyebrow. 

“What d’ya mean?” He asks. 

“The Guardian wishes for you to use my Miraculous. I am the kwami of protection. When my wielder says ‘shelter’, they are able to cast a shield around both themselves and anyone nearby that they wish to protect. If you follow Ladybug and Chat Noir into battle with my Miraculous, you will be better equipped to help them in an emergency. That is, you wouldn’t have to choose who to save.” Wayzz explains. Marinette raises an eye at the last part of his rant, but it seems to solidify something with Jason. 

“Fine. Gimme the damn bracelet.” He grumbles, and even though he’s acting annoyed, Marinette can see the hint of relief in his eyes. So he was worried about being able to protect them. Marinette blinks for a moment. Even though he’d only know them for a month, he still seemed to care more than Master Fu did. Nothing against the man, he did the best he could but….it wasn’t enough. And that was painfully obvious the more time they spent training with Jason. 

“Jason- I just realized I don’t know your last name.” Marinette says, pouting slightly before shaking her head. “Whatever, Jason Dupain Cheng, Adrien don’t you start. You and I both know that you hate your last name so it just makes sense that we all take my name. Now shut your damn mouth so I can do this!” 

“Me-ouch.” Adrien mumbles, crossing his arms as he pouts. Jason snickers, but stops immediately when Marinette turns her glare to him. She smiles and nods, clearing her throat before starting her speech again. 

“Jason Dupain Cheng, this is the Miraculous of Protection. I am granting you this Miraculous to use in the battle with Hawkmoth. Once the battle is complete, you will return the Miraculous to me. Can I trust you?” Marinette finishes her speech with a small smile, one that instantly drops when she sees Jason snort. 

“I’m sorry Pix, but it’s weird to see you so serious.” Jason apologizes with a snicker. 

“I’m serious!” Marinette argues, tugging the box back away from Jason. “In fact, I’m so serious that now I’m taking it back. No bracelet of protection for you, ya meanie.” She adds.

“Isn’t that exactly what he wanted to begin with?” Adrien asks, making Marinette pause in her tug of war. Huffing, she shoves the box back at Jason. 

“Just put it on.” She grumbles, pouting when he snorts. 

“Whatever you say, boss.” He says, sliding the bracelet onto his wrist. Wayzz looks between the two, the Kwami’s face almost amused. 

“Hello.” Wayzz says, nodding as he bows at Jason. Jason just awkwardly waves. 

“Hey.” He says, his easy smile falling. Marinette starts to ask him if he’s okay, when she realizes. He’s worried. Of course he is. Now that he has the Miraculous, it’s time. They were going tonight to take Hawkmoth-Gabriel’s- Miraculous. This would all end tonight. One way or another. This was ending. 

---

This was ending. Soon. Gabriel is sure of that. It would not be ending in Ladybug’s favor though. On the contrary. Gabriel was certain that the insignificant bug wouldn’t make it past this final battle. The idea of Chat Noir facing the same fate made him falter slightly, if only for that small amount of time where he thought his own son held the ring. Although he no longer thought that, the idea of killing him was out of the question. Hurting him, though, that was perfectly acceptable. Especially if it meant he hurt that pest in the process. Finding a spell in the small bit of Grimoire he held, a spell powerful enough to penetrate the Miraculous suits, was not easy. The Grimoire wasn’t easy to read and was mostly filled with healing magic. But that wouldn’t help him. Not at all. Not like this would. Grinning down at his cane that now held a wicked glow, Gabriel-Hawkmoth- grinned. This will end soon. 

---

Taking in a deep breath, Marinette tries hard to ignore the dread settling in her stomach. Something is going to go wrong, she can feel it. And yet, it feels like it has to be tonight. That if they wait for another night, another day, they won’t have any chance to win at all. She had told both Adrien and Jason about the feeling, and both had encouraged her to do what she thought was best. They trusted her. And she was terrified that that would end up getting one, or both, of them hurt. Shaking out her hands to try and calm the energy bubbling up inside her, she watches Adrien’s window carefully. She had wanted the three to go in together, but Adrien had pointed out that he lived there. He could just open his window for the other two, allowing their entrance to be almost undetectable. Marinette hated it, hated feeling like she was using Adrien’s situation to their advantage, until Jason pointed out that- in the end- it was helping Adrien. Seeing the flashlight flicker- the sign that the coast was clear- Marinette swings over the fence and smoothly into Adrien’s room with Jason following closely behind. 

“Hey kitty.” She says softly, squeezing Adrien’s hand in an attempt to comfort him. 

“Hey bug.” He says softly, squeezing back. Jason hangs back, keeping an eye on the door while the two take a moment to gather themselves. This could be it. The end of a battle they’d been fighting since they were barely teenagers. Over three years of their lives was dedicated to protecting Paris, and that could be ending soon. Taking in a steadying breath, Marinette lets go of Adrien’s hand. 

“I brought Kaalki, like we discussed. They should be in your father’s office right now, looking for any incriminating evidence. If they find anything, they’re supposed to come get us so that we can go check it out ourselves.” She says their plan going as planned so far. A few minutes pass before Kaalki comes charging in, a disturbed look on the Kwami’s usually cheery face. 

“I found Hawkmoth’s lair.” They say, in lieu of a greeting. 

“Well shit. That’s the confirmation we need.” Jason whistles lowly, filled with a tension that wasn’t there before. 

“I kinda figured. I didn’t really have any hope left that it wasn’t him. So how do we get in there?” Adrien asks, setting his face with a determined look. 

“We use a portal. It’d be the easiest way of making sure Hawkmoth doesn’t hear us coming.” Marinette says, sliding the glasses onto her face and calling for the unified transformation. 

“Are you two sure about this? I could go in alone. I’m sure I could take him by myself.” Jason offers, his jaw obviously clenched. Marinette glances at Adrien, who nods, before turning back to Jason. 

“This is our fight, Jay. And as much as we appreciate your help, we have to be there too.” She says with a grim smile. Jason huffs, but nods. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that. Let’s get this shit over with. I’m ready to go angrily punch a punching bag without being scared that I’ll wake up holding your Miraculous.” Jason says, making Marinette flinch slightly. She felt awful that Jason, like many Parisians, felt like they weren’t allowed to feel negative emotions. She knew how draining that was, how hard it was at the end of the day. And even past that, because you couldn’t even have negative emotions while you slept. But Jason was right. It’s time to end this, time to end the emotional trauma, time to end having to suppress feelings just to get by. 

“Voyage!” Marinette calls, silently stepping through the portal with Jason and Adrien close behind her. Silently calling off Kaalki’s transformation, she moves the horse Miraculous into her yoyo as she glances around the room. Butterflies, everywhere, an odd glowing and-

“Ah, Ladybug and Chat Noir. How kind of you to make a personal visit to deliver your Miraculous.” Hawkmoth taunts, twirling his cane around. Marinette’s eyes narrow as she looks at the cane and the very obvious blade sticking out of the bottom of it. 

“We’re actually here to ask for your Miraculous, Hawkmoth. Yours and Mayura’s. We know who you are, Gabriel Agreste. Give up now.” Marinette demands, her posture tense as she refrains from standing in a fighting position, instead situating herself so that she’s standing in front of her brothers. 

“I think you’ll find me to be someone unwilling to negotiate, Ladybug.” Hawkmoth sneers before lunging towards her with his cane. Tossing her yoyo at him, she manages to knock his cane out of his hand, causing him to rush after it. He picks it up and whirls around, a wrathful look on his face as he charges towards her once again. Their fight doesn’t last long before Mayura is suddenly there, a sentimonster at her side. Resisting the urge to curse out Nathalie, Marinette pours all of her focus into the battle. Between her own hits aimed at the sentimonster and dodging the neverending attacks aimed at her by Hawkmoth, it’s getting exhausting. But with Mayura and her sentimonster still active, it’s too soon to call any of their powers. Momentarily distracted by Jason taking out the sentimonster, Marinette doesn’t see Hawkmoth’s blade coming at her throat. But Adrien does. Being shoved harshly out of the way, Marinette stumbles slightly before glancing back at her partner. And letting out a horrified scream. A scream that’s drowned out by Adrien’s own agony filled scream. Because Adrien took the hit meant for her. And now Adrien Agreste was lying on the ground, sobbing, his eyes clenched shut. Why was he Adrien? Why was he in his clothes? Why is there so. much. blood. Falling to her knees, Marinette tries desperately to stop the bleeding. Ripping Adrien’s jacket off, she attempts to tie a tourniquet, barely able to hear Tikki’s voice in the back of her head. Cast the cure. Of course, the cure. The cure. Tossing up her yoyo, she attempts to cast the cure, screaming in frustration when the ladybugs only stop the bleeding. Marinette jumps up, glaring furiously at Hawkmoth who had frozen, a stricken look on his face. 

“You!” She screams, attempting to lunge towards him to kill him. Hurt him. Torture him and make him scream like Adrien currently was. Only to be stopped. Turning her head to glare at Jason, she realizes that he’s also frozen in place, cursing up a storm as he seems to fight his own body. 

“You son of a bitch!” He roars, his entire body tense as he fights against invisible binds. 

“Let me go, Tikki! Let me go!” Marinette screams, sobbing as she desperately tries to move, to do something. Kill the man and take his Miraculous. Because that’s what he deserves for hurting her partner. Her best friend. Her brother.

“Drop the transformation, goddamnit! The bastard deserves it! Fuck you, Gabriel Agreste!” Jason screams, obviously unable to remember the words for him to drop the transformation. Marinette has no such qualms. Opening her mouth to say the words, she sobs in frustration when she realizes Tikki has now blocked her from speaking. He deserves it! She thinks furiously, trying to get Tikki to agree to it. Wanting nothing more than to hurt this man, and hurt him good. There is no satisfaction when Gabriel takes both his and Nathalie’s Miraculous and sets them in front of her before backing off and sitting on the ground. There’s only anger as he tries to sit next to Adrien, who has since passed out from the shock, only to be scared off by a hissing Plagg. Staring at Adrien’s tear stricken face, contorted in pain even in sleep, and his- his arm, she realizes with a wave of nausea, that’s his arm lying next to him. She feels every single muscle tense as she continues to fight to break free. To beat the shit out of Gabriel Agreste. Even as her thoughts start to betray her. Even as she realizes….This was all her fault. 

Next

---

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[rngknsk]

The Aftermath

Chapter 2: Dinner

Sanemi Shinazugawa/Reader (F)

Three months have passed since you woke up at the Butterfly Estate beside your good friend Sanemi Shinazugawa. You have healed physically, but not emotionally. You take up an offer to spend some time by yourself at the Shinazugawa residence, hoping to finally find peace with yourself.

**THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE DEMON SLAYER MANGA. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE MANGA.**

Tags/warnings: Shared trauma, angst, survivors guilt, slight tw, comfort, slight fluff, reader is a Hashira

Chapter 1 can be read here.

You can also read Chapter 2 here on Ao3. 

Enjoy! :)

A little over three months had passed since defeating Muzan Kibutsuji and the remaining Upper Moons. Your injuries, along with the others who had survived the fight, were just about fully healed. One week prior to today, the demon slayer corps had been disbanded. Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyuu Tomioka, and yourself had attended the final meeting called by the late Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s only son and successor, Kiriya Ubuyashiki. The remaining Ubuyashiki children were very grateful to you three. As the only remaining Hashira, they were only able to verbally express their appreciation for your support, to that you three slayers returned as well. If it wasn’t for the Ubuyashiki family, Muzan would have never been defeated in the first place. It was due to their clever organizational skills that any of you were even alive.

Concluding the meeting, Kiriya went on to inform the three of you now-retired Hashira that they had planned for a glorious celebration dedicated to the demon slayers to celebrate humanity’s victory. The celebration would be held at the Ubuyashiki estate since the grounds were substantial enough to hold all sorts of people and activities. Crows were sent to villages and towns across the land to inform of the festival, welcoming those who wished to show their appreciation to the remaining retired demon slayers for risking their lives for such a noble cause, and to pay their respects to those who committed the ultimate sacrifice. Every single village that was visited by a crow had accepted the invitation, many planning to bring dishes, drinks, and desserts of all kinds. Another large town had offered to bring fireworks to light up the skies at dusk.

After you were released from the Butterfly Estate’s infirmary, Sanemi had allowed you to stay at his residence while he remained. You had grown up living at the Rengoku residence after Shinjuro Rengoku saved you after your family perished at the hands of demons. Even after you became a Hashira, you would return to their home after long missions; however, part of you wanted time to yourself after losing so many people in such a short time. You loved Shinjuro and Senjuro Rengoku like family, but a feeling deep down in your heart persuaded you to accept Sanemi’s kind offer. After spending three whole months at the Butterfly Estate, constantly being woken by the voices of others you shared your hospital room with, you thought this would be a perfect opportunity to allow yourself to mourn in a healthy fashion. You spent a week at the Shinazugawa residence, taking time to heal your mental state in solitude. Sanemi Shinazugawa was a very secluded man and claimed he did not need the aid of the Kakushi throughout his time as a Hashira, so his residence remained empty until you arrived. There, you took time strolling through his gardens, tending to his flowers and various plants he owned and raised. You were surprised he didn’t show you his gardens after spending so much time training with him in his courtyard. The idea of Sanemi watering flowers made you laugh to yourself; this tough, vicious man taking the time out of his violent days of slaying demons to water some plants. Through the garden ran a small creek surrounded by neatly placed stones on either side, depositing into a pond with koi fish which seemed to be rather well behaved. At the center of his garden was a great, majestic weeping willow tree. The leaves of the tree draped down magnificently, just several feet from the ground. Most of your week was spent meditating underneath this tree. You felt safe underneath it, almost as if it was protecting you from anything outside of its weeping branches. The faint running water of the stream aided your meditation, allowing yourself to find peace at last. You also made sure to frequently check on his rhinoceros beetle that he kept in a quaint tank. You had seen him once or twice when you had visited Sanemi in the past, the memory of his name resting at the tip of your tongue. Taichi? That sounded right. You had to admit though, he was pretty adorable for a bug, and quiet too. You didn’t exactly know what to feed him, so you tried giving him a mix of greens and fruit you had harvested from the garden outside. He seemed pretty happy with what you gave him because he just about finished whatever you gave him.

It was evening when Sanemi had returned to his home, as promised by the nurses of the Butterfly Estate. In honesty, Sanemi had recovered almost two weeks ago, however the nurses insisted he remain in their care until they knew for sure his injuries wouldn’t reopen. To your surprise, Sanemi didn’t argue like he typically would. Instead, he simply agreed to stay, while on the other hand, you were able to leave just a week later. He had sent his crow the day before, informing you of his anticipated arrival, so that morning you were sure to stop in a town nearby to purchase some ingredients for a hearty meal that you figured you two could share. He wasn’t a picky eater by no means. You picked out many ingredients, green onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, napa cabbage, fresh beef, and wheat flour for the noodles you planned to knead and cook yourself. You also made sure to purchase the ingredients you needed to make his favorite sweet, ohagi. The villagers had recognized you as one of the former Hashira, insisting that you did not need to pay them for your pickings, however you persuaded them to accept your money regardless of your status. It was a strange feeling; you didn’t like being treated as someone of such importance. After all, you weren’t a Hashira anymore since the demons were defeated.

Once you returned back to the Shinazugawa residence, you spent the entirety of the day preparing your dough for the sukiyaki dish that you planned to make and bounced back and forth between making that and the ohagi as well. You imagined how Sanemi would react to making such a large meal, although you were sure he would enjoy it just as much as he enjoyed the meals prepared at the Butterfly Estate. Admittedly, the Kakushi who prepared your meals were very talented with cooking, and you were pleased that they provided such a wide range of dishes during your stay. It was a nice change to be provided with a warm meal that you didn’t have to make yourself. While living with the Rengoku family, you were typically the one to cook the meals during your days off from slayer assignments, and while on the clock, you were the one to provide for yourself. However, out of all the years you knew Sanemi, you never cooked for him before, and that made you anxious. What if he didn’t like your cooking? What if the noodles were too tough, or the vegetables were undercooked? You took a deep inhale in through your nose for a moment, then exhaled through your mouth. There was no time for worrying. If you wanted to make these dishes perfect, then you needed complete concentration.

Just a few hours before the sun set, Sanemi arrived at home. You had finished setting the table, just gathering up the leftover dishes that you used to cook. The door slid open and you jumped at the sound, reflexively whipping your frame around to face where he stood. He no longer was covered in bandages; only extra scars added to the previous ones littered his exposed skin. His face held an expression of disbelief at the sight of the prepared table; he certainly wasn’t expecting a home cooked meal.

“Welcome home, Shinazugawa-san,” you chirped. “I made dinner for us, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“You made all of this?” He questioned, taking a few steps inside before sliding the door close behind him. “I smelled it a mile away, of course I’m hungry. It smells great, L/N-san.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was a good sign, he thought it smelled good! You removed your apron and neatly folded it, setting it down on the ground beside the table. Sanemi made his way towards the table, kneeling down in front of it before scooting himself forward. You followed, clapping your hands together in thanks.

“Thank you for the meal!” You said, drool practically leaking from the corners of your mouth as you hovered over the hot, steaming bowl of sukiyaki. Sanemi smiled at your gesture, putting his hands together as well.

“Yeah, thanks for the meal,” he agreed. “I really appreciate it.”

You only gawked at the man sitting across from you. Was this really the same guy you’ve spent the last few years training with? He’s always been so brash, even towards you. The Sanemi you know would have scoffed at you without even voicing any thanks and dug right into his meal. You didn’t really know how to feel about his recent alter in personality. To be honest, you started to notice the drastic change as soon as you woke up in the Butterfly Estate just a few months prior to today. Sure, he’s always has his moments when he was tired, or even for an hour or so on a day off that you both shared sparring, but ever since the day you woke up, ever since you saw him cry, he’s been incredibly passive and compliant towards everyone. You told yourself that it was most likely due to the defeat of Kibutsuji and all demons. He didn’t have to hold such an aggressive persona anymore now that humanity’s biggest threat was eliminated. He could let his guard down a bit and try to enjoy the new chance of life that he was given. You couldn’t complain though, as amusing as it was whenever he would yell at you or call you names while you two trained or were assigned on missions together, it was nice to be friends with somebody who treated you as their equal rather than their inferior. Somewhere deep down, you thought, Sanemi never meant the things he said that might have hurt your feelings in the past.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to start eating?” he mumbled through a mouth full of noodles and meat. His pale lavender eyes darted downwards toward the faintly steaming ohagi resting on a dish in the center of the table. “I see you also made ohagi. Hopefully you made it right.”

Your cheeks puffed up in a pout, swiping the chopsticks from beside your sukiyaki dish. “Of course I made it right, red bean, just how you like them!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sanemi chuckled after he swallowed.

After you both finished your sukiyaki, you sat and chatted for a little bit while munching on your ohagi. He told you about how he was one of the last patients to leave the Butterfly Estate, and how annoying he thought this one Kakushi worker was.

“She would check up on me almost every thirty minutes, always asking if I was hungry or thirsty, or if I was in any pain,” Sanemi groaned, visibly becoming more irritated as he explained. He was certainly picky when it came to people. That certainly did sound annoying, however you knew that the Kakushi girl was most likely only doing her job to make sure Sanemi was as comfortable as possible. “It got to the point where I had to start telling her to screw off, but she never got the hint. It was almost like she kept bothering me on purpose.”

“It seems to me that she was just doing what she was told,” you reasoned as you picked up your tan ceramic mug of warm green tea, taking a sip before continuing. “I’m sure she wasn’t doing it on purpose, she probably had orders to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t have orders to check in on me that often, nobody else was checked on that much at the Estate, not even you or Giyuu. I bet if I had been more aggressive towards her then maybe she would have left me alone.”

You rolled your eyes at his last comment. That sounded more like the Sanemi you knew, trying to scare people away, especially people who tried to help him. You knew that all too well. He was the same way towards you when you both met for the first time. You became a Hashira after he did, so he initially saw you as his inferior. He tried to intimidate you before every Hashira meeting began, to which you will admit, you did end up becoming nervous around him during those gatherings.

A few years ago, shortly after you were just promoted to a Hashira, you both were assigned on a mission together. It was a several day-long mission, most of it consisting of travel time. He was very hostile towards you in the beginning of your journey, snapping at you over any small question you asked. You had always made the first move to question what he wanted for dinners, but it ended up becoming a chore to agree on meals with him. Whenever you suggested something, he would always shoot down your proposal before eventually insisting on what his tastebuds craved. You imagined that you both could have saved so much time on that mission if he had just answered you appropriately the first time. After several days of sticking together, you could tell he was starting to calm down around you. Sanemi could never be perfectly calm, so when you say he “calmed down,” he was just slightly less hostile towards you whenever you spoke to him. Regardless, you tried your best to stand your ground and remain friendly towards him after contemplating if this was just the way he was always going to be. Sanemi was your partner on this mission after all, so to make sure the mission was completed correctly you figured you’d at least stay on good terms until then.

Following the completion of that mission, Sanemi’s taunting seemed to die down during Hashira meetings, and you found yourself having neutral conversations with him from time to time. It wasn’t until after Kyojuro Rengoku’s untimely death that you found him approaching you outside of Hashira meetings.

You were truly heartbroken over the death of your closest friend, and you took it very hard. Admittedly, you were on the verge of giving up as a Hashira because of it. You stopped showing up to Hashira meetings and received many letters from the other Hashira and even Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself, but you ignored them all. The first person to approach you was Sanemi, who had traveled to the Rengoku residence where you lived. He had come to offer you a meal and some company, which was quite astonishing to you. The last time you had seen him was during Kyojuro’s funeral, but he had not interacted with you at all; none of the Hashira did, except Mitsuri Kanroji for a brief moment of mutual comfort.

Sanemi apologized that he didn’t offer his sympathies earlier. He also informed you that everyone was worried over your lack of participation, to which you scoffed.

“If they’re so worried, then maybe they should check up on me themselves,” you said.

“That’s why I came instead.”

You were taken aback by his quick response. That was the first day that you recalled his change in personality, at least towards you. He was easily able to persuade you to begin attending meetings again, and even went as far as to invite you to train with him at his residence. Slowly, you started to notice yourself becoming more and more comfortable around him, enjoying the time that you spent in his company. There were certainly still times that he insulted you for not being able to knock him down in a spar, but he didn’t come off as purposefully aggressive like he used to. Kagaya Ubuyashiki recognized how well you two regarded each other and sent you on many missions together. You eventually became confused over how you truly felt towards Sanemi.

You never wanted to admit it, but it was certain that you deeply admired your fellow Hashira. In any other case, you would have believed that you were in love with him, but there was no way that you would ever admit to something so ridiculous. Sanemi was the complete opposite of you, so self-assured and violent, he was discourteous to everyone he met, which would frankly only harm your reputation if you were to commit to him. But the biggest reason of all was that you were both demon slayers, Hashira particularly. Neither of you had time to devote to such a thing as a relationship, because any mission you could take on may well possibly be your last. Being a Hashira was a considerable obligation, to which you were entrusted to protecting the lives of those weaker than you.

For the time being, you pushed away your feelings for Sanemi. You figured that he was too focused on his work and didn’t have time for a romantic relationship anyway. That was, until you woke up after defeating the demons.

“L/N-san? What are you looking at? You’ve been staring at my shoulder for a while. Is there a bug or something?” You were pulled out of your reminiscing, focusing on the silver-haired man you were recalling from your memories once again. He dorkily brushed his shoulder with his hand. “Nothing’s there,” he murmured.

“Sorry, Shinazugawa-san, I guess I zoned out for a second there,” you stammered.

He raised a faint eyebrow towards you, almost as if in question. You tapped your fingernails on your cup of tea that was now room temperature before quickly pulling it up to your mouth to chug the rest of the herbal liquid in hopes to break this awkward tension. When you returned the cup to the table in front of you, Sanemi spoke up to change the subject.

“I received a letter from the Ubuyashiki family’s crow yesterday, it was a reminder about the celebration tomorrow night.”

You softly gasped, remembering the same letter you received the previous day as well. You were so focused on seeing Sanemi again today that you totally forgot that tomorrow was the celebration that was dedicated to the former demon slayers.

“Oh, yeah,” you began. “It is tomorrow, isn’t it? How time flies,” you chuckled to hide your uneasiness. It was no matter, Sanemi effortlessly picked up on the way your body tensed up.

“Did you have something in mind that you were going to wear?”

You pondered for a moment, trying to imagine the inside of your closet back at the Rengoku residence. You owned a few pretty kimonos, however you received them as gifts when you were still an early teenager. Now that you were almost a decade older, you had no doubt that they didn’t fit you anymore.

“Well, not exactly,” you started off. “I have some kimonos, but I don’t think they really fit me anymore. After I became a demon slayer, I typically only wore my uniforms while I outgrew the other clothes I had.”

Sanemi hummed at your response. He leaned forward onto the table, propping himself up with a forearm while grinning strangely at you. His gesture sent a chill up your spine, and you noticed your face feeling rather warm. “Huh, is that so? I guess that means that we’ll have to go to town tomorrow to find you something nice to wear. I’m not letting you go to the festival looking like a fool.”

You gaped at him, unable to articulate a response right away. Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling flattered, almost honored, to be his concern. He wanted you to look nice tomorrow is what he was trying to convey. Such a trivial thing to be concerned about, you thought, but he did have a point. You would be meeting many people the least you could do was try to look presentable. After all, this was a celebration in honor of your victory.

“You’ll go with me, Shinazugawa-san?” you questioned with wide eyes, just to be sure you heard him correctly.

“Of course I’m gonna go with you, did you even hear what I just said? You can spend the night here and we can leave at dawn, I have an extra futon you can use. We’ll have a while before the festival starts tomorrow afternoon, so maybe we can stop for lunch when we get there. My treat, since you made such a good dinner tonight,” Sanemi avoided eye contact when he complimented your cooking skills, almost as if he was too shy to actually admit it to your face.

Your face broke out in a wide smile, a wave of encouragement washing over you. He actually liked your cooking! After worrying all day over it, you actually succeeded in making a meal that Sanemi would enjoy! Not one bit of his meal was left you noticed, and he even finished two or three cups of the tea you brewed. That was a huge accomplishment in your book.

“That sounds like a great idea, thank you for coming along with me!” You bowed your head in appreciation. “I suppose it’s smart to have a second opinion on whatever I decide to wear.”

Sanemi scoffed, standing from the table and gathering your empty dishes and cups and walking away with both hands full. “I’m sure you’ll look fine in whatever you put on,” he mumbled as he strode off to the kitchen.

You were left alone at the table, looking down as you twiddled your fingers nervously. It was one thing after another that made your heart rate speed up, it seemed. You didn’t exactly know how to handle this new Sanemi, you figured he wouldn’t care what you intended to wear, or to even go as far to take you out to find a nice outfit. Typically, he would mock anything you wore that wasn’t your corps uniform, so that final compliment was what threw you off the most. You exhaled loudly and clapped your palms against your reddened cheeks, hoping to scare away the tingles that ran throughout your body. The only thing you could focus on right now was figuring out what Sanemi’s intentions were with you. Sure, they were harmless compliments and kind gestures, but it was a whole other level for this man. He didn’t regularly give out compliments. In fact, he didn’t give them out at all. But now…? No, you thought. He’s just your friend, he just has a funny way of showing it. There was no way that he felt anything romantic for you. Even if he did, you would know it by now. Sanemi was a very blunt person, and he was always honest with you… sometimes a little too honest. You bit your nail as scenarios raced through your mind. Being Sanemi’s friend was like being on a rollercoaster, sometimes you didn’t know what to expect. Sometimes it was disappointing, while other times it was a thrill.

Footsteps approached you again, tearing you from your ruminations. “It’s getting pretty late now; we’ve been talking for almost two hours. If we’re gonna be up early then we should at least get some decent sleep.”

Sanemi showed you to his room where he laid an extra futon just a few feet away from his own. You had been using his futon since you arrived at his residence a week ago and made sure to wash it before you first used it and after you last used it. He fluffed his extra futon up, asking you how you preferred to sleep, to which you insisted that you were pleased with any way your futon felt. You were just grateful that he even offered to have you spend another night.

He blew out the candle that sat between your futons that he originally lit to illuminate the room until you were both situated in your mattresses. You turned to your side to face away from his direction, taking a bundle of your heavy blanket into your embrace. You wondered to yourself if you should tell him good night or not. Would that be weird? You always said good night to Kyojuro and Senjuro. After a minute, you took in a deep breath and worked up the courage to speak, but were alas disrupted by a deep snore. Sanemi must be one of those people who fall asleep easily, you thought. It wasn’t very long before you followed, feeling an unfamiliar sense of comfort just before you fell into the unconscious world of sleep.

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket,Se03, Ep 8 (part 1)

“ I hate myself, so much, so intensely, so completely, I wish I just go away, disappear for good, & yet in the end, I always protect myself, instead of taking responsibility, I run away every damn time, like now, I’m too scared to even look at your face”. The real kyo under the layers of trauma.

This quotation is why this ep is not abt romance. Instead it is abt: Extreme self-loath, faulty coping mechanism, self-awareness & inability to make correct decisions due to suicidal thoughts & non-existent self-worth.  

This is a guy who’s literally seen death TWICE at the age of 4 & 15 (his mom & kyoko), is trying to avoid the THIRD (tohru’s) & is questioning why the FOURTH isnt happening (his own death).

-The layers of a broken self: Excellent writing:

I applaud the writer for choosing fitting methods to portray her characters’ own trauma. Yuki “ prince” mask & tohru’s “i’m okay” mask were fitting to hide their trauma & uncover the real personalities. However, since kyo would be the character to hide secrets & carry guilt, the viewers need to feel he’s hiding sth w/o knowing what it is. It was done cleverly to (a) tie the plot together, (b) build kyo’s character, (c) fit the climax, (d) suit his trauma of severe guilt & self-loath. Some of the things he does can fit two genuine layers: Both layers are true:

His initial refusal to open up to tohru in early se01. (Surface layer): he doesn't know how to interact with ppl who accept him as he confessed to shigure, (Deeper layer): he avoided tohru cuz he knew her!

He initially refused to join leisure activities & trips: hot spring & kyoto trip (Surface layer): he didn’t want to go with yuki (Deeper layer) he didnt want to spend time with tohru as he was unconsciously feeling that he’s stealing from her.

It killed him to see her true lonely self behind her fake mask & approached her with advice. se1, ep5 (grandpa house), se1, ep23 (sick tohru), se2, ep 8 (hiro’s remarks) & other instances.  (Surface layer): he was noticing her issues, & genuinely wanted to help her cuz he’s kind (Deeper layer) he was falling in love w/her & unconsciously wanted her to be happy with HIM.

There were times when there was ONE layer, such as: kyoko’s 1st grave visit. He was so off, rigid, unresponsive, & completely shut down. Everybody read him. Yuki, tohru, Arisa & hana. they just don’t know why he behaving like that. his trauma manifested itself deeply that he apologized to tohru in her sleep cuz he was “ too scared to even look at your face”.

- Kyo’s trauma takes physical shape: (Clutching his heart: PAIN, clutching his stomach : DISGUST) :

While confessing to tohru, kyo’s features spoke volumes. You can see disrepair, guilt, broken soul, sadness & surrender. His body reflected his emotions:

wide eyes (disbelief), Cat eyes (utter fear)

trembling body (overwhelmed with toxic emotions)

clutching his fists (anger at self) , opening fists (surrender to darkness)

hand covering face (shame), Hand around neck as he finished confessing abt kyoko & yuki (desire for death: the final judgement)

The most focused physical appearance was his fist clutching his heart: he was in so much pain as he narrated how he loved kyoko & found a friend in her, desired to make her happy, to find tohru for her, how his his mom withered away out of fear of him & how pitiful & sad he felt towards tohru for loving someone like him. It broke his heart to see them all suffer after knowing him. All the love he felt for them squeezed his heart tight, he wanted to pull it & rip it away. Above all, he was sad to loose them all. Sad he can’t be wit them.

Then he clutched his stomach: representing the pure disgust he felt at himself. As he realized that there is no escape from being responsible for their death, as he admitted he illogically blamed yuki, his disgust with himself boiled in his stomach. What kind of disgusting horrible person does that? blame someone illogically? I’m horrible, hateful & utterly undeserving to be forgiven. Being disgusted with one’s own self! oof! it was so well-done with animation!

-Tying Mature Themes with Child Trauma:

Through kyo’s story, there were different mature themes that excellently dictate his behavior, mentality & emotional well-being: Excellent writing!

(1) The desperate need for self-worth: To be good for once!

by constantly destroying his self-worth thro contempt (the sohmas), rejection (his mom), hate (his father), pity (kazuma/ kagura, initially), kyo searched for an outlet to be a worthy human. Someone who deserves to be loved for who he is. He found that in kyoko. It is brilliant that kyo didn’t look for a mom in kyoko. He called her “ old hag”, she told him unflattering facts abt herself “ neglecting her daughter”. she was his first real friend. He found comfort being with her. He wanted to return the intimate feeling he felt deep down, kyo is so hung up on giving as much as taking as it contradicts the notion of pity. The opportunity came! Helping her find her daughter! being someone who does good! Return the daughter & feel worthy of being a true friend, a man (aka a person). “ i’ll help her, I’ll protect her for sure! it’s a man’s promise” The promise in its core is abt kyo wanting to be a person. Not a monster, or a cat. A true real boy. Away from all the toxic past emotions. Being a man: means being a big boy (person) with good achievements! All this shattered when a better boy beats him to it. The boy who was always praised, loved & respected! kyo’s self-worth diminished greatly & all the toxic emotions came back!

(2) The downfall of faulty coping mechanism: Creating a Bad Guy:

I stated before that one of my fave scenes of kyo was in se02, ep23 when kyo lashed out at yuki on the stairs upon seeing the hat & how yuki felt nothing but pity towards kyo as he was stuck in the past while yuki moved on. Brilliant scene that explains why one moved on & the other didn;t. Yuki’s faulty coping mechanism was being withdrawn & shutting himself. This coping mechanism didnt make him feel better at all!!! Also, he doesn’t have regrets nor sins, he dealt with his faulty coping mechanism with tohru’s help & the school council & healed gradually. Forever loving the writer for writing the distinction between kyo & yuki logically without painting any as monster in reality. Kyo couldn’t do as yuki for the following reasons: ( remember the old theme of everybody heals on their own pace? love it )

(a) He was addicted to shifting the blame as it made him feel better abt himself!! he shifted his thoughts from “ I wanna go away for good” “ mom, why didn’t you kill me instead” to “ it’s not my fault at all, it’s yuki” No match between the two feelings! one leads to suicide, the other leads to feeling like a mere victim. The two feelings are wrong tho & He knows that! he isn’t ready to stop the drug. He can’t face himself. “ the bad guy, if he isn’t as awful as you think, who you’re left to blame”.

(b) nothing around him can make him feel better. Tohru? but she’s kyoko’s daughter! she’s a lonely orphan, carrying her mommy’s pic taking to it! why? cuz you didn't save her! Loving tohru? is good & I wish we can run away far & be together always! wake up! why would she wanna be with a disgusting monster like you?!! You dont deserve her! you who caused his mom to die, caused her mom to die, blamed an innocent guy! Yuki? yeah, look at yuki, you can never be like him, watch as his true kindness gets noticed by tohru, the school & everybody!! he’s everything you cant be!! he should be with tohru! not you!! Master kazuma? poor guy! you brought him nothing but misery! you see his sad smile, don’t you? he’s disappoint in you. Kagura? she pities you!

(b) Kyo can’t fix his mistakes. kyo watched as yuki got back with his brother, befriended haru again, goes back to the sohma estate for the holidays. he feels he cant have similar reweds as he cant bring the things he needed. his mom, kyoko, his bio dad’s affection, kazuma’s pride in him, tohru’s love & his own satisfaction at himself. kyo just hates kyo “so much, so intensely, so completely”

(c) his fault coping mechanism mirrors his dad’s. Kids pick up toxic habits from parents all the time. Even his suicidal thoughts mirrors his mom’s! brilliant writing!

3- running away from responsibilities: perfectly constructed theme!

Who didn’t? I’m guilty! ugh! one of the best themes in furuba hands down! Any other writer would have made kyo do it once, or twice & have him face it in climax & then deal with it. but NOT takaya-san! She excellently took her time with kyo repeating this exact mistakes over & over to better portray the theme & take it out from the boundaries of story-telling to realistic depiction & logical gradual progression:

kyo ran away from being accused of killing his mom (he’s completely innocent & isn’t responsible for his birth’s deformity/curse nor his mom’s suicide)

kyo ran away from accepting kyoko’s words that yuki isnt bad & most importantly that kyo is good. He had found relief in blaming yuki, now you wanna tell me I should look into myself? I’m bad! i dont wanna look. your words are weird “ no bad or good”  Everybody says otherwise, the sohmas, dad & mom! kyo angrily ran away (completely guilty but excused as child would be).

kyo ran away from facing kyoko’s body & wanted to punish himself with death. Depression took over him as “ master tried to get me to keep living”. (completely guilty in his own eyes, if only he tried to safe her, even if he transformed, Even if she still died regardless!!! he hates himself for choosing the disgusting kyo over the kind kyoko)

kyo ran away from telling tohru the truth upon seeing her, pretended not to know her, slowly dying each time she smiles, slowly falling in love & wishing for a chance with her, a chance he believes doesn't deserve.

Kyo ran away in se01, ep14 when remembering the accident as shigure  triggered him. Tohru consoled him & he lost the chance to come clean.

kyo is running away now. Unable to face her “ too scared to even look at your face”. “ I cant forgive me! I dont want you to fogive me either”

So, after running away the first time, kyo should’ve learned better, right? now in the climax, he shouldn’t  have run away? Yes, he should. cuz simply, he isnt ready. We dont learn from our mistakes cuz someone told us. we learn when we fix the core issue. A guy who thinks he deserves a chance in life would stand tall, confess his sins, argues, talks, tells the story unbiased,  then waits for verdict. kyo thinks he doesn’t deserve to be alive, thus, tells the story with server bias towards judging himself as unworthy. HE decided the verdict & didnt wait for tohru: “ I cant forgive ME! I dont want you to forgive me either” That’s why toru’s words fall flat. “ why cant you see the truth: I love you” he can’t tohru!! cuz right now it is NOT abt love. It is abt trauma!

4- Sever guilt & desire for disappearance (death):

As adults our mistakes loom over us & we’re constantly reminded of the “ what if I had acted differently”. This ties with kyo witnessing his mom’s horrible death at 4 years old. Death in itself is scary. A loved ones death is devastating. Watching it unfold in shocking unprepared way is destructive. kyo was destroyed. Not enough: he gotta carry the guilt as his dad & the sohma hammer the accusations. He gets another chance & loves another person. Only to watch the blood splash reach his shoes. “Guilty” whispers the past. “Guilty” confirms the present. He stands in front of the most precious person to him. Now what? If tohru forgives you, the pain goes away???? You wouldn’t repeat the ultimate mistake of killing her, would you? you ominous creature. Her mom warned you. The nightmare stands hovering over kyo’s head, waiting to come true. IT WILL COME TRUE!!! OMG!!!

if Akito does it. It wouldn’t be kyo’s fault, right?  If the car hit kyoko, it’s not my fault, right? if my mom did it herself, it wouldn’t be my fault, right?

But if only kyo didnt ran away, tohru would be alive. If only I pulled kyoko, she wouldn’t have died. If only I wasn’t born, mom wouldn't have killed herself.

The “ if only “ that killed kyo’s mom as she lamented “ if only I gave birth to the rat” will eventually destroy kyo! ugh!!! AMAZING WRITING!!!

5- The Right Time to Heal (self-desire or outside help?):

When yuki was trapped in Akito’s room, haru visited to help. did yuki accept it? NO. yuki didnt even remember much of it. Why? cuz it wasn’t the right time & yuki was too deep into darkness to notice, to accept & to change. It wasnt until he was out, in co-ed school, rebelling against akito, when tohru came, he accepted her, then it lead him to accept School Council & haru. Tohru had Arisa & hana, but never went to them in her darkest moment, hiding she was living in a tent, they were hurt & confronted her, still she kept hiding her fears, sadness & darkest thoughts, interfering in Arisa’s life to provide help, but never allowing them to interfere, until kyo came & broke her mask, she started to complain, talk, show true emotions & want things! She opened up to Isuzu, too. Arisa & hana weren’t the right ppl at the right time for tohru to heal. Kyo had kazuma to teach him better, kyoko to make him notice his mistakes, tohru to love him unconditionally, the right ppl, but all that was in the wrong time cuz he’s in his darkest moment now like yuki was, unable to see or accept. Healing requires self-desire & outside help, but it gotta be in the right moment, when you can see beyond the abyss & into the faint light of dawn. That’s when words will reach the heart. Kyo need to fall so hard, in order to stand up again. Today, he unloaded his burden, threw up the disgust he felt towards himself, spewed all the hate against the real bad guy: himself! Kyo is kyo’s bad guy, has always been. He needs to let go of hating himself & accept the kind gentle kyo that kyoko & tohru saw ~

Side Notes:

This ep is why furuba wins & deserves 20 years of recognition among manga-readers! this story is real! it is NO sweet fairy tale of two lovers. It is abt one’s self & desire to live. All of them struggle with  this particular desire: kyo, tohru, yuki & the rest.

kid kyo was looking for young tohru all night! T_T

this ep of kyo confessing/ narrating his past , reminded me of yuki’s 3 eps of him confessing/ narrating his past!!! ugh! I wish tohru had that! ahhhh.

The 4 months in the mountains weren’t training!!!!! they were depression & suicidal thoughts! ouch!!

Perspectives are what dictate our feelings: Through yuki’s eyes, kyo was so happy with a loving father, friends around him & a house outside the sohmas. Thus, yuki envied him & wished to die not knowing kyo was living in trauma & feeling utter contempt & self-loath. Through kyo’s eyes, yuki was so happy with a living loving family, friends around him & a house with respect. Thus, kyo envied him & wished to die Not knowing that yuki was suffering abuse & neglect!

I love the pacing of this ep!!! It gives room to feel pain & understand the situation!!! I didn’t feel the headache of the bullet train!! THANK GOD!!! SO SATISFIED!!! I was invested all the time!

kyoko’s “ I’ll never forgive you” really destroyed kyo & went beyond it to destroy her own daughter! AAAAAAHHHH ~ T_T

I have some issues with the “ I forgot” part. It makes no sense that they make him forget the accident only to do the cheap cliff hanger in ep 6, then lazily weave it into his confession to tohru in ep. 8. He always remembered the accident. Apologized to tohru in her sleep in se01. ep14 for that exact accident, Then in se02, ep 9. It was ALWAYS in his mind! ALWAYS. Sorry Mr. Director. very lame try. lol.

The only thing I didn’t like is the music! very weird choices throughout the ep! especially at the end. Why a happy music over kyo’s “ I’m disappointed in you? lol!! its sad & tragic?! weird!!!!

I will talk abt Tohru will be in part 2. (her choice, kyo’s answer to her & the need to let go of her mom, the sohmas & of... kyo.

[marsbutterfly]

Hey ! Can I request something ? It's an Hanji x reader imagine. This would take place after the chapter 132, you saved Hanji in extremis, brings her back safe and sound on the plane, the alliance wins the war against Eren and right after that they all come back to the Paradis Island. Hanji and her wife are lying on a field and reader think about all the events. They're finaly free, happy and living together 😌! I really like your writtings and especially the way you depicted Hanji ! Stay safe !

Note: Hell Yes. I actually wrote two versions for this story but this is the one I liked best, so I really hope you like it. It hurt me greatly to write this, but I poured my heart and soul into it.

WARNING: MANGA SPOILER!

Daydream

Summary: In which you save Hanji before she has the chance to go ahead with her suicidal charge.

AO3 Version! | Wattpad Version!

As Jean drags your body into the aircraft, you feel your throat burning from all the screaming. The pain in your lungs is unbearable but not enough to stop you.

For a split second, he loses his grip on your body and you are able to escape.

Using your gear, you find yourself taking down a colossal titan standing next to Hanji.

“Y/N??” She looks at you, fear in her eyes. Rage takes over your body as you slice the nape of yet another titan.

“How DARE you leave me!” You say before grabbing Hanji’s cloak. As you tighten your grip, the hook of your gear hits the aircraft just barely taking flight.

As she tries to struggle, you throw her body into the moving vehicle as you follow closely behind.

All eyes on you as you lay on your back, trying your best to catch your breath.

“Hanji! Y/N!” You hear Pieck’s voice echoing through the ship as you silently sit up on your elbows. Once you can get your lung movements under control you look over at Hanji, who’s sitting against the wall.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” You yell at her. Rage and sorrow clouding your mind, all you can do is let your feelings out in the most aggressive way you can possibly think of.

From her hands to her face, you notice burns and scratches covering her skin. Hanji doesn’t move. All she can do is stare at the ceiling quietly, warm tears running down her face.

Armin extends his hand, helping you get back on your feet. No one says a word as you make your way towards Hanji.

You kneel by her side, watching as she covers her eyes with her arm. 

“I just wanted to protect everyone.” She whispers, hiccups erupting from her body.

You gently place your hand on her arm, slowly moving it out of the way so she can look at you. “And leave me behind?”

“Leave you alive.” Hanji finally looks in your eyes, you see the amount of pain she’s in.

“I would rather die with you…” You say, moving her glasses so you can treat her injuries. “Then to live without you.”

As Reiner hands you a small bowl of water, you take out a small piece of cloth that rests in your pocket to clean her burns, making sure no debris is left on her open wounds.

Hanji’s face writhes onto a pained expression. She bites down her lower lip and allows a few pain filled tears. As soon as you’re done, you wrap her wounds in the best way you can and finally, you decide to break the silence.

“I don’t care if you are the Commander or a cadet” You make sure she’s looking into your eyes before finishing your sentence, an unusually serious expression takes over your features,  “Don’t you dare try to leave me again.”

“I won’t go anywhere, I promise.” She tries to smile at you, but among the tears, a smile simply won’t appear on her lips. Instead, she flashes you a pained smirk as her bottom lip quivers.

Slowly, you start brushing your lips against hers, wanting nothing more but to feel her breath against your mouth. She pulls you close, destroying any space existing between you. Her breathing against your lips is all you wished for.

“Oi, can you two focus?.” Levi says, destroying the sweet moment between you two. Without turning your head, you flip him off. 

“Let’s come up with a plan.” You say, flashing Hanji a sad smile..

.

“We’re out of fuel” Onyonkapon screams, “I’ll crash land this plane, but please make sure you win this war!!”

The cold wind hits your face as you stand above Eren’s massive body. You hear Armin screaming his name and the others follow close behind.

Pieck and Reiner jump a few seconds after the others, giving them enough time and space to transform.

You feel your hands shaking slightly, fear going through your veins as you take a deep breath. Before you can jump, you feel Hanji’s hand wrapping around yours.

“Together?” She says, a serious but soothing expression on her face.

“Together.” You reply. You both nod and jump off the plane, praying the pilot would be ok.

As you land on top of one of the ribs, you notice the Beast Titan has appeared out of nowhere, but something was off about it.

Not only was it connected to Eren but Its fur was white, looking almost exactly as the War Hammer titan. 

You look at Hanji for a moment and you see the excitement in her face as she watches Reiner’s fight. Shaking your head, you pull her closer to the now decomposing corpse of the Beast Titan.

“No wonder he’s not putting up a fight.” Levi says, grinding his teeth, his body filled with rage.

“But how is this possible?” Hanji asks while looking at you seconds before dozens of other titans appeared. Empty eyes stare at you while they prepare to attack.

As you look around, trying to figure out where all the titans came from, you can see a small girl from the corner of your eye as she stands on Eren’s massive body, not too far away from you.

“The Founder.” You whisper as goosebumps travel through your body. Your eyes widen when a weird-looking titan comes at you, ready to swap you away.

In a second, Armin takes your place. As he pushes you, the hook of your gear gets stuck to another titan.

“ARMIN!” You scream before slicing the monster in front of you, trying to catch up to the blonde boy but your effort is useless.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Hanji asks before placing her hands around your hips. You nod but even though your legs shake slightly but you know you can’t afford to stop fighting.

“Everyone calm down!” Levi says, you can barely hear his voice with all the noises around you. “We are in no condition to make a charge here.” 

“Captain Levi.” Pieck says, her titan clinging onto one of Eren’s bones. “These enemies… they are the nine titans of times past.”

Before you can have a reaction, you feel a large hand squeezing the air out of your entire body until your vision turns black.

.

By the time you wake up, you can’t hear or feel the massive titans flattening everything in their path. Deafening screams no longer fill the air around you.

You watch the blue sky above you as you sit up. On your left lies a very injured Captain Levi. Part of his leg was bitten off and his hand bandages are covered in dried blood.

You crawl to him, gently touching his chest. You place two fingers against his jugular and feel his heart beating approximately 50 times a minute. A bit too slow, but at least he is still alive.

A figure comes towards you from your right. You shift your face, trying to see the person’s face against the sun. Her body comes crashing against yours in a tight hug. As the smell of her hair hits your nose, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“I’m so glad you are alright!” Hanji says, a few tears streaming down her face as she touches her forehead to yours.

“What happened?” You ask quietly. In the distance, you can hear Mikasa’s screams, quickly followed by Armin’s sobs. You feel every hair in your body quickly stand up as you start to realize what has happened.

“We found Eren.” Is all she needs to say. A sad expression takes over your features. Deep down, you wished for him to change his mind and find a way back to his old self, but it was nothing more than that, just a wish.

Your eyes scan the scene folding in front of you. Annie has her arms wrapped around Mikasa’s torso, tightly hugging her as the black-haired girl screams the contents of her heart out.

Jean and Reiner tend to Connie’s wounds. A pool of blood forming underneath his head as the other two boys desperately try to stop it. 

Armin simply stares at the sea, his hands covering his ears as sobs abruptly leave his body. 

Pieck hugs the two kids tightly, making sure they won’t be able to leave her grasp anytime soon. Gabi holds Falco’s hand as both of their small bodies shake in a mix of relief and trauma. 

 And lastly, your eyes wander towards the lifeless figure lying on the sand. The water hits his foot ever so lightly but enough to cause it to move. The sand trapped in his hair shines in contrast with the sun.

“What happened?” You finally work up the courage to ask. Hanji lets out a sigh, her hand moving from your skin towards her hair, placing a single loose strand behind her own ear.

“After you passed out, Annie flew in to save our asses.” She giggles, looking down before lacing your right hands on hers. “His jaw titan could fly! Can you believe that?”

A spark appears in her eyes amongst all the sadness around you. You flash her a small smirk, “I didn’t even know that was possible!”

“I didn’t either! Isn’t it amazing, though?” She raises her voice before bringing it to a low volume once again. Her features return to seriousness as she continues, “After that, Pieck destroyed the Attack Titan’s neck, forcing Eren’s body out of there.”

As Hanji speaks, you finally notice the smell of blood and smoke surrounding you. Taking your left hand to your heart, you clutch your own shirts, fighting back tears that threaten to fall against your wishes.

“How did he die?” You whisper, looking down at your legs.

“His body never recovered after Gabi shot him.” She takes a small break, trying to find the right words. “The explosion inflicted by Pieck was enough to expel his body..”

Your lips part but no words come out so she simply continues, “He was able to heal enough so he would have parts of his body back before Armin stabbed his heart.”

“The Founder?” You interrupt, suddenly remembering the small girl that watched the whole fight from afar.

“She’s gone. Somehow Eren was able to lock the Founding powers within him before dying.”

Confused, you look at her, hoping she would have any answers for you.  “But…”

“We don’t understand how yet…” her voice breaks, a mixture of pain and happiness, “but all the titans are gone.”

A gasp escapes your body. Thoughts rush through your head at light’s speed but all you can do is shove your head on the crook of her neck as you cry.

Clinging onto Hanji’s now soaked shirt, you try to breathe but air simply won’t enter your lungs. Was it pain for the loss of someone you cared about and loved deeply? Was it relief for how the monsters that have threatened you through your entire life have now disappeared? 

You look up at Hanji, her hair floating in the wind as her hand rubs your back in a soothing manner. You place your left hand on the back of her neck and pull her in for a kiss. Tears drip from your eyes onto your lips but you can’t find the strength to pull away.

As her lips leave yours, a quiet whine escapes your throat.

Once again, you focus your attention on Eren’s body. “What happens now?”

.

Sitting in a blanket, you watch as the breeze moves the newly bloomed flowers around. The sun setting behind the mountains casts an orange light above you.

From behind, you hear footsteps making their way towards you. Your lips curl into a smirk and you shift your body, putting all of your weight on your knees.

“You look beautiful.” She says before sitting beside you. You quickly change your focus to her face, taking a few seconds to admire her.

Hanji’s hair is in a messy ponytail, a few strands rest against her cheeks. She’s wearing her daily glasses instead of her old combat ones, and her skin smells like freshly used soap, meaning she finally showered. Whether it was willingly or if Levi forced her to, you don’t dare to ask.

As you adjust your dress, a blush takes over your cheeks and you can help but smile at her.

Wrapping your arm around her neck, you place a quick yet gently kiss on her lips before resting your forehead against hers.

“It’s been a year.” You whisper, your voice barely audible against the wind.

She nods, “A year of freedom.”

As you look up at the sky, you notice a few stars have begun to show up. One in particular catches your eye for it has a greater shine than the rest. Hanji quietly follows your gaze.

“They are watching over us.” She says, taking your hand towards her lips and planting a love-filled kiss on the back.

“I hope they are happy we can finally be free.” You finally find the courage to speak. “Truly, utterly, completely free.”

In a second, you let Hanji go and allow your body to fall, colliding with the grass. The green speckles tickling your skin as the aroma of the flowers hits your nose.

A sneeze escapes your body suddenly and all you can do is laugh, for you are now truly happy.

You feel Hanji’s head on your shoulder and you quickly wrap your arm around her head, quietly playing with her brown locks.

“Thank you for coming after me.” She says. You can feel her eyes piercing you, carefully watching for your reaction. The corner of your lips gently curls into a smile as you roll your eyes at her.

“I will always follow you.” You whisper, making sure no one else will be able to hear you but her, “Even if it gets me killed.”

You simply lay there, watching as the sun goes down behind the mountain. No words are needed but you can feel how calm she is with you.

Looking back on it, you realize your decision to chase after her once she got off the plane was reckless and dangerous to say the least, but if it meant spending your life with Hanji, you would do it again and again.

Your body shivers abruptly, a reminder that the cold breeze is once again taking over the atmosphere. With a smile of her own, she lifts her head up, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you ready to head back?” She says, steam coming out of her mouth as the words fall from her lips.

Simply you nod, watching as a giggle leaves her body. Before standing up, you pick a small, pink flower that rests by your hand and place it on her hair. 

Planting a kiss on her cheek, you take her hand, starting to make your way towards the city.

Your comrades' sacrifices weren’t in vain. Freedom was finally a reality rather than just a dream.

With Hanji by your side, you can finally appreciate being alive and for now, that’s all you could ask for.

[hashtagartistlife]

ichiruki greco-roman mythology au!!

- Kurosaki Ichigo as an ordinary human who loses his mom at a young age, a la canon - Kuchiki Rukia as the goddess of fate

- At seventeen, Ichigo goes to the local temple dedicated to the goddess of fate and demands she tell him how to alter fate so that his mom can live 

- Rukia replies (through her priestess) that fate is not something that is so easily altered, but if he is determined, there is a long quest involved to prove his worth 

- Ichigo agrees to take up the quest and sets out on his way

- Rukia, despite being goddess of fate, is quite fond of mortals who wish to defy fate-- she has seen many mortals attempt this quest before, and she's made a habit of disguising herself as a human woman to accompany them so she can see firsthand what drives them to want to rise above the destiny set out for them by the gods

- Of course, nobody has ever managed to finish the quest. (It's just as well, because the final step in changing one's fate involves arriving at the main temple of fate in Olympus, killing the current god or goddess of fate, and taking their place. Rukia didn't see fit to tell Ichigo about that part. After all, nobody has finished the quest in all her years of being goddess; Ichigo is not likely to be any different!)

- (Except Ichigo's Ichigo, of course he is.) 

- So Kurosaki Ichigo sets out on the long and arduous quest to shatter fate and Rukia, disguised as a human woman, slots herself into the quest with him, occasionally giving him hints and guiding him in the right direction, and as with every other AU, they slowly fall in love, until-

- until Ichigo gets along further in the quest than anybody has ever done before, and Rukia starts to worry

- She didn't expect this. He's getting so close to the end. What if he really does clear the whole quest? What if he really does reach her temple in Olympus? Will he kill her? Will he be able to? She's seen the way he looks at her-- does she look at him in the same way? She didn't expect this. She didn't expect any of this-- Ichigo clearing the quest, the potential confrontation at her temple, all these feelings--

- She tries to dissuade him from the quest. She tries fighting, yelling, tears, persuasion-- but Ichigo's adamant. He's started this quest, he's going to finish it.

- And while she agonizes about a decision, they eventually come to the final and most dangerous step of the quest, just before her temple on Olympus 

- Somehow in this last leg of the quest ichigo almost gets killed, and Rukia sacrifices herself instead without a second thought

- Ofc, she doesn't actually die, being a goddess and all-- the only thing that dies is the shell that she inhabited while she was pretending to be human, and she wakes up in her temple in Olympus, safe and sound-- but in that moment, she realises that she probably loves Ichigo enough that she wants to see him succeed in his quest, wants to see him change fate, wants to see him happy and triumphant-- even if it means sacrificing her life for it 

- Having come to this conclusion, she waits in her temple for Ichigo to arrive, because by now she's seen enough of him to know he will succeed in clearing even this last hurdle 

- Ichigo, meanwhile, just saw (or thinks he saw) Rukia die in front of him, for him

- He clears the final step in his quest in a haze of grief and rage and makes his way up the steps of the temple of fate, ready to throttle this so-called goddess of fate, whoever the hell she is, first his mom, now Rukia--

- and when he finally arrives at the temple, it's Rukia waiting for him at the altar, but cloaked in divinity-- there is no way to miss it. She's not human. She's a goddess-- and if she's waiting for him here, at the temple of fate, then she must be-

- he falls to his knees in front of her. Rukia steps up to him, wearing a smile.

- 'the final step in changing fate is killing the goddess of fate and taking her place.'

- She curls his hand around a holy dagger, and points the tip of it at her heart. For a second, Ichigo grips the dagger hard, presses the tip of it into her chest, but then his grip loosens and the dagger falls to the floor. Rukia looks at him, asks why--

- "When I saw you here," he says, "I thought-- I should feel betrayed. You lied to me the whole time, kept me in the dark, made me fall in love with you only to tell me that this is the final step in my quest-- was it all just a game to you? Something to pass the time?"

- Rukia starts protesting, that she might have kept him in the dark about this final step but that doesn't mean she didn't mean everything she said and did to him, that she really does want him to succeed and that's why she's offering her life--

- "But none of that mattered. I should feel betrayed-- I don't. The only thing I felt when I saw your face was relief. I was so-- so glad that you weren't dead, that you were still alive, that you still exist--and you think I'll be able to kill you? I can't. I can't, Rukia." 

- Rukia, again, protests, tells him not to throw away what he wanted so much just for her, that she can't be the barrier to him getting his mom back and being truly happy, he can't choose her over his mom-- 

- except she's a moron. Ichigo doesn't even want to bring his mom back from the dead anymore. Sure, his family was torn apart in the aftermath of her death, but they all eventually picked themselves up and kept living their lives, as the living tend to do. They all healed in various ways, it was just him that was stalled in the past with his grief and guilt. Going through the quest with Rukia let him heal from the trauma of losing his mom and towards the end of the quest, he'd decided that, even if he managed to clear the whole thing, he won't ask to bring her back from the dead-- he just wants to see her again, one more time, to say sorry, before letting her go completely.

- And then Rukia died, and he cleared the last leg of the quest solely for the purpose of bringing her back. So how the hell does she think he'll be able to kill her? Rukia thinks Ichigo's just like... throwing away his life's purpose because of her when in reality, she'd been his new purpose and reason to live for a long time now.

- Ichigo tells her all of this. It takes some convincing, but eventually, Rukia comes to terms with it. And then she says, well, alright, fine. no fate defying today. But you did clear that whole quest, which is pretty impressive. I can grant you a wish for that. Did you want to see your mom again? 

- And Ichigo says no, I want you. 

- Rukia splutters-- you can't just say that, I'm a goddess, what does that even mean-- in what capacity--

- Ichigo: whatever capacity you'll let me have you? 

- And then they fuck in her temple against the altar of fate! (Whenever Ichigo thought fuck fate in his younger years he didn't quite expect this outcome but hey, he'll take it.)

- ..... ok that last part is just in there for self-indulgence, doesn't actually contribute to the point of this AU. I haven't thought about how this AU actually ends, either -  Ichigo probably becomes some minor god of something obscure and they both live on Olympus happily ever after or whatever. Not important. The main  point i wanted to make with this AU was: 

- Kurosaki Ichigo, local fate and destiny hater, being brought to his knees when fate comes to him wearing Rukia's smile, being unable to defy the fatedness of Ichigo and Rukia. Ichigo will fight tooth and nail against every other fate that the world presents him with, but when the universe shoves Rukia in his direction and says, here, she's your fate, she's your destiny-- he can't fight that, doesn't want to fight that. The concept that Rukia is the only fate he will accept. Great Concept! The end! 

<IR AU: Fate and the Hero> FIN

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FOUR - A Rogue One Fanfic

So this part/scene got a little out of control. Ironically, since I only had the base idea of when it would take place until I started writing it. You can also find/read this story on AO3 now.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Four

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some sappiness?

Words: 2,978

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

...

“Ms. Erso, it is time for you to vacate the infirmary.”

Jyn jerked, jarred from sleep and reaching for the knife she no longer had on her person. Her situation settled back around her surfacing consciousness, calming her immediate fight-or-flight response but keeping her on edge.

“No,” she told the medical orderly droid. “I already told the doctors, medical staff and you lot that I’m not leaving Captain Andor. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Yes. You were most clear regarding your intransigence, Ms. Erso.”

Droids had the worst attitudes. Shouldn’t med ones be programmed with a better bedside manner?

“But the bed is needed,” the droid went on when she just wanted it to go away so she could wallow in the overwhelming mix of emotions drowning her; loss, guilt, relief. “There are numerous incoming casualties from a skirmish in the Za’dan sector.”

Jyn scowled, but didn’t budge.

“What difference does it make if I leave? It’s not like I’m taking up an extra bed.” As if to prove her point, she shifted closer to Cassian in the infirmary cot, making her already petite body take up even less room.

“Captain Andor is to be processed for discharge. So you will keep your superfluous vow that he won’t wake up alone. Even though he wouldn’t be alone anyway. There are medical staff and med-droids present.”

Jyn was too alarmed by the droid’s revelation to mind the griping typical to its type.

“You’re discharging him?!” Jyn shifted, pushing herself up to study the unconscious man.

How well she knew every bruise and injury visible and many hidden by the white medical tunic and pants. She’d passed out herself from exhaustion as they began treating her injuries, but as soon as she’d woken up, she’d bullied, threatened and pleaded until they brought her to Cassian, making her wait outside the operating room, only able to watch as they finished the surgeries and treatments. They’d let her curl up in a chair next to the Bacta tank they’d stuck him in afterward, and no one even questioned by the time he was relocated to an infirmary bed when she climbed in beside him.

She’d seen the bandages, bruises, burns and scars. And she knew how they’d changed as the hours, the days had passed. Barely days, just three days since Scarif. Were they insane? They were just going to turn him out, in his condition?

Apparently, they were.

The med-droid was already injecting him with something, and Cassian was rousing. Jyn’s heart beat faster and she practically held her breath, on her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with anticipatory anxiety, clutching at her kyber crystal with one hand. His past few hours of sleep had been strained. He’d been unconscious but also tense, in pain. She’d felt it in the rigidity of his muscles, the periodic hitches in his breathing.

“Did you give him more meds for the pain, too?” she asked the droid. How could they ask him to get back on his feet when he was in so much pain just lying still?

“Yes. And the stimulant should keep him awake until he gets settled back into his quarters.”

Jyn sagged in relief slightly until Cassian came crashing back into reality with a gasp and a jerk, and bewildered, began to thrash. She threw herself on top of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down, hoping he wouldn’t hurt himself worse, but understanding how confused and frightened he must feel.

“Cassian, It’s Jyn.” As if that would make a difference to him, if he even remembered her upon waking from a days-long practically-a-coma, someone he’d only met far less than a week ago and since had suffered devastating traumas. “You’re safe. You’re on the rebel base on Yavin 4. In the infirmary.”

Almost instantly, he went still, calmed, like a switch had been thrown. But she supposed the man did have quick reflexes, was highly adaptable to various situations. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it so long as a rebel spy.

“Jyn?” His eyes found her face. They were a little glassy and unfocused but were still, well, captivating, dark, intelligent and expressive. “What happened?”

“We did it.” She shifted back to kneeling beside him, gave him a smile, a genuine one albeit bittersweet. They had succeeded in their mission, but at a tremendous cost. “The plans to the Death Star were received by the fleet.”

“Are they planning an attack?” Cassian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing and inhaling sharply, making Jyn picture the freshly healed surgical incisions that were doubtless strained by the movement.

“I…” Jyn had never thought to ask. The moment she realized they weren’t going to die on that beach, making sure Cassian survived had become her only concern. “I don’t know.”

“I should report to Command.” Cassian moved to get out of the infirmary bed, but Jyn stopped him, grabbing his arm to hold him back. She shimmied across the bed and hopped off it to stand in front of him.

“If they needed any more information or intel, they would’ve asked me.” It sounded plausible, even though if they’d tried it, she couldn’t rightly say she would’ve cooperated (they hadn’t listened to her the last time she tried to convince them of the truth), but especially if it meant leaving Cassian’s side. Even for a moment. How had someone else become her primary, her only concern, that she now cared only for his welfare? “And you’re not in any shape to help. Give yourself a little more time to heal.”

She reached for him as he was already trying to stand, stiffening and wobbling for a moment when he was fully upright. But Jyn would support him without him needing to ask, slid her arms around his waist and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms. He leaned into her, likely without even realizing it. From what Jyn could tell, Cassian was an independent sort of person, like herself, but unlike herself, was not too proud to accept help, being more of a team player than she ever had been.

His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, deep breath, swaying a little.

“How far are your quarters from the infirmary?” she asked.

He sighed. That close, was it?

“Can you make it? If I help you?” Jyn looked around, but the droid had already stripped the bed and skittered off. She would go find whatever he needed for assistance because maybe he was a little proud, too, and had sacrificed a good portion of his independence by leaning on her. She waited, letting him decide, despite her wanting to wrap him up in soft warm blankets in a fluffy bed of pillows and keep him safe.

“Let’s try it. I should probably find out how bad the damage is sooner than later.” His expression had gone tight and unreadable, and her heart broke to think of the justified fear he must be feeling, that he may have suffered permanent damage that could affect the rest of his life, that might take away his purpose of serving the rebellion.

“They healed the blaster wound easily, but you’ve got an impressive scar,” she said as he took a tentative step, using her like a crutch, not questioning why or how she knew his wounds and medical diagnosis and treatments. “The fractures in your vertebrae and ribs probably haven’t completely knitted yet but the prognosis is good.”

Well, this wasn’t so bad. His weight was a burden making her own steps difficult, but Jyn didn’t begrudge it, not when it meant he was alive, and on his feet even. And they were already at the infirmary door. The medical staff hadn’t given them even a second look, but Jyn steeled herself for the possibility of stares as they entered the rest of the base. She couldn’t care less but these were Cassian’s fellow soldiers and he deserved their respect and not pity.

“They replaced your hip and part of your femur,” she said when they entered the hallway.

“Is that why it feels like I’ve been sliced open from my ribs down to my knee?”

“They sealed you back up.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “Things could be worse, then.”

They could, they really could. If Jyn were to make comparisons, it wasn’t just the fact that they hadn’t died on Scarif like it seemed they should’ve, but this situation she found herself in, saddled with a wounded spy (by her own choosing), on a rebel base, a Death Star out there somewhere in the galaxy… It was still the best place she’d been in since… Since she was abandoned by Saw at 16? Since her mother had died and her father had been taken?

Part of her that enjoyed the warmth of Cassian’s body beside hers, the feel of his wiry flank beneath her hand, the smell of his skin, even the weight of him he placed on her shoulders, that part proposed that this was the best situation, the best time in her entire life.

How pathetic did that make her?

She enjoyed dragging a severely wounded man around some giant old ruins half-reclaimed by the jungle converted to a military base… sort of base… The Alliance was so loosely confederated, everything seemed slapped together and piecemeal.

But hopefully the medical facilities had been up to par… They had seemed nicer than anything Jyn had ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much at all.

“You need a minute?” she asked, finally realizing Cassian’s steps and breathing had become labored. She maneuvered him towards a wall and leaned up against it with him, nodding to a passing rebel soldier of indeterminable rank and unnotable appearance.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d left me on Scarif,” he said, his voice low, quiet and pained as he almost-panted, sagging against the ancient stone wall.

“No,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I was ready to die.”

She didn’t want to hear this. The meds and the strain were making him say things. She told him as much.

He shook his head.

“Listen to me, Jyn.”

What could she do? What could she say? That she didn’t want to hear how he valued his life so little, that he’d throw it away just for the slim chance of providing an opportunity for the rebellion to destroy some Imperial weapon, a terrifying one, but one weapon of many. She-

“I felt peace. For the first time in my life, probably.” His voice had gotten even lower and quieter, almost a whisper, wistful even. Jyn didn’t dare look at him, had to concentrate on breathing normally when she felt his fingers slip into her hand. It was easier to consider her unsolicited affection for the man when he was giving no indication of whether or not he returned it. “And I think it was because you were there. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I didn’t feel alone.”

Oh, Force. He was getting delirious, saying things that, from what she knew of him, he would never share even if he did feel them.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

He didn’t say anything else as they traversed several more halls, and Jyn wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by not responding to his raw, quiet confession. But he continued to lean on her without any hesitation and the silence between them felt comfortable. It was strange. He’d made her so tense in the beginning, the way he watched her, how secretive he was, so guarded. But somehow, somewhere along the way, she grew to not only feel comfortable with Cassian Andor, but to trust him as she’d never trusted anyone else before.

And she thought, maybe he trusted her in return. He followed her on a suicide mission, let her support his injured, vulnerable self on Scarif, let her drag him off that cursed planet, and now lead him across the rebel base, passing by people who really amounted to the only family he’d ever had.

There weren’t many, however. And none stopped. Or stared, too much. The med droid must have been right about the incoming survivors of the skirmish, everyone seemed a little rushed and mission-oriented. Or maybe there was more going on…

“Stop. Stop.”

Jyn immediately froze.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shifting beneath Cassian’s weight to try to get a good look at his face. “Do you need a break?”

“We’re home,” Cassian said, his eyelids sliding nearly shut before they shot open again.

“Oh,” Jyn said, ignoring the way something fluttered inside of her over his choice of words. “Which one?”

“Left side of the hall.” He indicated the door directly to their left with a nod of his head. The stimulant must be failing to combat the pain meds, and his body’s need to rest, to heal. Because he was getting heavier and more slack in her arms.

They staggered over to the door to his quarters and he was at least coherent enough to punch his code into the lock. His room was by no means large, barely larger than Jyn’s cell on Wobani. But at least he didn’t have a cellmate, er, bunkmate… Well, not officially…

She basically dumped him on the narrow bed, which he didn’t seem to mind at all, making a groaning sound of relief and taking several deep breaths, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side. Not knowing what else to do, she bent to lift his legs and slide them onto the bed, forcing him to lay down in a less uncomfortable position. She pulled the white slip-on infirmary shoes off his feet and tossed them in a corner, feeling only a flash of contrition over sullying the pristine room. It was so austere, even with two of the walls comprised of the old stone of the ancient temple. It could’ve been anyone’s quarters. No. That was wrong. It’s nondescriptness, everything hidden away in the meager storage units, only Cassian would keep his personal space in such a spartan manner.

“Cassian…?”

He mumbled something she took to imply he was listening and not passed out yet.

“Do you have extra bedding? A blanket or something?” She could do without. She had, many times. But it would be a little bit better than sleeping on the bare hard stone floor.

“No… Jungle moon… Already too hot… Why?”

“I was going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” Jyn said. Why was this an awkward conversation to have? Why was she so afraid he’d say no, send her away? “On the floor.”

His eyes opened and that furrow formed between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to be having trouble focusing. But then he was scooching over until he was almost touching the wall.

“I think this is a nanometer larger than the infirmary cot,” he said. “What do you think?”

Jyn tried not to smile as she kicked off her own flimsy infirmary shoes and climbed onto Cassian’s bed to stretch out beside him. Something inside her sighed, content. She didn’t let it out.

“I don’t know…” she said. “But I guess if they made the infirmary beds nicer than the barracks, they’d have sick rebels all the time.”

A chuckle escaped through his nose.

“I don’t think they usually offer an ángel as a companion, either.”

“What?” Jyn shifted onto her side to study his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed content. The pain meds must be working.

“My mother was a believer in an Ancient Festian religion that worshipped a creator god. I don’t remember very many specifics...” Jyn didn’t dare breathe out, afraid of interrupting the story, softly spoken with hints of nostalgia, sharing a childhood memory, an intimacy she knew Cassian permitted, well, probably no one. “Except, there were these creatures that did the creator’s bidding, guiding people, aiding them, saving them… Angeles… I don’t know the word in Basic…”

He looked at her, and her apprehension about breaking the spell ebbed. Cassian knew full well who he was talking to, even if the pain meds had loosened his tongue, broken down the rigid walls he kept around his private self.

“I don’t know the word, either,” Jyn said. “I’’ve never heard of such creatures, mythical or otherwise.”

Cassian laughed, a soft little rumble that was accompanied by that rare smile of his that was brighter than a yellow dwarf sun and warmed her just as well. But, “What’s funny about that?”

“You…” His hand found hers, fingers sliding against her palm to curl around hers, engulfing her smaller hand. He shifted to face her, wincing a little, but his expression was soft if serious and . “Jyn, you saved me, guided me, are still coming to my aid… You’re my angelita…”

Oh, shit, he was so tired and drugged up he was becoming incoherent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember saying such emotional things- oh.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, making her swallow a gasp of surprise, and fight the sigh when he held her hand to his chest as he lay back, his eyelids finally losing the battle and sliding shut.

Oh, Cassian…

“Don’t worship me,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m nothing worth venerating.”

Of course, was she behaving any different when it came to him?

They were quite the mess, the two of them.

She wriggled her fingers in his hold until she was able to interlace them with his and feel the warmth of his palm against hers. Jyn closed her eyes, immersing herself in the quiet, safe moment.

[rosemaidenvixen]

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 18: Barbara

Ao3

Content warning: graphic description of injuries, mentions of violence

“Dr. Lake that was the Blood Bank, they really want their cooler back,”

Barbara winced, three hours ago she’d had an eighty year old patient come in with a GI bleed and an H and H of 4 g/dl and 11%. She’d only just gotten them stable after a lot of frantic work and two emergency issue units of O Neg. Keeping track of the blood cooler had been the last thing on her mind.

But it would not pay to get on the Blood bank’s bad side. They were highly protective of their blood coolers, and they remembered everything.

“It should be in room three, if not let me know and I’ll help you look for it,”

The RN nodded once and then headed off in search of the wayward cooler.

Barbara waited a few more seconds before she allowed herself to lean back in her seat and take a sip of her water. The ED had finally calmed down to the point that she could afford to slip away from the floor and take a breather. Hopefully things would stay quiet enough that she could spend her fifteen minutes in peace.

Apparently that was too much to ask because four minutes into her break someone else was poking their head into the break room.

“Dr. Lake?” it was Miranda, the charge nurse for the ED who had been there twice as long as she had.

Barbara bit the inside of her cheek and forced her tone to be light “Yes?”

“We have an assault victim in the ED,”

The beginnings of a frown pulled at her lips. An assault victim, but not a full trauma that would require all hands on deck. If that had been the case they would have announced it over the intercom. 

“Is Dr. Jenkins available to take care of them?”

“He is-- and he’s actually looking him over right now,”

This time Barbara let the frown show on her face “Then what do you need me for?” she was trying her darndest not to snap at Miranda, but for goodness sakes, she knew how precious their breaks were.

“That’s...that’s not why I came here,” Miranda dropped her gaze, taking a deep breath before she met Barbara’s eyes again “The assault victim...it’s...it’s Jim,”

For a moment time stood still, Barbara not registering what she had just heard. A few seconds staring at the pained expression on Miranda’s face was what it took for the truth to sink in.

The paper cup slipped from her fingers as she practically jumped out of her chair, heartbeat in her throat and limbs tingling with electricity. Barely heard water splashing against the linoleum past the roaring in her ears.

Suddenly taking a break was the last thing on her mind.

“Where is he?”

“Exam room twelve, and I already talked to Sue, she says you’re good to take the rest of your shift off,”

Barbara was already out the door and moving “Thank you,”

Miranda gave her a nod just before she disappeared from sight as Barbara dashed around the corner.

An assault victim. Jim. Her Jim. Not a full trauma, she would have heard. His life wasn’t at risk. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be very very bad.

Glancing to the right, she kept an eye on the door numbers ticking by as she sprinted down the hall.

Eighteen, sixteen, fourteen, twelve--

Barbara stopped short, hands flying over her mouth, stifling her horrified gasp into a low whimper.

Jim was sitting on the exam room table holding an ice pack to his temple, blue jacket splattered in dark stains that could only be blood. She couldn’t see his face clearly, Dr. Jenkins stood between them examining Jim’s scalp while a large man in sweatpants loitered in the corner, twisting a baseball cap in his hands and watching Jim and Jenkins with an anxious look on his face. 

As troubling as the sight was, it did give her a small measure of relief.

If Jim’s injuries were critical he wouldn’t be conscious and sitting upright. The fact that he was cognizant enough to sit there and calmly let Jenkins examine him was good news in and of itself. 

Unfortunately that still left a lot of room for some very serious possibilities.

Stuffing her fears onto a shell of clinical composure, Barbara pulled open the door and stepped into the room “D-- Dr. Jenkins, how bad is it?”

All three of them turned towards her, allowing Barbara to see the full extent of Jim’s injuries. The sight hit her like a fist to the gust, nearly making her stagger.

Jenkins had no doubt cleaned the worst of it up, but it still looked awful. From the neck up Jim’s skin was punctuated by splashes of bright red where the skin was ripped open. Wounds ranging in size from short, thin cuts to gashes the size of a silver dollar. Most of them were already scabbed over, but some were fresh and oozing neon red blood. The skin that wasn’t torn and bleeding was mottled with inky dark bruises, colored in every shade from indigo to black. Both of his lips were split, his nose crooked; both puffed up to twice their normal size. 

Jim lowered the ice pack, revealing that one of his eyes was swollen shut as well, and sluggishly looked over at her. His right eye, the only visible one, was bleary and unfocused, that was probably from--

“Did you give him morphine?”

Jenkins stammered for a moment before recovering “Ah uh yes, I did,”

“Did you check--”

“Dr. Lake,” Jenkins’ tone was soft but firm, his gaze even more so.

Barbara flushed.

Jenkins had been at the clinic for over seven years. He was every inch as skilled as she was; undercutting him like this was unprofessional, unhelpful, and downright rude. 

Right now Jenkins was the doctor. Barbara’s job was to be a mother and be there for Jim.

“I-- I’m sorry,”

He let out a breath, shoulders relaxing “That’s ok, no harm done, fortunately I can tell you right now that Jim does not have a concussion and all of his cuts are superficial, and should heal with minimal scarring,”

A massive weight lifted off her chest.

“That’s...that’s good to hear,”

“Uh loth a ooth an muh nuz,” Jim mumbled from the bench.

“Don’t try to talk, you could make your injuries worse,” Jenkins looked back towards Barbara, uncomfortable “However he did loose a tooth and I believe his nose is broken,”

Barbara’s stomach sank another inch.

“I’m just about done cleaning and dressing his injuries, once I’ve finished I can give you a more complete run down,”

She nodded slowly, willing the adrenaline to flow away as she stepped towards the exam table “Jim, hon, I know you’re probably feeling pretty lousy right now, but is there anything we can do for you?”

Jim lifted his head and shook it once, raising the ice pack back over his swollen eye.

Barbara had to swallow hard to keep the twisting feeling in her belly under control “Dr. Jenkins needs to finish looking you over, but I’ll be right here if you need anything,”

He looked her in the eye and nodded again. Barbara gently took one of Jim’s hands in her own, giving his fingers a light squeeze. Looking back over towards Jenkins, she met his eyes and then inclined her head towards Jim, giving him the go-ahead to continue.

Taking the queue, Jenkins stepped back up and once again took Jim’s scalp in his hands “Ok Jim remember, some pressure is normal, but if you feel any sharp pain let me know…”

Barbara stood vigil while Jenkins dressed Jim’s injuries. Cleaning the skin with a damp cloth, Jim hissing as he did, closing the smaller cuts with butterfly bandages, taping gauze over the worst of them.

She forced herself to watch in silence, if Jenkins wanted her opinion he would ask for it, keeping her attention focused on Jim himself.

These weren’t injuries from just a punch or two, someone had come after Jim with a frightening amount of violence. But who? And what exactly had happened? Jim should have been at school, had another student done this to him? 

Curious, she glanced over at Jim’s hands, both the one holding the ice pack and the one in her grasp. The skin over both of them was completely intact, untouched by bruises or cuts.

“Alright I think I’ve got everything taken care of for now,” Jenkins stepped back and peeled off his gloves, gaze flickering between Barbara and Jim “Ok Jim, next I’d like to take you to get some x-rays done. I want to see if there’s any other bone damage beyond what we can see in your nose, quite frankly I’m concerned about the possibility if a le fort fracture,”

Even though her guts were curdling at the thought of Jim dealing with a le fort fracture, Barbara nevertheless stayed composed and nodded tersely at his words “Ok,”

Jenkins let out a gusty sigh, running a hand through his hair “I’ll level with you Jim, we’re probably going to be keeping you overnight for observation,”

Her heart stopped “I-- I’m sorry, what?”

“Just as a precaution,” Jenkins raised a placating hand, misunderstanding the cause of her distress “I don’t want to risk aggravating any fractures, after we get the x rays back we’ll know a little bit more and be able to come up with a game plan,”

For his part Jim hadn’t reacted at all, most likely too out of it from the injuries and painkillers. But Barbara was doing enough panicking for two.

They couldn’t. That wasn’t an option. If Jim stayed in the hospital overnight everyone would see-- Oh god what if he actually needed surgery to repair some fractures? How would they even--

With tremendous force of will, Barbara smothering her rising panic and schooled her features to show only the appropriate amount of concern while she helped Jim to his feet. 

Now was not the time to lose her cool, and there was a chance Jim would be discharged before sundown and she would have nothing to worry about. The only thing she knew for certain at the moment was that Jim needed to get those x-rays done.

With her guiding arm around his shoulders, she was able to pull a sluggish Jim to the door, following along behind Jenkins. They headed down the hall to the ED’s imaging room, Barbara easing Jim down into one of the waiting chairs when they got there. Jenkins poked his head into the room, exchanging words with one of the techs.

“It should just be a minute while they get everything ready,”

Jim leaned back in his chair with a groan, Barbara laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Umm...excuse me, Dr. Lake,”

Startled, Barbara looked over to see the large man she’d first noticed in the exam room, with everything that had been going on she’d all but forgotten he was here.

“I’m, uh….Coach Lawrence, from your son’s school. Do you mind if we talk for a bit?” his eyes flitted back and forth “Somewhere private?”

“I’m not sure if….” Barbara glanced back.

Jenkins gave her a nod “Go ahead, I’ll take care of Jim while we wait for the x-ray,”

Her gaze flickered over to Jim, who gave her a single affirmative nod.

Pulling her professional shell tight around her, Barbara turned back towards Lawrence “Ok, let’s step over into the lounge,”

They hustled to the small room at the end of the hall, Barbara shutting the door behind them “What happened to my son?”

Lawrence flinched “Jim was...in an altercation with another student,”

“An altercation? You mean a fight!?”

He flushed “Yes-- ummm…a fight,”

Despite being incredibly anxious about the extent of Jim’s injuries, and terrified of the possibility that he might need to be admitted, Barbara still found room to be absolutely furious.

“I saw his hands, they were completely clean; no cuts, no bruises, no defensive wounds. This wasn’t a fight, my son didn’t throw a single punch,”

With every word she said Lawrence squirmed even more “You’re….you’re not wrong, in any case principal Levit and superintendent Kuhn would like to have a a meeting tomorrow morning, to go over exactly what happened, with both boys and their parents present,”

Barbara could feel her face darken “You want my son in the same room as the boy who did that to him?”

Despite the fact that he towered above her Lawrence was shrinking under her gaze “The superintendent wants everyone involved there,” he jabbered out in a high pitched voice “Steve, the other student involved, is...also making accusations,” 

Her heart skipped a beat. Steve, that was a name Barbara had heard before.

Standing a little taller now, Lawrence continued “But both myself and a police officer will be present at this meeting to ensure everyone’s safety,”

Barbara sucked in a deep breath through her nose. She was not pleased at hearing this. But now, especially now, she needed to pick and choose her battles carefully.

“Fine, we’ll be there,”

Lawrence looked surprised at how quickly she agreed, but nevertheless nodded gratefully “Alright then, I’ll send you an email with more details,” he took half a step towards the door and paused “I’m...I’m sorry, I should have prevented this, but I failed and a student go hurt on my watch,”

He turned back, glint of steel in his eyes “And I promise, I will not let anything happen to Jim at tomorrow’s meeting. 

Momentarily caught off guard, it took Barbara a few seconds to find her tongue “Th-- That sounds good, I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Lawrence nodded in acknowledgement before he turned and left, heading out the door and walking away down the hall.

Barbara let out a breath, and then pulled one in. Breathe for five, hold for five, exhale for five; repeat.

Steadier now, Barbara headed out of the break room and back towards imaging. Seeing the waiting chair empty and the In-Use sign lit up, she discreetly stepped through the side door that lead into the observation booth. Jenkins was there, along with the tech, and through the window she could see Jim laying on the table with the x-ray machine hovering above him.

She and Jenkins locked eyes and nodded in silent greeting as she stepped up to his side. Watching Jim lying back with the large machine looming as it beamed radiation into his skull. But one glance at the clock on the wall was all it took to remind her of what was at stake.

They had a little time left, but not much.

Jenkins had mentioned he was mostly thinking about keeping him overnight to avoid aggravating his injuries. Maybe she could convince him that taking Jim home where he could relax would be better for him mentally? No, that wouldn’t be well received. Jenkins would interpret that as Barbara undercutting his professional opinion. Which to be fair, it was. But that meant she had to consider…

“Have you decided what to prescribe him yet?” she whispered

Jenkins gave a little start of surprise “Some ibuprofen for the pain and inflammation, along with antibiotics to prevent infection,”

“Would it be alright if you wrote it out now so I can go pick it up?”

“Don’t you want to….” his gaze slid over to where Jim was lying on the x-ray table.

Barbara had to strain to keep her tone light, already feeling slimy from the lie she was about to tell to someone she trusted and respected a great deal “I know Jim’s in good hands with you, I just need to take a step back and clear my head,”

Jenkins relaxed, making the weight of guilt on her chest triple, and pulled out his prescription pad, quickly scribbling on it before handing the top slip over “Ok then Dr. Lake, we’ll finish up here and meet you back in the exam room,”

She thanked him and then hurried out of the room and towards the pharmacy at the other end of the hospital, praying there wouldn’t be a line. In a miraculous stroke of luck the pharmacy was nearly empty, and Barbara was able to get Jim’s medicine in record time.

Rushing back to the exam room, paper bag tucked safely under her arm and throat tightening when she saw the time, Barbara stepped in and saw Jim once again sitting on the exam table talking with Jenkins.

The other doctor turned at the sound of the door opening

“Oh Dr. Lake, you’re just in time. I just got the x-ray results back, we were waiting for you to discuss them,”

She managed to give him a weak smile as she stepped to Jim’s side “Thank you, so what are we looking at?”

Beaming, Jenkins stepped over to where the black and white images were already set up in the illuminator “I’ve got good news,” he traced a finger just under where Jim’s left eye would be “Both of the orbital sockets and zygomatic arches are completely intact, and I see no signs of a le fort fracture,”

Cool relief washed over her, practically knocking Barbara off her feet. Sockets and arches intact, no le fort fracture. It wasn’t as bad as it could be “That’s really good to hear,”

Jenkins flashed her a small grin, before his expression quickly turned somber “However your nose is indeed broken,” he pointed to the image on the far left, where sure enough, the nasal bone was clearly separated from the frontal bone by a large fissure.

“And there is some cracking along the angle of your mandible,” he moved his fingers to trace the image of Jim’s jaw. Barbara had to squint this time, but the cracks were there. 

Lowering his hand, Jenkins turned to face them fully “You’ll have to get looked over by a specialist, I think Dr. Nahreini might be available, but there is a change that these might need to be corrected with surgery,”

Barbara fought not to react to those words “Do you know how soon we can see Dr. Nahreini?” 

Jenkins rubbed his chin thoughtfully “I’m not sure, I’d have to check his schedule, although, assuming surgery isn’t needed, the absolute soonest he could be able to correct these would be tomorrow,”

Her heartbeat skyrocketed. That was not good, there was still a chance Jenkins wouldn’t keep Jim overnight, but they were out of time and the risks were too high for her to take that gamble. Which left Barbara with only one option. Just the thought of what she was about to do was almost enough to make her physically ill, but she had no other choice.

Not unless she wanted Jim’s transformations exposed to the entire hospital.

 “Do you mind looking at his schedule right now? I’d like to be able to make a plan as soon as possible,”

Jenkins raised an eyebrow at her, but he looked curious rather than suspicious “Ok then, I’ll be right back,”

She smiled and nodded as he stepped out the door, even as her pulse pounded in her ears, the smile dropping off her face the second he left. Barbara waited half a minute before cautiously peeking her head out the door. When she saw the hallway was empty she knew they had to move fast.

“Ok Jim we need to go, up up up,”

Jim looked confused, or perhaps he was still in a daze from the morphine, but nevertheless complied and got to his feet.

After one more glance up and down the hall and then Barbara was hurrying out of the room, steering Jim in front of her by the shoulders.

With every step her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, terrified that someone would see her and ask what the hell she was doing. They managed to get to the parking lot without incident, although seeing the sun touching the horizon did give her a miniature MI.

“Ok sweetie just lie down in the back seat now,”

After she opened the door for him Jim flopped down on the back seat; groaning and clutching his jaw. Barbara winced and hustled into the driver’s seat. Ice settling in her ribcage and creeping out through her veins as she started the car and pulled out of the parking lot and into the street.

And despite the fact that the sun would be down in a matter of minutes and this was the only way to keep Jim’s secret from being exposed. The guilt of what she’d just done, both as a mother and a doctor, pounded into her like a hammer.

This is abuse. Depriving children of medical care is abuse. And you should know, didn’t your own mother refuse to get you glasses until high school.

Barbara jerked in her seat when she saw the flash of motion in the rearview mirror and heard a whine of protest from the carseats. Jim’s groans becoming husky.

The chill in her blood somehow became even colder. Suddenly she was very aware of each and every other car on the road, of the people walking on the sidewalk not six feet away.

Please don’t let anyone notice. Please just let us get home safe.

There would be consequences for this. Severe consequences. She may even lose her job, and honestly Barbara deserved much worse. But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was keeping Jim safe.

The twenty minute drive felt like a lifetime, but finally she was pulling into their garage, door lowering shut behind them.

The second the door shut for good Barbara allowed herself only one deep, shuddering breath, to dispel the frost in her chest, then she was up and out of her seat. Going around and reaching in to help Jim extract himself from the back of the car.

“That’s it honey, inside to the couch, we’re almost there,”

They were home now. There would be a reckoning for what Barbara had done, but for now they were safe.

She managed to herd Jim inside towards the living room, where he promptly collapsed on the couch with a grunt, raising the ice pack back over his eye. The constriction from his now too small clothes couldn’t be helping anything. But helping Jim into more comfortable clothes would have to wait until she took care of more pressing matters. 

While Jim settled himself on the couch, Barbara gave him a once over. From what she could tell at a glance it didn’t look like the shift to his blue form had made Jim’s facial injuries any worse, of course it hadn’t made them any better either. The swelling looked strange transferred over to more angular features. Blue skin giving all of his bruises a navy cast. But what shocked her the most was that, while the bits of old dried blood on his skin were still rusty brown, the fluid leaking from his uncovered cuts was a brilliant, royal blue.

Barbara could spend time puzzling over the implications of that later, right now she had bigger fish to fry.

Scurrying into the kitchen, Barbara grabbed a glass from the cabinet and ripped open the prescription bag. First Jim needed to take a dose of painkillers. He was already probably coming down from the morphine they gave him at the clinic, so she needed to get the ibuprofen into his system as fast as possible. Especially if he wanted any chance at sleep tonight.

“uh...muh,”

Barbara unscrewed the cap from the first bottle and looked down at the tiny pills. Should she alter the dosage to Jim’s new height and weight? No, she didn’t know near enough about these drugs or Jim’s nighttime physiology to risk playing with medications. They’d just have to give him the prescribed dosage and hope for the best.

“Muh,”

Her eyes flickered back towards the glass she’d pulled out. Jim shouldn’t have any of these on an empty stomach. But solid foods were out of the question. Water was good but he should have something substantial to. Broth maybe? Applesauce? But right now neither of those things were palatable to him. He really liked motor oil when he was blue but Barbara had no idea how nutritious that actually--

“Mah!”

She snapped her head over towards the couch. Jim was lying propped up against the end, working his jaw to try and form words.

“Sweetie sweetie--” Barbara hurried over towards his side “Don’t talk right now, we don’t know how badly your jaw was damaged, any kind of talking or movement could make things worse,”

Jim slackened against the couch, only for one arm to fumble for the notebook and sharpie on the coffee table. Grabbing them, he scribbled something on the notebook and then flipped it around.

This ok?

“Yes that should be fine,”

Although now Barbara wished they were both fluent in ASL, that would make this a lot smoother. And she didn’t know if it was the morphine wearing off or the shift to his blue form, but it was clear from the focus in his eyes and the alertness in his posture, that Jim was now completely lucid.

“You just lie there and try to relax, I’m going to get you your medicine and then--”

A hand on her wrist stopped her from heading into the kitchen.

Barbara immediately turned back to face him “Jim, what is it? Do you need something?”

He looked up and met her eyes, and despite the swelling and the bruises and the overall shift of Jim’s features into something other than human, one look at her son’s face and Barbara could tell that he was completely heartbroken. 

I need to tell you something

*

Barbara pulled into the school parking lot, glancing at Jim from the corner of her eye, nose freshy reset and bandaged.

This morning they’d gone back to the hospital as early as they could, where Jenkins and Nahreini were waiting for them. Like she knew they would be in the very strongly worded email Jenkins had sent her last night.

The only positive things about their return visit was that Nahreini had been able to reset Jim’s nose by hand under local anesthesia. And he’d determined from the CT scan that surgery, or even getting the mandible fixed in place, wouldn’t be necessary. Just rest and a liquid diet.

Although they did have to be at the dentist at noon to get Jim’s missing tooth checked out.

Nahreini had volunteered to go with Jim to the dentist, claiming that he needed to make sure the dentist was fully aware of the damage on Jim’s jaw, but the way he’d looked at Barbara while he said it made it clear that this was less of a favor and more that he didn’t trust her to make appropriate choices regarding Jim’s medical treatment.

She’d taken him up on the offer all the same.

The rest of her coworkers hadn’t said anything, but the way they’d looked at her had said it all.

They’d looked at her like she was one of those parents. That thought they knew better than the trained medical professionals. One of those doctors. That developed an ego and refused to work as a team.

And even if Jenkins hadn’t made it explicitly clear to her in the hallway while Nahreini was resetting Jim’s nose, there was an email burning a hole in her inbox.

While Jim was at the dentist this afternoon, Barbara would be sitting down with the medical director to discuss her future at Arcadia Oaks Medical Center.

Needless to say Barbara wasn’t looking forward to that, quite frankly she was still amazed that they’d cleared them to go to this meeting at the school in the first place. Of course this meeting wasn’t anything she was looking forward to either.

Last night Jim had managed to give her the full story of what happened through notes scrawled on the notebook he now carried with him everywhere.

Some of the things he’d told her had been more or less what Barbara expected, but some of it had shaken her to her core.

Even over twelve hours later she was still reeling.

Barbara glanced over to Jim in the passenger seat “You ready?”

Looking up, he gave a curt nod.

Forcing down the lump in her throat, she stepped out of the car, Jim following, and headed into the building. It was the same as it had been last September, right down to the sour faced receptionist directing them into a large conference room.

Everyone else was already there. A balding man with a bushy mustache that she knew to be principal Levit sitting at the table with a gray haired woman, presumably superintendent Kuhn, by his side. A laptop along with several stacks of papers on the table in front of them. Lawrence and a woman in a police officer’s uniform standing behind them. Sitting across from them was a blonde boy, arms folded and glaring out the window, and a blonde woman right next to him. Steve and his mother. Next to them were two empty chairs awaiting their arrival. 

Their heads swivelled towards them at the sound of the door opening “Oh good you’re here,” Levit gestured towards the empty chairs “Please have a seat, we’re just about to get started,”

Barbara nodded in acknowledgement as she and Jim took their seats, Barbara next to Steve’s mother and Jim on her other side, the boys separated by the two women. Unsurprisingly, Jim’s numerous bruises and bandages drew stares from everyone in the room.

“So uh…..Jim,” Lawrence said slowly “You doing better?”

Jim flipped a few pages on his notebook and held it up.

Can’t talk jaw busted

The awkward atmosphere in the room intensified.

“Oh-- ummm….ok,”

For a few seconds they all sat in complete silence. Levit glanced from side to side at the four people in front of him and let out a husky sigh.

“Barbara Lake, Naomi Palchuk, glad to see you here, although I wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

His gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them again, before he sucked in a deep breath and netted his fingers in front of him “Let’s get right to it. Yesterday after Mr. Lake spilled the contents of his backpack in the hallway Mr. Palchuk came over and began….teasing him,” Levit paused, seeming to struggle for the right words “In response Mr. Lake lashed out verbally, after which Mr. Palchuk lashed out physically. Do both of you agree that this summary of events is accurate?”

“Yes,” Barbara replied, that lined up with what Jim had told her.

“Yes, we do,” Naomi parroted.

Both of their sons stayed silent.

Levit glanced over to Kuhn, the two of them sharing an uncomfortable look, before Levit turned back to them “Are either of you aware of the existence of a video?”

Naomi’s eyes went huge “A video?”

“N-- no I’m not,” Barbara stammered out.

This was news to her, Jim hadn’t mentioned any kind of video. 

Levit grimaced before opening his laptop “Yesterday evening it came to our attention that someone had taken a video recording of the incident and posted it online, where it’s already started circulating through the community,” after tapping at the keyboard a few times he turned the laptop towards them “ I would like to show this video to you in the interest of full disclosure, although if you don’t want to watch that is perfectly acceptable,”

“No,” Barbara said, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt “I want to see this,”

Grim faced, Naomi nodded along with her.

Mouth twisting in an effort to suppress a deep wince, Levit pressed play on the video. The footage was shaky and blurry, clearly done with a cell phone camera. It showed one of the school halls crowded with students, the occasional elbow or shoulder cutting into the view. Jim and Steve took up the majority of the screen, both of them looking quite hostile. Jim was getting up in his face and yelling, but between the loud hallway and the poor audio quality it was impossible to determine what he was saying. Then in a flash Steve swung up his fist and knocked Jim to the ground. Getting on top of him and punching him repeatedly in the face, teeth bared in a furious snarl. One of his punches landed with a sickening crack, blood spraying across the lockers. But Steve didn’t even slow down.

Barbara felt a hand fly over her mouth, from beside her she heard Naomi let out a gasp.

She couldn’t look away, the hole in her stomach getting deeper and deeper as she kept watching. Just looking at Jim’s injuries had given her a good idea of just how brutal the attack had been, but knowing didn’t prepare her for actually seeing it happening with her own two eyes.

Jim didn’t watch, silently staring down at the floor, although he had to have heard. Glancing over on impulse, Barbara saw that Steve was still staring out the window, jaw clenched and arms folded. But only now did she notice the bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

Steve had beaten Jim so viciously that he’d actually damaged his own hands.

On the screen Steve’s attack continued for about thirty seconds before a large blonde teacher swooped into frame and wrestled Steve off of Jim. Then the video cut abruptly and ended. Levit shut the laptop with a click “The school is still looking into who posted it and trying to get the video taken down, but you know how these things are once they get out there…”

Barbara did know. Once something was up on the internet it was out there forever. Now there was a video of her son being assaulted that was out there for all the world to see.

“Now Dr. Lake,” Kuhn sat up straighter and steepled her fingers “Typically we try to resolve these matters within the school, but given the severity of the situation I understand if you would want to press criminal charges,”

Her eyes briefly landed on the policewoman, who for her part remained impassive.

“If that is something you want to do you would have the school’s full cooperation. I only ask that you let us know what you decide to do as soon as possible,”

The room went silent, everyone watching Barbara with bated breath.

“I...I’m really not sure here,” Barbara said slowly “I would like to see what the school decides to do before I make my final decision,”

Levit nodded at her words “That seems fair. Jim, do you agree?”

Jim gave a quick nod in return.

“I’m sorry but given the circumstances we’re going to need an actual--”

A quick scribble of the sharpie and Jim was holding up another note.

I agree with everything my mom just said

Levit leaned back “Alright then, given that we all agree on how the events transpired, Lawrence and I--” the coach stepped up to his side “Would like to propose this course of action,” 

He looked over and addressed Steve directly for the first time “Suspension for the rest of the school year, effective immediately, along with mandatory biweekly sessions with the school psychologist, starting this year and into the next,” Levit pulled a chunk of papers off the stack in front of him “Mr. Palchuk this means that you will not be allowed to attend class or any school activities until the start of the next school year in August. We will provide you with supplemental educational materials to keep up with your coursework for this semester and arrange for you to take your final exams at the district offices, in addition you will also start seeing the school psychologist there as well,”

Steve leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table and unintentionally putting the bandages on display “Ok...but I’ll still be able to play on the basketball team...right?”

Kuhn’s eyes narrowed “Sports teams are included under extracurricular activities, all of which you are not going to be allowed to attend,”

“B...but the finals are in two weeks!”

Lawrence stared down at him evenly “Then it looks like you’re going to miss them, you’ll have to try again next year,”

Steve’s face fell, he looked so sad and lost. And even though her own son was sitting next to her with a cracked jaw and broken nose; Barbara couldn’t help but feel a swell of pity for Steve.

He may have been the one who hurt Jim so badly he couldn’t see out of one eye, but he was just a child to. And what Jim had said to him….she couldn’t believe her own son was capable of being so cruel. 

Her ribcage tightened.

No, with what Jim had just learned she absolutely believed he could.

Steve slammed a fist against the table, face flushed scarlet “But this isn’t fair!” 

Barbara reflexively angled herself in front of Jim while Naomi placed two restraining hands on her own son. Jim didn’t react in the slightest, just kept hanging his head in silence.

“Steve please I know y--”

“But if he--” Steve stabbed an accusatory finger in Jim’s direction “Hadn’t pushed me! I never would have--”

“Banned,” Lawrence said stonily, folding his arms across his chest.

“W-- what?” Steve stammered out.

“Not only are you suspended for the rest of the year, but you won’t be coming back to the basketball team ever,” the chill in his voice was glacial “Not in two weeks, not next year, or any year after that,”

“But-- I-- you can’t--”

“That’s enough Palchuk!” Lawrence bellowed, causing everyone in the room except Jim to jump “Not only are you permanently barred from the basketball team, but if you put a single toe out of line, I’ll see you banned from every sports team in the district!” 

“B-- buh--”

“And if you screw it up again,” Lawrence got up close, hands balled in fists at his sides, tone dropping dangerously low “Then we’ll start talking about real consequences,”

Steve sat there mouth gaping open and shut like a fish, shocked into silence.

“I’m going to give you a real hard truth Palchuk,” he stepped back and refolded his arms “In life there’s no trouble so deep that you can’t get yourself deeper. So if you don’t want this to get significantly worse than it already is. Stop. Digging.”

Steve sat back and shut his mouth. Face red.

Things were silent for a few beats before Naomi spoke up, voice brittle “Thank you, we find that punishment more than acceptable,”

Barbara gave a brusque nod “That sounds acceptable to me as well, I don’t think criminal charges need to be added on top of that,”

The school was taking this seriously. Besides, another investigation was the last thing she and Jim needed.

Naomi, Kuhn, and Levit all visibly relaxed at that, the principal glancing over towards Jim “Do you agree Jim?”

Once again he held up the note.

“And would you both agree to make official statements stating your decision to not press charges?” the policewoman spoke for the first time.

“Yes, we can do that today,”

Yes

“I believe that will be all for you Ms. Palchuk,” Levit handed her the papers in his hands “Here’s the formal statement of Steve’s suspension, with my contact information attached. We’ll email you a copy as well, along with the forms for the school psychologist. We’ll put together the educational material for Steve’s suspension and get it to you before the end of Spring break. And if you have any questions or concerns please don’t hesitate to contact me directly,”

Naomi bobbed her head up and down while grabbing the papers, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ before pulling Steve up and hustling him towards the door. It looked like she couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Not that Barbara could blame her.

After the door shut behind them Barbara let out a small sigh of her own and started to rise out of her seat. Finally they could cross this off their list and get back to--

“Actually Dr. Lake we’re not quite done here,”

She froze midway out of her chair, Jim perking his head up.

“I’m sorry?” 

The look Levit and Kuhn shared with each other made her uneasy “Steve’s actions were reprehensible, regardless of what Jim said, but by the same note we can’t ignore what Jim said to him only because Steve lashed out inappropriately,”

Barbara numbly sank back into her seat, queasy feeling burning to life in her gut “So...what are you saying?”

Levit leaned forward “We would like to have Jim meet with our school psychologist twice a week for the rest of the school year, and possibly next year as well,” 

The word mandatory hadn’t been said, but Barbara heard it loud and clear.

She swallowed hard “Ok,”

“Now if it’s alright there are a few things we’d like to discuss with Jim,” he paused “Alone,”

Her stomach gave another sickening lurch “But...he…”

Jim scribbled and held his notebook up towards her.

It’s ok I’ll be fine

She met his eyes, and even past the bruising and swelling she could read his desperate plea loud and clear.

We can’t afford to make this any worse.

“Al...alright then,”

“Now Dr. Lake if you don’t mind,” Levit gestured towards a door on his left “Please go wait in my office while we have our discussion with Jim,”

Barbara nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and got to her feet. Allowing herself one final glance at Jim before she stepped out the door.

These were teachers, professionals, they knew how to talk to sick and injured children. Jim would be just fine with them. There was no reason for her to wo--

Barbara stopped dead in her tracks, door slipping from her grip and swinging shut behind her. Dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. Sitting at the desk in front of her was the one person she did not want to be involved right now.

“Hello Dr. Lake,” Dorrie said “I really wish we were meeting under better circumstances,”

Barbara couldn’t speak past the jagged block of ice in her throat.

Dorrie turned in her chair towards her “I’ll get straight to the point. Yesterday the school contacted me after Jim was attacked, and I had planned on reaching out to you yesterday evening, but then one of your coworkers contacted us and claimed that you left the hospital with Jim without being discharged,” she folded her hands in her lap “After hearing that I brought all three of us together yesterday afternoon to determine exactly how events unfolded,” 

On the inside, past the screaming panic in her ears, Barbara was kicking herself. How could she have been so stupid. Of course the school was going to notify CPS when they had an open investigation on them. Of course her coworkers were going to follow protocol. 

Of course these people were going to talk with each other.

Dorrie’s expression was stern “What you did yesterday shows a profound lack of judgement, and while it was good that you brought him back this morning, you never should have taken Jim away from the hospital the way you did in the first place. As a doctor you should know better,”

“I...I understand,” Barbara forced the words out “It won’t happen again,”

Dorrie was unmoved, and why wouldn’t she be? There was no excuse for what Barbara did. And if Barbara really regretted what she’d done then why did she do it in the first place?

“Right now you and I are going to have a discussion about the events of yesterday and what we are going to do going forward,” she pulled a three ring binder stuffed to the brim with papers out of her bag “And while at this point it is not necessary to consider extreme action, let me make it clear that you will no longer be Jim’s primary care provider,”

The cold pit of horror in her belly deepened even as Barbara nodded along in reluctant agreement, sinking into the chair across from Dorrie.

Reluctant because that was the last thing she wanted to be dealing with right now. Agreement because Barbara knew that she ultimately had no choice.

Last night when Jim had told her that his friends had been the ones who called CPS...she honestly didn’t know whether she was shocked or not.

They’d never given any indication that they’d thought something was wrong, and she’d known Toby since he was in kindergarten. It was hard to believe that he-- that they would go so far as to….

Her nails dug into the fabric of her skirt.

Then again, the kids weren’t in kindergarten anymore, and a teenager noticed a lot more than a five year old did. 

At the end of the day Barbara just couldn’t blame them for bringing this trouble to their door. They’d seen a concerning situation with multiple red flags and taken the appropriate actions to help. They were all good, sweet kids who just wanted their friend to be safe.

And they weren’t the ones who’d snuck a badly injured, drugged patient out of the hospital without being discharged, or locked a young child in the basement for years. The reason you’re sitting here is because of you and no one else. And don’t you forget it.

[love-fireflysong]

Oh my god, I'm so sorry that this one took so long holy shit. I have no excuses, other than the fact that I'm a terrible person who can't be trusted with deadlines it seems. But it is done! Yay! So, as successfully chosen by Miss '@clumsybookworm18' Mel, here's my entry for hurt/comfort (finally). This is actually the beginning part of a sole survivor chris/ash au I've been imagining for over a year now, and will very likely be the only part of that au I will ever share. That au is for me. And me alone, sorry lol.

Can't Undo the Scars can be read over on AO3 of course (and I would recommend it if only for the snazzy looking texting lol) but it is also under the link as usual.

Can't Undo the Scars

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort Fandom: Until Dawn Characters: Ashley Brown, Chris Hartley Words: 9749 Rating: Teen (mentions of past trauma, unhealthy coping mechanisms, separation anxiety, nightmares that involve death) Author's Notes: Will I ever be happy with this fic? No but I'm as content with what I got as I ever will be. What Chris and Ash are doing to try and get back to 'normal' is so stupidly not healthy for either of them, but they are young kids that just want to try and move on with their lives. So be nice to them (and me obviously lol).

"I think we should take a break."

Sitting across from Ashley at the table in the quiet cafe where they had gotten coffee together, Chris fumbled with the sugar cube he had grabbed. It bounced off the small table and tumbled to the floor, not that he was paying any attention to it anymore. Not when it felt like all his blood had frozen in his veins. Still, hoping and praying that he was misunderstanding what Ashley was trying to get at, he let out a forced little laugh. "...like a KitKat? Oh man, when was the last time I had one of those? Must have been ages ago, you're totally right we should go and grab a bar or two after this. A little snack and treat we both totally deserve and I'll break us off a piece of that—"

Chris let everything else he was about to say trail off when Ashley pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and shook her head fiercely as she refused to look at him. The loose sleeves of the sweater she was wearing were pulled far down enough that only the tips of her fingers were poking out, and those tightened around the mug of coffee she was holding onto. "No, I-I mean, I think we need to take a break from each other. At least for a little bit."

Forget his blood freezing, Chris felt everything around him freeze. His breath froze in his lungs, his heart froze in his chest, and time seemed to freeze around him. "Ash, are-are you," Chris swallowed roughly as he tried to keep himself together, "are you breaking up with me?"

Immediately Ashley's eyes snapped up to meet his, and they were wide with the same fear that Chris was pretty sure had replaced all the blood in his body. "No! No, that's-that's not what I'm doing! That's not what I want at all!" Her hands left the mug she had been gripping on the table and reached out to take Chris's, but hesitated and pulled back at the last second. "Why? Do you want to...?"

Chris closed the distance between their hands and grabbed hers in his, but was careful not to touch her wrists. He was more relieved than he had imagined it was possible to feel (and he had felt some pretty intense feelings of relief in the last half a year) when she responded by immediately turning her hands over so she could curl her fingers into his. "I don't! I can't think of a single thing in the world I want to do less than that."

The jerky nod that Ashley gave in agreement should have left him feeling better, but it didn't. "Good. So we're not br— not gonna do that then."

"Cool. Cool cool cool. Glad we're in agreement. But then, what did you mean by that, Ash? That we should..." Chris couldn't even bring himself to say the words, instead letting them die in his throat when Ashley slowly withdrew her hands from his and placed them back around her quickly cooling mug.

"It's just, this isn't healthy Chris. This can't be healthy for either of us."

"Healthy? What isn't healthy? This much coffee? The amount of sugar I put in my cup every morning? Is the amount of sugar I use turning you off Ash? Cause I don't think I can fix that sorry."

She didn't smile at that, not even a hint. No faint tugging at the corners of her mouth, no sigh of exasperation, nothing. And it was then that he knew that whatever this was all about, she was as serious as he'd ever seen her, and that terrified him.

"This, Chris. None of this. The fact that neither of us can sleep alone. That I'm terrified that the moment you leave my sight I'll never see you again. I hate that it feels like neither of us can go out in public unless we're both there."

"Oh. That. Yeah, I-I can see how that might be a problem. But Ash, it wasn't—it's not as if it's our fault. We're just trying to heal, I mean that's what all the doctors keep telling us at least. And if this is what it takes, then what's so wrong about that?"

Ashley looked up at him again, and while he wasn't shocked at the dark circles around her eyes (they were identical to the ones around his after all), the tears that had started to build up in the corners of them had him reaching over the table so he could take her face into his hands. Her hands cover his a second later, but not pull them away like he feared, instead she curls her fingers into the palms of his hands so she can hold him there. The two of them lean over the table to meet in the middle, likely looking like a romantic embrace shared by lovers in the corner to anyone looking on, but this is anything but. "But it's been months Chris," she starts and he wipes away the first tear that threatens to fall before it ever gets the chance to, "since, since..."

Since Blackwood, he finishes for her in his head, it's been months since Blackwood and it still feels like we're no better than when we first came down. And it has been, Blackwood had been nearly six months ago now and the two of them still jumped and grabbed for each other at what seemed like every little thing. A loud bang, even from something as small and normal as a car backfiring down the street, always sent Chris back into that room in the basement, watching as Mike aimed that gun at Emily. The sound of a glass cup shattering as it hit the floor would have Ashley locking up in fear, her grip on Chris's hand tightening to a point far beyond pain.

That first week of July had been terrible for them both. The smart thing to do would have been to get as far out of town as possible, but that would have left them basically stranded in the wilderness; surrounded by trees on all sides as they jumped at every little sound and animal call, wondering if it was yet another one of those creatures from the mountain trying to finish them off. Instead they had elected to stay home, cowering together in Chris's basement as the fireworks going off with loud pops and bangs from nearly every house in the area had managed to cut through their earplugs and send them both into a tailspin. Remembering every bullet that Chris had shot into the Wendigo that had chased him from the shed, none doing any damage at all except to push it back further and further from him. Remembering the sound as the lodge exploded into a ball of fire, leaving them to sit cold and alone in the snow as their ears continued to ring and ring. The coolness of the basement had done little against the summer heat either, reminding them too much of the heat from the burning lodge that had threatened to cook them both from the inside out.

July had almost been worse than February, and nothing would ever top those two days in February.

He's not worried about the scene the two of them are making in the cafe though. The table they had chosen—had been using since they discovered this beautifully quiet and peaceful cafe back when they had both finally worked up the nerve to leave their houses back in May—was in a secluded corner with no windows. It was a defensible position (or at least as defensible as a table in a public cafe could be) and as long as they stayed quiet then no one would pay any attention to them. Not when the other patrons were too busy chatting with their friends or typing away on a computer. And the employees? They had more to worry about then two nerdy regulars who for all appearances looked like they were having a romantic and private conversation.

"Can you at least just tell me why?" Chris whispers, his words choked as he continues to wipe away her tears. "Why now? What happened to make you think that we need a—" his m0uth moves but nothing comes out until he finally manages to force the word past the blockade in his throat "—a break."

Ashley leans into one of his palms and smiles at him sadly. "I know we both decided that we were gonna try and start school again in the winter semester, and that our admissions had already been accepted, so I was looking at dorm availabilities when you had fallen asleep last week. They only have a few single dorms and those are available only for married students. Which is fine, it's way too small to room two people at once for durations longer than a weekend. But it also turns out that there is no option for co-ed dorms, the school doesn't allow them. No exceptions."

"What? But, surely they must—"

She shakes her head. "No exceptions, they were very clear on that. I don't know how many times me or my mom or any of the doctors emailed them to try and explain the circumstances, but the response back was always the same. They 'feel sorry and understand how difficult this must be for us' but no exceptions means no exceptions. We either agree to separate dorms with roommates of the same gender or we have to find another set of lodgings."

"But that's...that's bullshit! So the thought of a boy and girl sharing a room apparently goes so far against their-their—what, good Christian values?—that giving our poor roommates nightmares while we scream ourselves to sleep is an acceptable alternative?!"

Ashley turns her head so she can leave a chaste kiss in the center of Chris's palm in an effort to calm him down, and decides to just stay and murmur her next words there. "I hate it too, but what other alternative is there? You know we can't get a place together, there's no possible way we could afford the rent for one."

"We can...we can..." Chris tries to find something, anything, he can say to make this not happen. "I can find a job, work and go to school or—"

"And we arrive back to the same problem, Chris. If we can't survive a separation at school, how are we supposed to do it when we're both out working as well, just so we can stay together. I don't want to do this anymore then you do Chris; I really really don't. You have no idea how much I don't want to do this, but we have to get used to not being able to see each other all the time. And I would rather do it on our terms then because the school or our roommates decided we can't."

Ashley's right, of course Ashley's right. It's Ashley Brown after all, she's always right, but he doesn't want her to be. Not about this. "Okay," he agrees instead, even as it feels like saying the word is stealing something away that he can't quite name. He hides this by lowering her head so he can place his lips on her forehead and say the words there instead. "Okay. Just-just tell me how long."

"A week." Chris feels something in his stomach turn into stone and sink to the bottom of his gut. He had been hoping for something like a day or two, not a full week. He isn't sure he can survive seven days without seeing her. "I-I thought long and hard about it, but a week. We're gonna have periods anyways where we won't be able to see each other because of exams or projects, so if we can manage a whole week then we can do those no problem."

"Are you sure that maybe we shouldn't, I don’t know, just build up to that? A day here, two days there, just so we can get used to it?"

Ashley shakes her head firmly enough that it jostles Chris's hands right off of her face, but keeps her hands in his anyways. "No. I want to get this over with. Prove to everyone, to ourselves, that we can do something as simple as this. I mean, we used to go periods all the time when we didn't see each other for ages, so what's so different about this?"

"Everything", Chris wants to say, "Everything's different now. It changed the moment we left that mountain behind." But he doesn't. He doesn't because he wants her to be right, that this is just a minor hiccup and if they can overcome this, then they can overcome anything. So with one last squeeze of her hands and a pained smile, he lets go and takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces at the taste. It's cold now, had probably gone cold a long time ago and he can tell from the shared frown on Ashley's face that hers has gone cold too.

With no reason for either of them to stay here now, they had only brought enough money for a single coffee each, it's pretty clear that their little coffee date is over. Neither of them say a word as they clean up their table and leave the cafe, their fingers intertwined as they usually are nowadays, but holding on tighter than usual. They separate only so they can get into Chris's truck, but the moment they settle into their seats, their hands find each other once again. And that's how Chris drives Ashley back to her mother's, hands gripping so tightly that they're fingers have turned white and not saying a single word the entire drive back. They never mentioned it, but neither of them have to. The moment they arrive at her place, then this is it. This will be the last time they're gonna see each other for an entire week, and the moment one of them speaks then any and all willpower they have to pull this off is going to be gone and they'll be back at where they started. They need to do this, even if neither of them want to.

It isn't until Chris pulls up in front and watches her let go of his hand to take off her seatbelt that it actually hits him. For the first time in six months, he's not going to be following her in. That he's going to continue the drive back to his own house alone. The realization shudders through him and he quickly finds himself fumbling at his own seatbelt clasp, and the moment he's free he's surging across the divide between them and taking Ashley's face in his hands as he kisses her like he's never going to be able to again. She doesn't hesitate to return the embrace either, throwing her arms around him and gripping onto him as though she never wants to let him go.

They spend what is probably far too long delaying the separation, but inevitably they do separate. And when they look at each other it's with tears in their eyes and their foreheads pressed so firmly together it's almost like they're trying to become one person.

"Just seven days, right? And that's it, we'll never have to do this again? You promise?"

Ashley doesn't say anything, she just nods and leans in for one last kiss, as though trying to memorize it and him for the coming week. And when she does pull away to leave, it's with her arms slowly untwining themselves from around Chris's neck, and then letting her fingers trail lightly over his shoulders, down his arms, and past his hands. Though she is stopped when Chris curls his fingers so that they catch on his, and doesn’t fight it as she watches wordlessly as he lifts them in front of his face and carefully lets the loose sleeves of her sweater drop so he can see the faint scars on her wrist that were left when the rope burns had healed. And as always, he makes no comment as softly places a kiss into the center of each wrist, followed by the palm, and then the tip of each finger, finally closing his eyes as he presses the back of her knuckles to his lips and holding her hands there. Just to remind himself that she was still here, that she hadn't died on Blackwood Mountain with all the rest.

He drops her hands when she pulls them back, but doesn't open his eyes when he feels her shaky fingers carefully remove his glasses and place them on the dashboard before returning her hands to his face in order to complete their little ritual. Gently, she traces the contours of his face with the pads of her thumbs, brushing them over his eyes, his nose, his lips, and following each with a soft kiss to the body part in question. Finishing as she always does by placing her lips in a closed mouth kiss to the area where his jaw and neck meet, and lingering just long enough so she can feel his pulse thrum beneath his skin. The minor burn from where he had once held the gun to his jaw had faded a long time ago, but he doesn't think that either will ever forget exactly where it used to be. And when she leans back, the usual expressions of relief and awe are hidden so far underneath the absolute heartbreak that they may as well not even exist. "I—" he starts, but stops just as quickly. It's far too overdue, but the timing isn't right. "I guess I'll see you next week then."

Ashley looks like she has something she wants to say, but instead reaches out to put Chris's glasses back on his face with shaking hands and as she opens the passenger door and gets out of the vehicle, she gives a weak smile. "Yeah, I...I'll see you then."

Chris just watches as she walks up to the building, gripping onto the steering wheel as hard as possible in an effort to hold himself back from trying to follow her into the building like every fibre of his being is screaming at him to do. And after sharing one last shaky and teary eyed smile from the top of the steps, Ashley unlocks the door and enters, leaving his sight for what feels like both the first time in forever, and the final time he'll ever get to see her.

He rushes the rest of the way home, and the moment he gets back he just about runs to his bedroom and hides under the covers of his bed, ignoring both the surprised greeting his mother sends his way and the inquiry about where Ashley is. He just wants to sleep.

The week will be over quicker that way.

***

By the end of the first day Ashley is ready to scream. Not because she misses Chris horribly (she does), or because waking up without Chris at her side had sent her into near hysterics (it did). She had expected these things after all, they were all things that she had to get used to again, he wasn't always going to be there with her after all. It still hurt—good god did it hurt—but all in all, it wasn't going terribly for the first day. She'd had no nightmares thankfully, and had spent most of the day reading, with some minor tidying up in her room and helping her mother around the house.

Oh no, the reason she was about to scream was her mother in question. Who after finding out why exactly Chris hadn't come home with her yesterday, and never made an appearance later on in the evening just before bed, had been frantic. Saundra wasn't angry, she didn't scream or yell or try to do anything that might set her daughter off, but she was being horribly insistent that maybe Ashely and Chris should have thought this through more. Asking why Ashley had never brought this up to her, and if she even mentioned that they were doing this to their doctors. She hadn't of course, because Ashley was fully aware that they would have done almost everything in their power to try and talk them out of it, telling them that the two of them weren't ready for separation of his magnitude yet. And of course neither of them were ready for this—they likely never would be—but it needed to be done if her and Chris had any hope of even trying to return to a normal lifestyle in time for them to return to college in January.

And, well, she was terrified about what would happen to them if they didn't. Sure it was deemed 'healthy' for now, as they tried and struggled to recover from what everyone around them said was a horribly traumatic series of events. But what about when it wasn't simply seen as healthy and therapeutic, but harmful and co-dependant? Ashley loved Chris, even if neither of them had said the words yet she felt it in her entire being everytime she looked at him, and the idea that one day they might grow to hate or resent each other for being unable to let go was too much. And so the completely necessary trial separation came into being. If they could prove that they could successfully be apart for something as short as a week, then this wasn't codependency in the making, it was healing pure and simple.

Now she just had to convince herself of that.

***

By early morning of the second day, Chris had finally admitted to himself what he had figured out a few short hours into his self-exiled bedrest: sleeping the week away when he had been finding it hard to sleep in general for months now was quite frankly going to be impossible. And so he had with great reluctance rolled himself out of his far too empty bed and into the shower, passing his own mother talking in hushed voices on the phone. Voices that quickly stopped the moment Lilith realized that her son was finally up and moving again, and then immediately confronting him afterwards and pleading that he tell her that nothing bad had happened between him and Ash. He weakly assures that everything's fine between them (it's not, everything is not fine, it won't be fine until she's by his side again), and that he'll talk to her after. The only thing he wants right now is a hot shower. Lilith lets him go reluctantly, but Chris is also very aware that the moment he steps foot into the bathroom, that she's going to be back on the phone with Saundra speaking in hushed and worried whispers.

The rest of the morning passes by in a haze of motherly questions—mixed with the occasional fatherly one every now and again just for spice—and a large breakfast that tastes and feels like ash in his mouth, and it bleeds into the afternoon, and then into the evening. Which finds Chris both bored out of his mind and desperate for a distraction as he digs through a pile of video games to try and find something to play. But everything he finds was either given to him by Ash, or ones the two of them had played together (if not both), so he abandons his search and instead finds himself out in the garage digging through dusty and broken down boxes until he finds the old playstation and games that his parents had gotten for him before he had ever met Ashley or...or...

Well, the point was he had a game now that carried no memories of anyone or anything except being six and terrible at video games. It does nothing to wipe away the loneliness and despair that covers him like a heavy blanket, but it's a start. An extremely stalled start to a race he wants nothing to do with, but a start nonetheless.

***

On day three, Ashley is starting to think that maybe her mom had been right and that this was such a stupid idea. Last night was especially bad. No matter how many blankets she had piled on her bed, no matter how many childhood stuffed animals she had shoved back on to fill up the empty space, none of it had helped. She had never felt so cold in her life and all the open space on the bed had made her feel like she was going to be swallowed up into the emptiness. In desperation she had started ripping the drawers from her dresser and throwing clothes from her closet, frantically holding back burning tears of frustration and the scream building up in her throat.

And then she found it. One of Chris's sweaters shoved half-hazardly away into a dark corner of her room under the bed, and had been forgotten about by the both of them until now. The immediacy with which she had fumbled to grab the thing and throw it on probably would have frightened her any other day, but with the tears finally flowing hot and heavy down her cheeks as she buried her face into the dark fibres, all she could feel was bone-crushing relief settling over her. Her room a mess she could deal with in the morning, Ashley had crawled into bed hugging herself and the sweater as close as she physically was able. She wasn't cold anymore, and the bed felt less empty too.

As long as she had a reminder that Chris was still alive, that she could still smell him even on this dusty and long-forgotten piece of clothing, then even if he wasn't physically here with her she could manage. And she would manage, she would. They were already halfway through the week after all, and she would prove to everyone—to herself—that they (she) could do this.

Ashley wears the sweater all the rest of the day once she wakes up.

***

In true Chris Hartley fashion, day four finds himself absolutely glued to the screen of his phone. Shortly after forcing down a small breakfast in an attempt to alleviate his worried parents' concern, he had spent what was probably a far too long amount of time in his text messages just staring at Ash's name. His thumbs hovering nervously over the keyboard as he fought with himself over and over again, debating if texting Ashley would be okay. Yes, the two of them had agreed that this 'break' (he hates the word, hates it hates it hates it with every fibre of his being) was needed if they wanted to try and get themselves ready for the separation that college life would inevitably bring, but that was to try and prepare themselves for not being able to see each other for long periods of time. They wouldn't be able to see each other during classes or during periods of intense studying and working on projects, but they would still be able to talk. Hell, his entire first year of college while she was still in high school had been just that. They hadn't been able to hang out in weeks, but they had still texted all the time.

So biting the bullet, Chris had gone ahead and texted Ash a quick and easy 'hey'. No 'miss you', no 'this was a terrible idea', no ' i wish you were here right now'. Just a simple 'hey' and then he stared at his phone, face pale and hands shaking as he waited to see what she would do. He didn't care if she would just send back a scathing reply about how he was breaking the rules by doing this, he just needed her to respond and reassure him that she was alright. That she was still alive and his insecurities were getting the best of him.

The phone rumbling softly in his hand was a godsend, and so too was the affirmative 'hi :)' that she had responded with. After that, it was as though the floodgates had opened. The two of them texted each other back and forth the entire rest of the day, her telling him about the books she had been reading as he told her about his adventures through late 90's and early 2000's gaming. They told each other what they had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They talked about everything and nothing and it was so blissfully normal that Chris wondered why on earth it had taken him this long to text her in the first place. He thinks that he was so used to just having her there with him all the time, that the idea that they could still text hadn't even crossed his mind.

There are things he doesn't tell her of course. That the idea of falling asleep without knowing she's next to him and safe is so ludicrous that he had stopped trying, only sleeping in small, unintended fits that leave him feeling even worse than before. That despite at least continuing to eat, the food tastes like nothing and he can only manage a few bites before excusing himself. And what little he does eat almost always manages to come back up during the night, though thankfully when his parents are both sleeping (he doesn't want them to worry more than they already are). Chris doesn't want to worry Ashley, not when it seems like she's managing this whole seven-day long affair better than he is so far. If she can do this, then so can he.

So no matter how many times his thumb hovers over the call icon in the corner, he does not press it. Texting will have to be enough, he knows that the moment he hears her voice then every single shred of resolution he has built up will crumble in seconds and he'll be driving as fast as he can so he can see her again. And they're already four days deep into their seven days, the last thing he wants is for Ashley to decide that they need to start all this over from the top again.

***

Ashley is comfortable in her bed, more comfortable than she's ever felt in her life honestly. Chris's arm is draped heavily over her waist, and his breath is warm on the back of her neck as he peacefully naps the afternoon away. His body is solid against her back and she feels so, so safe and so, so loved as she continues to read her book, a favourite of hers that she had read cover to cover a million times but always felt like coming home in its warm familiarity. Contentedly, she flips a page and snuggles back further into Chris's body and she feels something warm and wet drip onto her neck.

"Chriiiiiiis," she groans, but not without an edge of laughter, "wake up. You're drooling on me, you dip." He doesn't move, and Ashley repositions herself a little, made difficult by the weight of his arm over her, and jabs her elbow into his gut. "I'm serious you dork, wake up. I swear to god, you sleep like the de—" The words die in her throat in horror when she turns her head to face him.

His head isn't there. Nothing is there. Just dark blood pouring hot and heavy from the open space above his neck, staining the fur lining his coat and the once clean, white snow as the blizzard rages around her. Desperate to prove that this isn't real, that it can't be real, she fumbles for the hand that hangs limp at her waist and threads her fingers through his, but his fingers are cold to the touch and black with frostbite, and no matter how hard she squeezes he isn't squeezing back. She's fully aware that she's openly crying and sobbing as she repeats his name over and over, begging him to wake up and tell her that this isn't real. Her tears are freezing on her cheeks the moment they fall.

From deep within the treeline, a high-pitched shriek that rattles the teeth in her mouth echoes long and loud around the wide, open snow-covered space.

Cries and nausea alike stick in her throat as she tries frantically to wiggle out from Chris's body, but his arm is a dead weight that keeps her pinned in place against him. "C'mon, Chris. We need to go. We need to hide. Get up, please please please get up."

There's a soft thump of a large body landing in the snow far off to the right, unseen but not unheard, and she freezes in place. Hoping and praying that the thing won't see them as she huddles in closer to the protection that Chris's body is offering, her blood stained fingers tightening painfully on his limp hand and around the leather bound journal she is still holding in her other. In fear she buries her face into the snow beneath her, the cold biting at her skin and the metallic taste of Chris's spilt blood filling her mouth and nose. For a moment, there's nothing. No sound except for the wind whistling through the trees as the snow whips wildly around them.

And then Chris is gone. The comforting and yet horrifying weight he had been is just gone as he's suddenly flung through the air and colliding into a tree with a sickening crunch. Her hand had been gripping onto his so fiercely and so tightly that she had been pulled with him for just a second before his hand had been violently ripped out of her grasp. Leaving Ashley to stare wide-eyed and terrified into the face of the thing—its body too long and spindly with far too many sharp angles to be considered human—standing above her as she lays on her back. Milky-white eyes gaze back down unseeingly at her and Chris's blood is dripping from sharp, deadly claws that splatter onto her face. The thing opens its mouth to showcase row upon row of crooked and yellowed razor-sharp teeth and it screams at her, spittle flying into Ashley's face as her ears ring and ring and ring.

Too scared to cry, too scared to move, Ashley just wishes that Chris was still here with her and not lying broken and mangled and headless at the foot of a tree as he continues to slowly bleed out into the crisp white snow. A small little whimper, barely louder than the whisper of wind blowing through grass and certainly going unheard in this howling blizzard, escapes past her lips but it's enough. In a flash, the same deadly claws are raking towards her face to rip her head off in the same way it had to Chris.

And Ashley screams.

She screams and screams and screams, and screams only louder when a pair of hands cradle her face and a voice begs and pleads with her to wake up. Ashley tries to fight back against the hands and the voice, screaming for Chris to wake up and help her, but her own words keep getting caught on the blood that is bubbling out of her mouth. There's another scream, this one not her own, and then the hands have moved to try and open her mouth but she won't let them. She doesn't want her jaw ripped off like what had happened to poor Jess. Like what she had seen in the pictures that the rangers had shown her and Chris so they could identify the half naked body discovered in the mines. So she fights back even harder, trying to claw at the person or thing that killed Chris and Jess and everyone else. And then there's a cry of pain, and the hands on her face have vanished, appearing around her wrists so they could try and hold her panicked flailing back.

The moment the hands appear on her wrists, Ashley's eyes fly open and she can't breathe. She can't breathe because she's hanging in the shed, the wood cold against her back as saws whir menacingly both in front and above her as Josh hangs limpy next to her. The lower half of his body an impossible mess on the floor and the grey intestines that had managed to stay in his upper half hanging down towards it like grotesque party streamers. From behind the steel chain link fence that partitions the room, Chris stands looking straight at her as he holds a gun to his jaw, his face pale as he smiles shakily at her and pulls the trigger.

Somehow, the scream that finally manages to break through is louder than all the rest.

There's more begging and pleading that she can't make out against the loud mechanical whir of the saws. And then a phone chimes, only just managing to cut through all the screaming and whirring and echoes of gunshots. And then it chimes again, louder this time. And again. And again. And she realizes that she recognizes it, it's the ringtone that Chris had set on her phone for his contact ages and ages ago as a joke, and she had just kept forgetting to change it back until it just became his notification, joke or not.

Slowly, the shed fades away until all she's left seeing is her mother standing in her brightly lit bedroom, screaming at someone through her phone. But all Ashley is paying attention to is the repeated chimes going off constantly on her phone one after another, the screen never getting the chance to go dark before another text comes in, and Chris's name appearing for every single one.

Saundra seems to notice that her daughter has finally stopped screaming, and although she continues to plead with whoever it is on the phone with her, she reaches out a hesitant and unsure hand. Ashley notices none of this as blood continues to dribble slowly out of her mouth as she picks up and unlocks her phone.

***

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and it isn't the fact that Chris is kneeling over the toilet as he retches into it for the second time tonight. Oh no, the something wrong is due to the fact that despite it being past midnight he can hear his mom trying frantically to calm someone down on the phone. It was the phone ringing that had woken him up in fact from where he had accidentally dozed off on the couch, waking up to find the old playstation controller hanging loose in his fingers and Crash idly spinning a piece of wumpa fruit on his finger in all his polygonal glory. Chris had dropped the controller the rest of the way to the floor in his rush to the bathroom though, startling poor Toby from where he had been snoozing the night away in his dog bed. He had only barely made it before he found himself throwing up what little food he had been able to eat during the day, and the coolness of the porcelain against is forehead was a balm of relief when compared to the burning in his throat and heat of his tears as they flowed slowly down his face.

He could tell the moment that Lilith had found him from the surprised cry of alarm behind him, quickly followed by a clatter as she dropped the phone to the linoleum floor in her shock as she reached out to take her son's face in her hands. Chris knew that he must have looked a dreadful sight, his face pale and drawn while his eyes looked at her with a glassy stare. The next second, she was yelling over her shoulder for his father to wake up now and turn on the car, but Chris wasn't paying any attention to that. Not when he was just starting to make out the sound of the voice through the phone, and more importantly, the screaming in the background of the call.

That was Ashley's scream. It was a sound he didn't think he would ever be allowed to forget and it hit him that she was screaming—screaming for him—and he wasn't there.

Clumsily, he ripped his face from his mother's hands and stumbled to the living room where he had left his phone on the couch. He had to help her. She needed him and he had to help her. The moment he finally had his phone in his hand he pulled up her contact name...and then he froze unsure of what to do. He couldn't call her, not because of this whole stupid break thing, but because the sound of her voice sobbing on the phone will cause him to break down with her and the last thing either of them need is to scream and cry while they're both so, so far away from each other. So he does the next best thing he can do:

He texts her.

C: what does a cloud wear under his raincoat? C: thunderwear C: why are teddy bears never hungry? C: cause they're always stuffed C: why do ducks have tail feathers? C: to cover up their buttquacks C: what kind of shoes do private investigators wear? C: sneak-ers C: why do i never tell jokes about pizza? C: they're too cheesey

And on and on and on. Even as his fingers shake he continues to text her stupid little jokes. The same ones he tells to her when he's there to hold her in his arms and remind her that he's still okay and that she’s safe. There's no describing the sob of relief he makes when she finally responds.

C: prime-mates C: what event do spiders love to attend? A: Cats C: webbings

There's a moment where he doesn't know what she means by that. How on earth could cats be the pun he was looking for in the joke? And then it hits him. She needs to know that it's really him telling these jokes and that she's not just making up everything she's seeing on her phone. Ashley is asking for the stupidest jokes about cats he knows so she can confirm that it's really him on the phone. Even tired as he is—and he is so so tired—they come naturally to him as only talking with Ashley and middle school dad jokes ever did.

C: what's a cat's favourite colour? C:purr-ple C: what do you call a cat that loves to bowl? C: an alley cat C: what's a cat's favourite tv show? C: claw and order C: what does the cat say after making a joke? C: just kitten

And so on and so forth. Ashley throws out a new topic for jokes and Chris replies with them as quickly as he can. He can hear his mom and dad talking in the next room, to each other and Saundra on the phone, but the only person he cares about is the one on the other side of his. He needs to call her. He knows what Ashley needs when she has a nightmare this bad, and the jokes are helping but she needs to hear his voice to be truly convinced that he's okay. But he can't hear hers without making things so much worse than they already are and he doesn't know what to say that would calm her down and—he stares at the last joke he had just typed out unconsciously it hits him.

C: what did the two volcanoes say to each other? C: i lava you C: i'm going to call your phone but whatever you do don't answer it C: just let it go to voicemail and please don't answer it C: please

Chris doesn't wait for her response as he shoves past his father to his bedroom, ignoring the startled shout as he slams the door behind him, and slumps against it to the floor. He doesn't want his parents to hear this. It's not anything that would worry them, but it's so so private and the only person he wants to hear this is Ash. He still doesn't look at her response as he frantically taps the call button and listens to the phone ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. And ring. And then, finally, he hears her voice for the first time in nearly a week.

"Hi, this is Ashley. Sorry I can't come to the phone right now but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Promise!"

***

Please enter your password.

6279#

You have one new voice message. To play your messages, press one. To record—

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said it five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep and after waking up every day. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

To replay this message: press one. To go to—

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said something five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep every night and after waking up every morning. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me over that diner's table. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

1

"I love you. I'm—"

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you."

1

"I love you. I'm so sorry that I'm not there so say it to your face but I love you so much that I can't fucking stand it somedays and I should have told you ages ago. I should have said something five days ago but I didn't. I should have been saying it to you before falling asleep every night and after waking up every morning. On the helicopter ride down the mountain. When you kissed me for the first time. I think I was lying when I said that nothing was wasted between us, because I should have been screaming this to you from the first moment you smiled at me over that diner's table. I wasted so much time not telling you this so I'm going to say it now. I love you, I love you, I love you, I lo—"

To replay this message: press one. To go to the previous message: press one one. To pause during message playback: press two. To fast forward a message during playing: press three. To hear this message, and the time it was delivered: press five. To copy this message to another person: press six. To erase this message and go to the next: press seven. To reply: press eight. To save this message and go to the next: press nine. To—

9

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A: I need you A: Please A: Please A: I need you A: I need you A: I need you

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***

The car ride over was almost unbearable. Chris wasn't driving himself fortunately, with how tired and anxious he had been feeling for days now it would have been an absurdly stupid idea that likely would have ended in his death if he wasn't extremely lucky. As it was, he had been ready to go and beg a ride from his parents but had found Gabe already standing by the front door with the keys in hand. His almost pure white hair messy from being pulled from bed unexpectedly and leveling Chris with a glare that brooked no argument. It wasn't an argument that Chris intended to fight against as he hugged his father hard in thanks before climbing into the back of the vehicle.

But the drive had felt so much longer than it usually did, and Ashley having stopped responding to his texts certainly hadn't helped matters any. He still sent them anyways, more for his own reassurance than hers now. Lilith sat in the passenger seat next to her husband, still talking on the phone to Saundra to give progress reports and reassurances that yes the three of them were on their way now, even as she sent the occasional nervous glances at Chris in the backseat. Though worried for him or for the car upholstery in case the movement of the vehicle set off his gag reflex was anyone's guess.

The moment Chris felt the vehicle slow down his eyes jumped to the window and saw the familiar and welcoming shape of Ashley's building and he was already fumbling with seatbelt and opening the car door before they had even fully stopped. He hears his parent's cry out in shock as he dives out the still moving (even if very slowly) vehicle and he's stumbling towards the door. Chris realizes in horror that in his hurry to leave he had managed to completely forget his keys by the front door, and in the time it takes him to realize that the door has already opened. Saundra is standing in front of him dressed up for her overnight shift at the dispatch center that she is now extremely late for, and phone held up to her ear as she stares at him with wide eyes.

Chris doesn't even bother to say thanks or remark about the deep scratches on her cheek, the pair still bleeding just a little, before he's shoving his way past her and up the stairs to where Ashley's room is. He trips on the last step and falls forward, his phone skittering across the floor, but leaves it once he gets to his feet and just about barges into her room.

He takes barely a moment to stare at Ashley huddled up on her bed, looking so small in his dark sweater, and her eyes squeezed shut as her phone is pressed as close to her ear as possible as she rocks back and forth. There's a thin streak of dried blood from her mouth all the way down her chin and her eyes fly open in shock when he takes an unsteady step towards her. For a split second he's too scared to move, he doesn't want to frighten her anymore than she already is, but then the phone drops from her fingers and she whimpers out his name like she can’t believe he’s really here and he breaks.

He's already fully crying as he collides into her on the bed, but so is she so there's no need to feel embarrassed about that. He can hear his own voice as a tinny facsimile from the phone as the voicemail continues to play out before starting off into the electronic drone of the operator, but he ignores it for the feel of Ashley's arms wrapped firmly around him, her hands clawing into the back of his shirt to try and hold him closer as they both sob bitterly into each others shoulders. Chris is the first to pull back, though it's just so he can hold her face in his hands as he presses their foreheads together, thumbs wiping away tears that won't stop falling even as he continues to cry himself, just soaking in her presence in front of him. Ashley takes no time for her hands to start roaming all over his skin when they snake underneath his shirt, just feeling the unmarked bare skin as she searches for wounds and marks that no longer exist or have never even existed in the first place.

The two of them sit there like that for an unknown amount of time, just confirming that the other is truly alive and safe. Until Ashley slowly removes her hands from under his shirt so she can drag him down and forward into a deep kiss. A kiss that is by all accounts is downright awful considering that Chris never got the chance to rinse out his mouth and all he can taste is the blood in Ashley's from where she had bit her tongue during her nightmare at some point. Neither of them care. And he still doesn't care when Ashley starts to leave what may very well be slightly bloody kisses as she trails her lips from his mouth to the corner of his lips, across his cheek, and down his jaw until she finds the spot she's looking for and stops there so she can feel his frantic pulse thrumming beneath the skin. She holds her mouth there for what many would likely consider to be an uncomfortably long amount of time, but Chris says nothing. Not when he's now too busy picking up where Ashley had let off, letting his hands skate over the area of her stomach and waist beneath her shirt and his sweater.

The moment the two of them have calmed down enough that the sobs have lessened into quiet tears, Ashley finally removes her lips from his jaw and lowers one of her hands so she can place it flat on his chest and can feel his heart thumping steadily beneath her hand. Chris lets a hand cover hers to hold it there while he carefully places the other on the back of her neck, this thumb soothingly rubbing back and forth to comfort her. And gently, so gently, he brings their foreheads back together as they let the last of their adrenaline run out.

She's safe. He's safe. They're both safe and that is all that matters right now.

"I'm sorry," Ashley is the first to speak and words catch and almost shatter on the way out. "I'm so sorry. This was such a stupid idea and—"

He doesn't disagree with her. This had been a terrible idea from the start and while she's not wrong that they need to get used to not being around all the time, this was too much too soon. For both of them it seems. "I can't do that again Ash," he says instead. "We'll figure something out. Make agreements with our dorm roommates if we have to, force the college heads to accept our emails and the doctors advice, or rent the shittiest and cheapest apartment we can find. I don't care. We'll figure it out, but I can't do that again Ash. I love you but I can't."

Ashley nods weakly against his head in agreement. She can't do it again either. The two of them had barely lasted five days after all, and this whole failed endeavour had probably sent them back months. "I love you too. I love you so so much. You can't leave me, Chris, please. You can't. Not tonight."

He has no intention to, he doesn't know what his parents intended bringing him here, or if they thought he'd be going back home with them after this, but he's not going anywhere. They'll have to drag him kicking and screaming from the bed if they try, and now that the adrenaline has finally worn off, the lack of sleep he'd been having the last five days is hitting him and he is just so, so very tired. So tired, that all he gives in reply is just a reassuring forehead kiss in promise that he won't be going anywhere, not for a long time if he can help it, and then starts to bring Ashley down so she can lay on the bed with him. She follows without a fight.

It only takes them a moment to settle, Ashley laying so her front is flush to his back as is physically possible with her arm draped over his waist and fingers threaded tightly through his. Chris takes her other hand so he can softly kiss her inner wrist and then holds the knuckles lightly to his lips. The two of them slowly drifting off as Ashley continues to softly whisper declarations of love into the back of his neck.

Chris's eyes are closed, just enjoying her whispers that are meant just for him to hear, and even then he can tell that someone is standing in the door and watching them. But even if he opened his eyes to see who it was, with his glasses now resting in their spot on Ashley’s bedside table, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. And he’s just far too exhausted to even try right now. It’s only her mom anyway, or one of his parents—quite possibly all three of them—and he knows that come morning and after hours and hours of sleep, that there are going to be some conversations and intense worried scolding that need to be had. But with Ashley's fingers squeezing around his, and him squeezing back just as firmly, he doesn't care.

For the first time in a little over five days, the two of them fall asleep peacefully. Secure and content in the knowledge that they’re not gonna have to do this again, not for a very, very long time.

[sagasofazeria]

Stories of the Past

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 7

Summary: The gang recovers from their battle with Dymea, and head back to Koretion to celebrate their victory. Stories are shared.

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

content warnings: slavery/child slavery, kidnapping, torture, swearing and strong language, alcohol, violence, blood, gore, death, discussion of trauma/childhood trauma, child abandonment

word count: ~6500

The clouds had finally broken, and the newly risen sun was beginning to burn off the mist and rain of the night.

As the warmth of day spilled onto the scorched camp, it found the five companions beaten, battered, exhausted, and covered in mud and blood, yet victorious all the same.

Jetra knelt silently at the top of the hill, staring at the corpse of the woman who’d killed her father. Tears were falling in rivers down her face as she gripped the hilt of her blade and pulled it free from Dymea’s skull.

Dymea’s last words would haunt her, but she’d done it. After 3 years of anguish & anger, it was done. Just like that, she was dead. Jetra had no idea how to feel, her mind was fuzzy and blank. Where did she even go from here?

Before she figured that out, though, she decided it was time to enjoy a well-earned victory, preferably with a lot of wine and a good song.

She stood, flicking the blood and brains off of her sword, and limped her way down the hill to where the rest of the group was waiting.

The others were all gathered around a large rock that jutted out of the hillside, leaning against it and breathing hard. Alejandro was grimacing in pain, holding his arm as Faulkron helped him stand, and Jetra ran to him first.

“What happened?” she asked hurriedly, seeing the wound.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckled. “Just a... agh, a spear through the shoulder. It’s not a big problem,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Heal the others.”

Jetra stared at him, incredulous. “Um, excuse me? You can barely move your arm because there’s a huge godsdamned hole in it. Shut up and let me work.”

Alejandro grunted but did as he was told, and Jetra placed her hand on his shoulder, channeling as much magic as she could. Her magic welled up inside her, waiting to flow out. and as she released it, she hummed the first song that came to mind without thinking.

She found herself humming the song her father would always sing to her mother when he returned home safe from an adventure, when they would all dance on the roof and laugh and sing and smile. She could see it painfully clearly, and her heart ached with loss and joy at once.

As the magic faded, Jetra shook herself out of her memories. She felt tears threaten to fall again, but she sniffled them away before they could, and smiled at Alejandro, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She’d save crying for later.

“Better?” she asked.

“Sí, gracias,” he said, rotating his arm a little bit. He winced slightly, but the only thing remaining was some rough scar tissue, and he assured her he’d be fine.

She moved over to the others, kneeling next to Fuego, who was still grimacing, his normal exuberant energy gone. “Fuego, are you all right?”

“I’m mostly okay, thanks to you. I’m pretty sore though, so I wouldn’t mind a bit of magic,” he smiled weakly.

Jetra looked up at Shakari, who was sprawled against the sun-warmed side of the boulder, holding in one hand a dagger that was jammed between the large scales on their chest.

“Shakari, are you okay? Do you—“

Jetra never finished her sentence, only able to watch with mouth agape as Shakari took a deep breath and pulled the dagger free with a growl.

Shakari turned to Jetra again. “I’ll be fine, spend your magic on him,” she said through gritted teeth as she tossed the blade aside.

Jetra hurriedly closed her mouth and nodded, letting the last of her magical energy flow into Fuego, and he took his first real deep breath since the battle.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, friend.”

Fuego smiled at her before pushing himself to his feet.

“Well, I gotta go find my sword and make sure all these fires are out,” he said as he stood and stretched.

Shakari nodded, standing as well. “I can help.”

They walked off, and the other three turned to each other.

“We need to free the prisoners and bring them back to Koretion as soon as we can,” Alejandro said, quickly walking towards the nearest cage.

While he and Faulkron broke locks, gathering the people near the entrance to the camp, Jetra searched the slavers’ corpses for a key. Finally finding one, she rejoined the other two in freeing the people.

As they scoured the camp, she was mortified to see how many people were imprisoned. She was glad to have gotten rid of the slavers, but she knew this would leave a wound, both with the people who would return and the people who wouldn’t.

Once they’d freed the rest of the exhausted but relieved prisoners, Jetra addressed them all where they had gathered at the bottom of the hill, taking a deep breath and composing herself.

“Good people! There’s no need to worry any longer, we’re here to help you. We’re going to bring you back to Koretion. You can rest soon,” she said, using a bit of magic to make her voice slightly louder over the confused whispers and relieved cries of the freed people.

One older dwarven woman stepped forward from the crowd, and many of the others seemed to pause, looking at her with a flash of respect in their eyes. “We owe you an enormous thanks, heroes. Who... who are you?”

Jetra looked to either side of her. Faulkron and Alejandro stood to her left, still bruised and bloodied themselves. Alejandro had a distant look in his eyes, and Faulkron was breathing deeply with arms crossed, taking in the victory even as he squinted in the sun.

Fuego and Shakari were approaching from her right, giving a signal that all the fires were out. Fuego was smiling, and jogged up to them eagerly. Shakari took their time, looking to the sky with a relieved expression of their own.

Jetra took the necklace with the blue moon symbol from around her neck, and showed it to the woman.

“Just a group of people in the right place at the right time,” she said with a smile.

The woman looked at the pendant, and there was a spark of recognition in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I was hoping,” she said, and pulled back a tattered sleeve to reveal a small blue moon tattoo on her forearm, mostly obscured by thick hair. It was a symbol Jetra knew well.

Jetra smiled back. “Let’s get you all home.”

The woman nodded, and the five companions began to lead the people back through the hills.

•••

When they returned to Koretion, they were greeted with cheers and tears of joy, as families, friends, and lovers were reunited.

They were called heroes many times that morning, and Faulkron didn’t know what to do with it.

Was he a hero? It felt good to be called that, but he wasn’t certain he had really been a hero, whatever that even meant. He’d really only come for the money. Or at least, that’s what it had been at first. Over the last few days, he’d seen so many people full of fear and despair. Now he only saw joy, and he felt a weight lifted off of his own chest as well. A satisfaction he hadn’t felt before.

The whole town was celebrating as they walked up the side of the quarry to the guard post. People were dancing in the streets, music was being played, stories of their victory were already being told and songs were being sung. The mines were empty and the town alive, as the dreary gray of Koretion became a colorful joy, banners put up and braziers lit to welcome the lost home.

Even as they entered the militia building, there were people thanking the newly crowned heroes.

Jetra led them through the curtain to the militia captain’s room. Horakes greeted them eagerly as they entered.

“So you’ve done it? They’re gone?”

Jetra nodded, smiling wide. “They are. Dymea is dead. We did it, Horakes, we fucking did it. We’re gonna need some medical attention, ‘cause magic only does so much, but until then, yes, we did it. I’ve avenged him.”

Horakes nodded and smiled, though Faulkron noticed his eyes did not hold the same joy and relief as Jetra’s. There was something else hidden within them that wasn't quite the elation of victory, though he did not know what. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. I assume these are your allies?” he asked, turning to the rest of them.

Faulkron nodded to him. “That would be us.”

“I assume you’re here for your pay?” Horakes asked, reaching onto his belt for a bag of coins.

Faulkron nodded, thanking him as he handed Faulkron the money.

“Of course, whatever it takes to save my city,” he said with a bow.

Jetra nodded back. “Thanks, Horakes,” she said, before turning to the rest of the group. “Now I do believe it’s time to go enjoy this victory, yeah?”

“Oh gods, I’m so hungry you have no idea. Let’s go,” Fuego said earnestly, already starting to head out the door.

He was cut off suddenly by a halfling woman with wild curly hair, dressed in healer’s robes with her hands on her hips.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so. Each and every one of you is injured, and I’m not lettin’ the heroes of the town celebrate all day just to drop dead because of internal bleeding. Get over here,” she commanded, clearly not taking no for an answer, beginning to prepare bandages and medical supplies.

•••

That afternoon, after they’d been well tended to, they were welcomed with cheers and smiles back to the Bedrock & Breakfast.

They were quickly surrounded by grateful townsfolk and awestruck children, the tavern full to nearly bursting.

As the day wore on, it was easy to see that Jetra was truly in her element now. The children’s mouths hung open in rapt interest as she told them a grand, if simplified, tale of their adventure, Fuego occasionally jumping in with his own inputs.

When the tale was done, the children, as well as many of the adults, eagerly requested another story.

So she told another, a popular folktale to which no one knew the ending. She brought her stories to life in front of her, dancing colors and illusions acting out every word.

For much of the evening, they told stories to the crowd. When Jetra wasn’t weaving her epic tales, Fuego told some stories of his own. Standing on the table, he regaled the bar with sagas of sorcerer-kings and distant islands, even some of which he claimed were his own adventures. While Jetra’s stories were dramatic and evocative, Fuego’s were loud and grandiose, and filled with enough enticing details you might’ve thought he was adding more even as he told the tale. In between stories, Jetra led the celebrating townsfolk in songs and dances. With enough pestering, and a little help from the wine, she even convinced the rest of the group to join her as they danced around the bar.

When asked well into the afternoon if he would tell a story too, Faulkron simply shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have many grand tales to share. My life until now has been rather boring--”

“Azbolutely not! You’re cool! Tell us! Tell us!” One of the kids demanded, standing to emphasize her point.

The other children began to murmur in agreement, and eventually most of the bar was encouraging him to share a story. Faulkron chuckled, sighing. “Alright, alright. I might have one story.”

“Yay!” cheered the first kid, plopping back down on the rug that had been laid out.

“It’s the story of where I’m from, and how I got there.”

“Oooh, that sounds good! Tell us!”

“Okay, here goes...”

•••

Nearly three and a half decades earlier, and an ocean away, in the middle of the dry plains of the Unterras...

Ardos had been up far too late, far too often these last few cycles. Jamie, his oldest cow, was sick again, and he was starting to worry. It’d only been getting worse despite his efforts, and he wasn’t certain she’d make it to a temple this time if it came down to that.

Just before he could justify closing his eyes and drifting off, he heard a crash and the noises of startled livestock. Ardos jolted out of drowsiness and reached for the nearest thing resembling a weapon. He fumbled around for a second before finally finding purchase on his pitchfork.

Holding it out in front of him like a spear, he searched all through the house, but couldn’t find the source of the sound.

Then, he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn, and battle. He rushed outside to find the door to his stable broken in. He slowly approached, hands shaking and white-knuckled as he gripped the pitchfork, the sounds of swordfighting ringing from inside. When he reached the shattered door, he peered around the corner as far as he dared.

Inside, an elven man in unfamiliar garb was dueling a cloaked figure in equally unfamiliar white robes, their curved blades flashing in the moonlight.

Before Ardos could react, he watched the elf slash the other figure down, blood spattering across the ground as the horses whinnied. Ardos watched in shock as the corpse hit the ground, eyes lifeless.

The elven man’s ears swiveled at the sound of Ardos’ gasp, and he turned to Ardos with a rushed intensity. He began to speak rapidly in an unfamiliar tongue, before clearly realizing that Ardos couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“I trust we both understand Common?” he quickly asked, grimacing in pain.

Ardos nodded, before finally noticing the wound on his chest.

“Oh my gods. Do you need help? I ca-“

“No. There is no time. You must listen to me,” he said, revealing a small bundle of colorful cloth. Ardos stared at it for a moment, puzzled, before the man turned it to show that within was a baby.

“Please. Raise my son. Keep him safe,” he said, panting and coughing. “I cannot protect him, but you can. I saw you. You care a lot about your animals, and I know you’d protect them,” he said. He gestured to the pitchfork Ardos had dropped. “Please, care for my son. I cannot, but you can.”

Ardos paused, then nodded, and the man handed him the child.

Then, the elf leaned in and whispered something to Ardos. What the father whispered that night, the baby would never hear, as Ardos nodded, staring down at the baby in his hands, and realizing his life just changed forever.

The elf stepped back. “Keep him safe.”

Then, the man ran off into the night, leaving Ardos to raise the child.

•••

The children sat around, mouths agape as Faulkron finished telling the story of his adoption.

“That’s how Ardos always said it happened, anyway. And he never did tell me what the warning was, as much as I annoyed him about it.”

“Hey mister sword man, sir? That wasn’t very boring, you were wrong,” the little girl said.

Faulkron smiled. “Well, it’s about the only story I have that isn’t, so I can’t do any more.”

Some of the other children were whispering, discussing the story in hushed awe. An older kid spoke up, scratching their head.

“Wait a minute, where did the man go?” he asked.

Faulkron waved to the mother as she cringed and attempted to shush her kid. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” Then he turned to the kid. “I don’t know where he is, to be honest. I’m not certain I want to know, though. He’s been gone long enough I don’t think it matters anymore, whatever his reasons were.”

The kid nodded, sitting back, deep in thought.

After Faulkron’s story, the tavern began to clear out, leaving the companions to themselves as the townsfolk began to return to their homes.

A few cups of wine (courtesy of the barkeep’s appreciation of the booming business), and after a while they were all reclining around a table, the day’s wounds and struggle forgotten for the moment.

Fuego grinned at them all, wine in hand. “I have to say, that plan went pretty damn well. We should do that more often.”

“Hey, you know I’m always up for a bit of righteous arson, my friend,” Jetra laughed, taking another drink.

“Agreed, we all made a pretty good team,” Alejandro said, raising his glass.

Fuego’s grin widened. “To ass well kicked, my friends.” He knocked his cup against Alejandro’s as they all joined in, laughter spilling out as if a dam had broken.

As their laughter quieted down, Shakari let out a long sigh. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

The rest of the group all nodded and muttered agreements.

Faulkron felt that strange feeling bubbling up again. Victory, success... and something else. He looked around at all these people. Not only his companions, but the barkeep, the tavern patrons. He knew he’d outlive most of them, all of them who weren’t elves. Wasn’t what he did inconsequential, then? That would make sense, but it didn’t feel that way. He had changed a part of the world today, and for the better. He had to admit, it did feel good, and he found himself smiling along with the people he had started daring to call friends.

He realized that in the swirl of confusion and new feelings, he'd forgotten about the money they’d earned.

He grabbed the coins, and they split it as they finished their drinks.

After the coin had been shared, Jetra sat back and pulled out her harp again. She had drunk the most wine out of all of them, and her eyes had begun to glass over. After a long beat of silence, she started to play a simple melody, the notes falling like water in a gentle stream, an easiness settling over all of them as Jetra wordlessly played. They sat for a while in silence, just listening to the music.

Not long after the song had finished, as the final straggling townsfolk left the tavern, Shakari stood. “I’m going to go rest. This... was a good day. Sleep in peace, friends.”

As they disappeared into their room, Jetra stood as well, stumbling slightly. “Yeah. Thanks again... means a lot. When I’m not, uh, super fuckin’ drunk, I’ll explain more.. but I’m gonna go pass out.”

They all nodded, and she walked away.

The others sat for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, before Fuego stood too.

“I should head to sleep too, doctor’s orders... we didn’t do half bad.” He clapped Faulkron on the shoulder twice, then hopped off of his chair and took his leave, walking off to his room with a smile.

After a few minutes of content silence, Faulkron suddenly realized he was more or less alone with Alejandro again.

“Thank you for saving my life,’ Alejandro said, breaking the silence.

Faulkron startled, the sudden voice shaking him out of his own slightly panicked thoughts, and preventing him from making a fool of himself in an attempt to prevent that very thing.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

“I’m serious, I probably wouldn’t have made it without you, so I am deeply grateful.”

Faulkron looked up from his empty cup, meeting Alejandro’s eyes. “You’re welcome, but it was mostly Jetra who healed you.”

Alejandro shook his head. “You give yourself too little credit. You were awesome out there.”

Faulkron felt his face flush a bit, and he hoped Alejandro couldn’t see the embarrassed hint of purple to his cheeks.

Alejandro’s smile faded slightly, and his eyebrows creased in worry. “You are alright, though? I know the healer did her thing and all, but..?”

“Oh, yeah yeah, I’m okay,” Faulkron said. “Real question is, are you okay? I mean, there was a lot happening, but you seemed... very upset? I don’t mean to pry, I’m just worried about- I mean, concerned—“

Alejandro held up a hand. “It’s okay.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s just... well, it’s complicated.” Alejandro then paused for a while, and Faulkron began to think he’d said something wrong despite Alejandro’s reassurance.

Then he spoke again. “Would you, um... would you like to go up to the roof with me? I’d feel better talking about it there.”

Faulkron was a little confused as to why the roof would be better, but he nodded and followed anyway.

•••

As Alejandro led Faulkron to the roof, he found himself going silent. He’d never shared what he was about to share with anyone besides the people who’d rescued him so long ago, and he’d really only known this man a week. They’d gone out for drinks once. Faulkron was had saved his life, though. He trusted him, and he wanted to keep trusting him, so he was taking a leap.

Alejandro took a long shaky breath as they stepped onto the roof of the inn. He looked up at the sky for a moment, still readying himself. The last two days’ clouds had cleared and the stars were shining. They were scattered like bright paint across a dark canvas, haphazard and chaotic, but beautiful all the same. He sighed, staring for a moment longer, and turned to Faulkron. “It’s... it’s a long story, really.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s... not a happy one, either.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m glad to listen, if that’s what you want.”

Alejandro nodded, letting his last sigh of anxiousness leave him. “I think it is. You might want to sit then.”

They both sat down, eyes cast up at the night sky.

Alejandro sighed again, and he gripped the handle of his second sword, feeling the old worn leather there. As he stared at the stars, images and memories began to flash in his mind.

Staring up through a small square window at the same stars, unable to sleep.

The smell of blood and the stench of death, hot sand beneath his feet.

The burning of a brand on his arm.

“It was a very long time ago. It was only my 12th summer...”

•••

15 years earlier, somewhere along the western Leinos coasts...

Alejandro was playing with his siblings, rolling around on the sandy beaches of his home, when the ships came. They came to the beach, and a man with a crown stepped out.

He said he would burn the village to the ground if he did not have what he wanted. When the village people asked, he said that he wanted their children, the youngest and strongest. When the villagers refused, and the militia drew their weapons, the man fulfilled his promise. Fiery arrows and spears descended upon the village, shrouding the beach in a thick black smoke. In the smoke and ashes, they grabbed Alejandro and a handful of others, dragging them onto their ships as they sailed away.

They chained them inside the hull, rough and cruel. The captured children fought of course, they spat and growled and screamed. Then the man cracked a whip, and they all were suddenly very very quiet.

They were told that their old lives were over. The man with the crown said to forget their names, forget their village. Those with defiance in their eyes were whipped. Alejandro’s back took 5 lashes before he couldn’t look up again. The ships sailed for a long time. None of the prisoners spoke.

When they eventually reached land again, they were shuffled onto a beach, surrounded by lush greenery that told lies of beauty. Dominating the center of the island they were on was a gargantuan marble arena, tall, imposing, and oppressively white, almost blinding after the darkness of the slavers’ ships. And that was what they were, the prisoners soon realized. Fifteen frightened children stood there on the beach, the full weight of all that had happened crushing down on them. Alejandro’s own shoulders felt weak and weary, and his manacled wrists only dragged him further down.

Around them, hundreds of small huts and seemingly innumerable cages. They saw hundreds of people around them, and more and more slavers, pushing them along and barking commands. The children were led through the houses and lines of people, who looked at them with flitting eyes, so full of fear and pain they were hollow, ghostly.

Their gazes didn’t linger on them long, but their eyes stayed in Alejandro’s nightmares for years.

Alejandro and the others were pushed further onward, the massive arena approaching ever faster. When they finally reached it, they were led to a series of rooms carved out of the earth beneath the structure.

In the next few months, they were trained relentlessly. How to fight, how to be strong, but most importantly, how to obey. Alejandro quickly learned that the man with the crown who was not king very much liked to act like one. He paraded the children around the arena, boasting them as the newest gladiators for his ring.

And there was the ring. The sand red from battle, the cheers and jeers of a bloodthirsty crowd. Those first few months, Alejandro and the others only watched the fights. Massive beasts, mythical and mundane, squared off in the pit against older gladiators who in turn faced both man and beast on the sands. It was not long before Alejandro had seen enough people die in the ring that he couldn’t keep track anymore.

He had heard of gladiatorial games in the big cities, way to the east. No one ever died there, as far as he knew. But this was different.

When he was 13, after the better part of a year being relentlessly trained & conditioned, he stepped into the ring for the first time. His adversary was an older kid, whose eyes were hollow like the people outside. Acting on instinct, the battle ensued, fear disappearing as it was replaced by careful training. Alejandro found himself falling into a performance, and when the dust cleared, only he was left standing.

To congratulate his first kill, the man with the crown took him to the lowest room beneath the arena, where the earth’s heat powered a burning forge. As much as he struggled, he couldn’t stop them, and heated chains were pressed onto his arms, searing away the flesh, leaving a mark that would weigh on him for the rest of his life.

Alejandro faced death in the arena constantly for the entertainment of the crowds of the cruel, and it left many scars. During the next five years, he would watch as one by one, the others from his village would fall in the arena, each death met by cheers. Not long, and Alejandro was the only one left. In his time there, he also saw more ships come and go, bringing new gladiators, always young adults and teenagers, always broken.

Pasaos told Alejandro that he was one of the youngest he’d ever seen show up there in his time. Pasaos was an older gladiator. He’d seen much, and his eyes held a great suffering, but he cared for Alejandro like a father, or as much as he could. He taught him many things. How to stay alive, how to keep his spirit going, even while broken.

Alejandro never asked how long Pasaos had been there, or how many people he’d killed. They both knew better. Alejandro also never thought twice about the moon tattoo on his arm beneath the brand, not until the day it all came crashing down.

Alejandro was 18 now, and he knew his eyes were losing their fight. He had gone a very long time without becoming a ghost, but now it was a near thing. Though they were treated well enough for slaves, it was only to keep them in fighting shape. The slavers were quick to punish if they stepped out of line, even if it meant they lost a fighter for a bit. But they had never done an execution before.

When he was shoved out onto the sands, he saw Pasaos tied to a pole in the center of the arena, and he could feel the flames closing in around him again, about to lose the one thing he could call a home.

He could do nothing but watch as the man with the crown cut free Pasaos, handing him a blade with the smug confidence of a man holding another’s life in his hand. They fought, but Pasaos had been beaten and tortured before the execution, and he stood no chance. The man with the crown, who Alejandro had come to know was named Atticus, simply knocked aside Pasaos’ blows, and when he finally ran him through, he turned to the gathered gladiators in triumph. Alejandro barely remembered what happened next.

He remembered grabbing the blade from the sands, slashing at Atticus. He remembered fighting him, losing, bleeding, pain, tears. He remembered sudden movements, brown and blue cloaks descending on the arena, shouts, commotion. He stood again before the rest of the gladiators, surrounded by chaos he couldn’t understand, and he called them to arms, screaming all their pain as it echoed throughout the pit. He remembered chasing Atticus down, but being beaten into the dirt, unable to stop him from sailing away.

There on the beach, bloodied and broken, he swore this:

“Atticus the Cruel, man who wears a crown but is no king, I will drive this dishonored blade into your wicked heart if it is the last thing I do. Your obsession with death will serve you well when the day comes that I return this blade to the evil from which it came.”

Then he was found by the cloaked people who had saved him. They called themselves Company of the Blue Moon. They helped him recover, brought him back to land. They told him Pasaos had died a hero, he had gotten them to the island. In a way, young Alejandro realized, Pasaos had sacrificed his life for Alejandro’s future. He promised himself would not let him down. The Company gave him much time to rest, and he took it, but before long he found himself on the road again, always on the lookout for any sign of the man he had sworn to destroy.

•••

“And now... I’m here.” Alejandro let out a long breath.

There were a few beats of silence, his heart loud in his ears. The relief of sharing the pain he hid so often with someone he trusted was quickly being replaced by fear, and he started to wonder if he’d overshared. He didn’t look up at Faulkron, not sure what he’d see.

“I... I’m sorry that happened to you.”

When Alejandro turned to Faulkron, he was staring at him with genuine concern. Alejandro cast his eyes away again, but he felt the fear retreat, and he was once again glad for Faulkron’s presence.

He chuckled a bit, hoping it didn't sound too bitter. “Thanks. It was hell, but I’m here, I guess, and that’s what counts.”

Faulkron nodded, and there was another pause.

“That’s the sword, then?”

“Yes.”

Alejandro unsheathed the sword, looking over the blade. The moonlight glinted eerily off of the edge, as if the night knew they spoke of death. Alejandro put the sword away, and the two fell quiet again.

“You know they taught us how to die?” Alejandro spoke suddenly.

“They what?” Faulkron exclaimed, head snapping back toward him.

“Yeah.” Alejandro sighed. “They taught us how to die for a crowd. I’ve seen it happen so many times, and it’s sad, because... you know that death isn’t that. It’s gray, it’s cold, it’s empty. But we were taught how to make it grand and flashy. I saw my mentor do it when Atticus killed him. Hells, even Dymea, this morning. No one goes out like that without being trained for it.”

“That’s... horrible.”

“It was, but it’s done now. Or at least, I had hoped it was. Knowing there might be still more of these remnant groups out there... It looks like my work is cut out for me. This is the first I’ve seen in a long time.”

Faulkron paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I... I will gladly go with you. You won’t fight Atticus alone this time. And I swear to you, you won’t die like that. Not while there’s still blood in these veins,” he promised, placing a hand over Alejandro’s.

Alejandro stared at him a moment, startled by the sudden sincerity and intensity.

“I... you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Faulkron looked at him for a moment longer, before seemingly coming to a decision. “I’m not big on hugs, but do you want one?” he asked, opening his arms.

Alejandro paused for a moment, but eventually he nodded and pressed himself into Faulkron. He let out a sigh as his arms wrapped around him, their strength anchoring him in the moment.

Alejandro eventually broke away, wiping away the tears that had streaked down his face.

“Thanks, Faulkron. I’m glad I could trust you. And... I don’t know where you’re going, or what you’re after, but I’d like to help you find it too.”

Faulkron nodded, looking back up to the stars. “I’m not sure yet... I think, a purpose, but I don’t know it yet. But I’d enjoy your company on the road either way.”

Alejandro nodded and smiled at him. He offered out a hand.

Faulkron grasped it, and Alejandro pulled him to his feet and bringing them face to face. Alejandro’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as he laid a brief kiss on Faulkron’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

Faulkron smiled at him, and they headed back down into the inn together.

•••

The next day, the five companions woke to a far more somber Koretion. That morning, the townsfolk grieved those they had lost. The bodies that had been retrieved from the bandit camp of the missing scouts and militia were gathered. Funeral shrouds were burned, and white-crested helmets were placed on the pyres. The deepest grief, though, was of those whose loved ones there was no trace of. A messenger on horseback rode out at midday headed for the bigger cities and eventually the capitol, bearing news of what had happened and the people missing, as well as a request for help in the search. Jetra ensured the messenger, who wore a familiar crescent tattoo, carried a message of her own as well.

While the most part of the day held a stark grief and sadness, it was not all-consuming. In the face of that loss, there was still joy in knowing it wouldn’t happen again, and the people began to gather once more that evening. They celebrated the happiness in the lives of those they had lost, honoring their memory with joy rather than anguish. And so the town returned to celebration, even bittersweet as it was. Jetra played ballads of memory in death and the joys of life, songs the citizens of Koretion already knew well. Alejandro was playing games with some of the kids, the occasional toddler hanging off of his bicep as he practically juggled children, smiling and laughing all the same. Fuego was dancing around the central pavilion, putting on a beautiful display as multicolored flame swirled around him in time with the music, the people watching in awe and wonder.

Faulkron watched it all from the sidelines, mostly Alejandro if he was being honest. As he watched Alejandro smile and pick up a leather ball, and toss it back to a child, he couldn't help but feel at least a little overwhelmed, in a good way. He certainly looked very very cute right now, for one. But the way the sunlight was shining on his grinning face almost made him look comfortable, at ease. And Faulkron hadn’t seen Alejandro at ease since they’d first discussed the slavers back in Corias.

Alejandro had shared so much with him last night, and it was showing him a new light. He knew now why he’d joined them on the journey, why he’d been so tense during that first ambush. Faulkron felt a new bond of trust between them, far closer than he would have expected in just a week. Alejandro had clearly been through hell, so Faulkron really wasn't sure why he’d trust him with something like this already. He wasn’t even sure he’d earned that trust, though he would admit he wanted to, badly. He had no idea what they even were yet. Given how much Alejandro had been through, and how stressful the last few days had to have been for him, Faulkron was more than willing to let him decide where this went, and he’d go along for the ride. His life had made a turn for the better and the interesting, that was for sure.

“You look like you’re deep in thought.”

Faulkron shook himself out of his reverie and turned towards the voice. 

Shakari had sat down next to him at some point, and she was watching the celebration as well.

“I was, yeah.”

“I understand. Much has happened in the last week, for all of us,” Shakari said, eyes still watching the pavilion.

“You’re not wrong. I don’t even really know how I ended up here, but it seems... good,” he mused.

“It is. We did something good. All of us.”

“It’s weird to hear that, you know. I’ve never been called a hero before, and I’m still not sure what to do about it,” Faulkron said with a small sigh.

Shakari raised an eyebrow, turning to him. “I understand that, it’s a first for me too. Yet there is no denying we are heroes to these people, and we made the world better for it.”

Faulkron nodded, unsure what to say.

Shakarin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think you are someone who follows the path before them when it is presented, even if it is yet untraveled. You have a wanderer’s eyes.”

Faulkron creased his brow. “What makes you think all that?”

“I am the same.”

Faulkron turned back to her, and saw a deep sincerity in her eyes.

“I am going to follow this path wherever it may take me,” she said, turning back to the celebration.

Faulkron thought for a moment, staring into the crowd again. He smiled quietly to himself. He wasn’t sure what direction he’d found himself stumbling in, but it felt good, and he liked these people, and he liked being called a hero. So he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad to keep going down this road.

“I think I am too.”

Part 6 | Part 8

[darkpoisonouslove]

Sleeping Beauty Missed Opportunities

I watched Disney’s Sleeping Beauty about ten days ago and I actually loved it a lot. The aesthetic is lovely and the music is absolutely ethereal, there was some awesome comedy and Maleficent remains such a cool villain even if she is not particularly competent at it, Phillip is probably the best Disney prince ever and I got all nostalgic so it was a great experience. I couldn’t help but notice a couple of things that had so much potential had they been explored and now I am going to write them out because they will simply not leave me alone.

- The fact that Flora’s gift to Aurora was beauty annoyed me a lot. So you’re telling me that her beauty is not only not natural, but it was also pretty much a gift wasted since it literally never played any role in anything. Aurora grew up in isolation so she could have looked as Godzilla for all anyone cared and it wouldn’t have made a difference. And to top it all, her beauty also does not play a role in Phillip falling in love with her because he falls in love with the beauty of her voice at first. It would have been much better if she was naturally pretty (as opposed to supernaturally so aka magically induced) and Flora had given her another gift. I suppose that since she is named Flora, she has something to do with flowers which is why her gift to Aurora was beauty. After all, flowers are there to look pretty and not much else. But I think it would have been a better idea if her gift to Aurora had been that of a nurturing touch that makes it so that Aurora nearly gives life to plants by just touching them. Animals are trickier but she can still heal and nurse them back to health with a little more effort. That would have been in contrast with Maleficent’s whole “kingdom” (aka the Forbidden Mountain) decaying and being in ruins and would have gone better with Fauna’s gift of the soul.

- In the scene where Maleficent appears to the Christening, it is Merryweather that tells her she was not wanted. Granted, the king and queen did not object to that but it was obvious they had already pissed off Maleficent so they probably didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the fairies whose benevolence they still had. When you think about it, though, it was Merryweather who escalated the situation into a disaster that could not be saved so my thought was that it would have been interesting to have learned a little bit more about the fairy ways and the conflict between the Three Good Fairies and Maleficent. Obviously, Maleficent has high social status since even the queen called her “Your Excellence” so the decision to not invite her to the Christening was weird and ill-advised. With a little more background info on the fairy business we could have witnessed the dilemma of the royal family that is caught in the middle of a feud they have nothing to do with aka having to choose which side to invite and risking to draw the wrath of the other upon themselves. It could have been interesting to see what would have happened if they had invited Maleficent instead of the Good Fairies in fear of what she could do if they didn’t only to have the Good Fairies paying them back for the disrespect but that would have changed the plot too much so it is probably best to explore as an AU.

- The consequences of King Stefan’s decision to burn all spinning wheels were never ever shown and that was such a great waste. The fact that the target audience is kids makes it a little bit more understandable, of course, but this could have made for a great political subplot. The decision was impulsive and was made more from the heart of the father rather than the head of the king in his desperation to protect the child he and his wife have wanted for so long. However, that will surely have economical and even political impact on the kingdom. Instead of celebrating the birth of the royal heir, they had to pay the price for protecting her. It is the fourteenth century so without spinning wheels in the whole kingdom, they could no longer turn wool into threads. Any industry including fabric would have suffered from that choice and that would have led to poverty. Now that would have been a perfect way to explore the alliance between Aurora and Phillip’s kingdoms. Maybe they signed a contract for Phillip’s kingdom to trade finished products for the resources that they need to make them coming from Aurora’s kingdom. It would have been a good way to include the aspect of royalty, politics and economics more since they already introduced it through the arranged marriage. And it would be interesting to see Aurora’s reaction once she was back at the palace to how much her subjects and the whole kingdom (even Phillip’s kingdom) had sacrificed for her well-being. Any decisions she could have made on the matter as the future ruler could have shown her introduction into her role of princess and future queen as well as her compassion and good heart.

- The king and queen’s pain over their lost daughter was never explored. They waited for years for the happiness to have a baby and when their only dream finally comes true, they are forced to give up the baby if they want to keep her alive. They can not see her for the first sixteen years of her life and by the time she comes back to the palace she is all grown up. She is not their baby daughter but a beautiful stranger that they don’t know anything about. Whatever happiness and relief there was over her being well and alive was surely overshadowed by the fact that Maleficent still succeeded in tearing their family apart. Their daughter is not dead but they lost her and she never had them. It is a horrible tragedy that the movie never even bothered to address for a second past that scene of them sending Aurora away with the Three Good Fairies. Considering all the negative repercussions the king’s decision to burn all spinning wheels must have had on the kingdom, it was a shame that they never truly showed the emotional consequences of the choice to give Aurora to the fairies to raise for the royal family. It could have added much emotional depth to the story and characters.

- In relation to that, there was a big missed opportunity with Philip also. Since his mother wasn’t there neither at the Christening, nor at the celebration of Aurora’s sixteenth birthday, a sound assumption would be that she was dead. The loss of her that Phillip and his father were going through and the loss Aurora’s parents were experiencing after they gave her away could have become a great bonding point for the two families. It has been shown that Phillip’s dad is a great friend of King Stefan so it would be safe to assume that the two met quite a lot. Phillip could have easily been brought along on those visits and since they lost their own daughter, Aurora’s parents would have probably become very fond of the boy and loved him as their own. He was to be their son-in-law one day and through him they could give their daughter all their love, by caring for him and helping raise him in any way they could. And Phillip could have come to think of them as family as well and respect them like his own parents which would have made it harder for him to stand up to the arranged marriage because he also loved them and didn’t want to hurt their feelings after all the love they’d given him. And later on, once Aurora was back home, he could have helped her get to know her parents. It would have been bittersweet that he knew them better than she did but it would have shown both his support of Aurora and the trust that binds the two families in one as well as helped both Aurora and her parents get over the pain and trauma they’ve experienced.

- This is more of a detail that would have just made things a little cooler if it’d been included but what if the gift of soul Fauna gave Aurora was the reason she was seeing Phillip in her dreams? It connected her to the living beings like the forest animals and it could have very well been the one thing helping her connect with the one she is destined to be with. It could have been a cool side thing. And maybe it also affected Phillip in some way and that was why he could communicate so effortlessly with his horse. Or they could have made it so that Phillip had also been blessed by fairies as a child and that was why he was communicating the same way with his horse that Aurora was with the forest animals and it helped them establish their dream bond.

- And one last possibility that I thought of would have been if Aurora had been raised according to fairy understanding and perception of the world. The Three Good Fairies themselves said that they knew nothing about raising a human child and Aurora neither knew they were fairies, nor had contact with any other humans in order to figure out that something wasn’t quite right with the way they were raising her and the things they were teaching her. So she grew up experienced in fairy traditions and the fairy way of looking on the world. Once she goes to the palace, she finally learns that what she’s been taught is not the human way of doing things so on top of having to patch up her family and learn the royal ways, she also has to learn the human ways. And since she’s been raised with fairy outlook on the world, she cannot believe her parents’ decision to not invite Maleficent to her Christening. It is not that she blames them but to her it seems incredibly stupid and disrespectful and she understands why Maleficent went for retribution. Since Aurora is so well versed in the fairy ways, she becomes something of an ambassador for the kingdom in its dealings with fairies (and possibly other magical creatures) to avoid repetition of history and offend another powerful being. The kingdom becomes prosperous thanks to its extraordinary princess who has managed to earn the benevolence and blessings of various fairies. There are those who do not like her since they think a human should have never been allowed the privilege to know their traditions so well but, in general, she is in the favor of most powerful beings that protect her kingdom and make it a force to be reckoned with.

Those are the things that I would have loved to have seen included or even hinted at in some way in the movie since there is a lot to cover in all the cracks of the story. Any of these would have made for great additions to the original plot imo and would have given more depth and life to the story.

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 26

Prompt: Recovery

Part 2 of Day 25: car accident (read part 1 here!) 

Read on AO3

I Will Always Be Here: Part 2

The smell of antiseptic is making Obi-Wan dizzy. He stands in the doorway-- not of Anakin's room in the Hall of Healing, but of the door to the halls itself. From here he can watch the bustle of healers and padawans running about, all too pre-occupied with treating the sick and injured to pay attention to the bystander with red-rimmed eyes.

Except for one. A Mon Calamari in olive green and white robes, her silver eyes immediately falling onto him as she exits a room. Bant Eerin crosses the busy floors with ease, scanning over him in the usual healer fashion as she approaches.

"Hello Obi-Wan," she says, giving him a warm but tight smile. She moves to stand next to him, her back against the wall he's leaning against. "How is he?"

"Broken leg, dislocated shoulder, four cracked ribs, a hefty concussion, and lots of bruising and superficial wounds to go around."

She sucks in a breath. He can feel her gaze on him, but he stares forward.

"He's lucky," she says.

"No such thing," Obi-Wan sighs. "He shouldn't have even been there in the first place. I canceled our meditation for today because I had a headache. If I had just..." he lets himself trail off. Bant seems to take it upon herself to finish his sentence for him.

"You can't blame yourself, Obi."

"I don't blame--"

"But you do."

Obi-Wan draws in a slow breath through his nose and then lets it out again.

"You weren't there, Bant. I tried to stop the speeder as it fell but..."

"That takes enormous strength to overpower an out-of-control projectile. You did all you could."

"I couldn't stop it," his voice cracks like it did when he was a young padawan. Though his oldest friend is no stranger to seeing him shed tears, he isn't keen on drying in the middle of the halls.

"You did what you could," she reassures him, slipping her hand into his and squeezing firmly. "I saw the accident report. The height he was falling... Obi-Wan you very likely saved his life."

"We won't know that until he wakes up."

They told him Anakin's body is processing the trauma. He may sleep for a few hours or a few days, they aren't sure. It's the not-knowing that has Obi-Wan on edge. Though the reasonable part of his mind is telling him Bant is right-- Anakin would have perished in that ancient without his intervention-- he also is haunted by what could have been if he was not there. A shiver goes up his spine, reminding him of how numb he feels.

Bant's commlink goes off, paging her to her next task. She looks at him, as though asking permission to leave and do her job.

"I'll be okay," he says, giving her a small smile.

"I'll come to check on you in a bit," she promises. Bant pushes off the wall and starts to walk off to one of the rooms, but then she stops, turning around slowly. "I heard a rumor."

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. "The Temple does love spreading those."

"Two Trandosians walked into the Coruscant Police..."

"This sounds like one of those jokes--"

"They confessed to causing a horrible crash that a young boy was involved in. They were arrested on sight."

Obi-Wan stares back at her, nodding. "It sounds like they did the right thing."

Bant clicks her tongue, nodding back. "Though, I also heard they looked like they themselves were in their own accident."

"The Force works in mysterious ways."

"Hmm," is all she vocalizes before turning back around and continuing to her destination.

Obi-Wan watches her disappear into another room. Beneath the billowing sleeves of his robe, he rubs his thumb over the tender flesh of his swollen knuckles.

__________

Anakin woke up almost a full day after his accident. He woke up, surprisingly, not in pain, and to his Master sitting at his bedside looking as though he didn't dare sleep for the entire twenty-three hours. He was wrapped in so many bandages it was difficult to move but was assured even without them, his range of motion would be limited.

"This is going to be a long road, Anakin," Master Kenobi had told him while rubbing circles over the back of his hand. With all the drugs coursing through his system, even that was a hazy blur.

The pain came.

A few days later, when he was released from the halls.

He woke up in the middle of screaming while his mind replayed the progression of him falling hopelessly into the ground. He woke up feeling as though his body was being crushed, and as it turned out, it had been. Somehow seeing his leg in a cast and nearly every part of his body wrapped in bacta strips hadn't quite processed in his brain as being painful yet. Obi-Wan ran in in his night pants and undershirt twisted halfway around his body.

"Anakin what is--"

"It hurts," he bellowed, feeling like a baby for his childish whines, but his leg felt like it was being broken all over again and every cut and bruise on his arms, legs, and torso seemed to be on fire. Though his master is an adult with a beard and sixteen years of life over Anakin, he can see the inexperience and uncertainty in his tired face. He isn't sure he's ever seen Obi-Wan seem so lost, but his eyes flickering around the room searching for an answer that isn't going to be in a teenager's bedroom shows the mild panic.

"Script.. where's your medicine, Ani," he says, with feigned calmness.

"Fresher," he says, screwing his eyes shut. He hears quick footsteps to their fresher, and the water running. The next thing he knows there's a glass being pressed to his lips and a cool cloth wiping away the sweat that has beaded on his forehead. Anakin swallows the pills, hoping for immediate relief despite knowing he will have to wait. Obi-Wan leaves the cloth on his head, brushing his hair from his forehead.

"Breathe, padawan," he whispers. "I'm here."

It's words he's heard before, he realizes. When he was lying in the wreckage, somewhere in the in-between of consciousness and unconsciousness, he heard his Master's voice. It didn't make sense before. How could his master have been there?

But as his wreck has flashed before his eyes many times since it happened, something occurs to him.

"You turned the wheel." Anakin rasps.

"What?"

"You stopped the spinning. I heard you, Master." His room is shroud in darkness, only the dim light from the fresher to illuminate Master Kenobi's face, but it's enough to see the way he looks past Anakin instead of at him. "You were there."

"I really tried, Anakin. I was-- I wasn't strong enough to stop it."

The feeling of his pain melting away is a drastic shift. Anakin's eyelids grow heavy as sleep tries to pull him under. Before he does, he grabs his master's hand.

"I'm glad you were there, Master," he says, his words slurring into one another, but it's coherent enough. Sleep takes him.

Anakin still has a week before he's cleared again. A month out on medical, and he still has one more week. Though he's done four weeks of this already, a whole seven more days feels like forever. It's been a long month.

A very, very long month.

For all intents and purposes, Anakin thinks he's better now. He can walk on his leg, even jog if Obi-Wan isn't around to scold him for it. His bruises have all but faded, as has the pain. Why he has to wait so long to get back into his training is beyond him, and his master has offered no better answers than 'healer's orders, Anakin' or 'you may feel healed but some things take time'

Training to be a Jedi knight also takes time, but he doesn't seem so concerned about that, now, does he?

Anakin feels fine, and he won't fall behind for the sake of caution. Jedi take risks. When Obi-Wan leaves to go spar with Quinlan Vos, Anakin declines the invitation to come watch them, claiming he has some homework to finish. His master leaves--hesitantly. Anakin should have known homework was a poor excuse to pass up watching him spar, but he couldn't risk saying he had a headache or something and potentially push back his clear date.

He leaves the apartment, choosing the training sala that's the furthest from the knight's one. There are only a few other padawans milling about, most of them older that Anakin doesn't recognize. He chooses a station on the end that is difficult to see from the door.

The hum of his lightsaber is a sound he missed. He waves it around slow and steady to hear the buzz of the air around it getting caught in the energy field. Anakin raises it up into the first kata of form I and then moves through the different motions.

He moves through the motions, his body a little stiff but he remembers the positions well. After a few rounds, he fires up the training droid and turns it up to his usual intensity. Anakin bounces on the balls of his feet, feeling the first shot from the levitating droid before it emits from the electrodes. He moves his lightsaber to block it, imitating the second position of the form. Within seconds, the droid is sending out another shot, and then another.

While usually, this intensity is a warmup, Anakin quickly finds himself becoming overwhelmed by the rapid firing of the droid. His form quickly dissolves into frantic and sloppy blocks that send the shots in every direction. His cheeks burn a dark crimson, half from embarrassment and half from exertion at how hard his heart is beating right now. This was never so difficult! It's going so fast he doesn't have a moment to free his hand and grab the remote he stupidly left on the bench beside the sala. A few of the shots manage to break through his blocks, and he winces through the sharp jolts.

Come on, he thinks as he tries to concentrate on levitating the remote to him. The training bolts and electric shocks are distracting though, and the remote only shakes. He groans in exasperation, finally letting go of his lightsaber with one hand and stretching it out toward the remote. He is immediately bombarded with a rain of shocks that makes him stagger back.

But the remote finally soars from the bench, flying across the sala. Too fast. Anakin's eyes widen as it shoots toward him. He reaches out his hand but it sails past him and into the outstretched hand of Master Kenobi.

The training droid shuts down immediately, and Anakin drops to his knees, panting hard. He stares down at the ground, letting his too-long hair hang over his eyes so he can't see the disapproving look he is probably receiving right now.

"Padawan... what do you think you're--"

"I've done that level a hundred times," Anakin interrupts, staring at the deactivated droid. He has the sudden urge to cut it in two.

"You did that level when you were at the peak of your fitness," Obi-Wan says carefully. His voice is softer now. Anakin still doesn't look at him, but he hears him lower himself to the ground and sit across from where he kneels. "You are still recovering."

"I feel fine, though."

"Perhaps, but you must let yourself fully heal and then ease back into things. You will not be at the level you were before the accident. It will take practice, Anakin."

He finally looks at Obi-Wan. "I just want things to go back to the way they were. Where I could train and spar and stuff without feeling like a weak youngling."

"You will get there, Anakin. I know you certainly have the motivation to work hard and gain your strength back," he cocks his head to the side, his blue eyes looking over him carefully. "But you must also listen to yourself. Recovery from such injuries is not going to happen overnight."

"It's been a month!"

"Or even a month. There may be things you can never do as well again, and some things you will find could be easier now. Either way, you just have to adapt to the way things are now."

He sighs. His heartbeat is finally returning to normal and he slides down from his knees into a sitting position.

"There will be things I can't do anymore?"

"Well yes, take speeders out for joyrides being one of them."

Anakin rolls his eyes. "So I'll never fly again, is what you're saying."

Obi-Wan smiles and shakes his head. "I'm not an imbecile, Anakin. I know how much you like flying and I know you've been doing this for a while... thinking I don't know."

His eyes widen. "You knew?"

"Yes. Just like I knew you certainly weren't doing homework this afternoon. You'd be surprised the things I let you get away with."

"Let me?" he echos in awe.

"Beside the point. You can still take the speeders out, Anakin," Anakin jumps back to his knees with glee, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Really, Master?"

"But you must tell me when you're going."

"Okay!"

"And always answer your commlink and keep your beacon on."

"I answer my--" Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Anakin trails off, his cheeks flushing. Okay fine, "I'll answer my commlink."

"Good. Then we have a deal." The Jedi Knight rises from the ground, looking down at Anakin with twinkling eyes. "Care to practice some Ataru katas with me, padawan?"

"You mean--"

"I figure some simple katas can't hurt more than the electroshocks from the droid," he smirks. "And I won't tell Master Che if you won't."

The padawan grins and jumps to his feet. Already, he feels a new pool of energy filling his body. The Master and Padawan ignite their sabers and synchronously them back into the starting position of form IV.

[crispycreep69]

Maybe a side story for the memory dream thing but BEN has to see the reader enduring some type of abuse, bullying, trauma ect While she's seeing his drowning experience? And maybe BEN never new about it so he's utterly shocked and she had gone through that because she's such a loving happy person? I'm sorry this is just me wanting to vent tbh.

This turned out being longer than I’d expected... also I didn’t know what kind of trauma so I picked something and ran with it. If you have a certain scenario then feel free to send it in and I’d be more than happy to write it. This is something I went though, but it wasn’t as dramatic as this- lol I just kinda wanted to traumatize reader. 

warning: blood mentions, bad crash, I wash too lazy to proof-read so... there might be typos

Ben gazes lovingly into your eyes, squeezing your hands once. He nods to the nameless man behind you. You grasp his hands tighter in your own as you watch the needle inject into his neck and see his head roll back as his consciousness fades away.  Snow whips around him as he enters the scene. He looks around, confused as to why your memory seems to be in the middle of a wintery forest. He walks along the given trail, large pines casting foreboding shadows, heavy piles of snow dropping from their limbs as he continues onward. Loud buzzing echoes in the distance like.. machines of some sort drawing near. Three of the snow-drivers pass by, a fourth making its way when suddenly a shout resonates. The noise bouncing from tree to tree, echoing around him as he watches the snowmobile descend downwards off the cliffside. The two people stuck on it seem to try their best to hold on for dear life, but one drops off, getting sucked under the machine with a sickening crunch and scream. Red stains the snow, but the descent continues.The second seems to be able to hold on for a little bit longer, rolling with the machinery, a muffled grunt echoing as the weight falls upon her. You gasp as you're stuck there in the snow, the weight of the machine crushing your smaller frame. The snowmobile finally seems to recognize that something was wrong, the red clip most likely haven been pulled when the driver fell off. The buzz is cut off as the motor dies down, leaving you whimpering underneath it. Ben acts before he can think shouting out.

"Don't move!" As he attempts to climb down to you. You look up to find from where the noise came from, hoping that someone from your party had noticed the fall and come to rescue you both. Your neck barks in protest at the small movement, a pang of fear shooting through you as you could only guess what that means. You struggle underneath the weight, hardly able to breathe. 

"Help! Get this... off of me!" You shout, panting from the lack of good oxygen. Your mind suddenly remembers your friend. You're barely able to turn your head to see her body laid strewn across the bloody snow. You shout her name- telling her to move or groan or whimper. Anything to let you know she was still alive. Ben recognizes the friend. You'd brought her with you a few times to some events and parties. He'd had no idea that you two had gone through this together. Your heart drops as she gives no response. Adrenaline shooting through you as you finally manage to push the machine off of you and further down the hill. The snow slopes unevenly beneath your now freed form, you shoot a hand out to catch on a tree so you don't follow the gravity. A muted pain spreads through you at even that simple action, but you ignore it. You shiver from the energy rush, eyes wide as you climb up to where your friend is stuck. You roll her over, whispering her name gently, afraid of what you might find when you view her face.Her eyes give a flutter, barely there, but it's a sign of life. You breathe a sigh of relief, the previous adrenaline starting to leave you- allowing you to feel the extent of your injuries as you gasp again. Your hands fly to your stomach. Ben finally manages to make it to where the both of you lay, you holding your friend in your arms just to be sure that she remains breathing. Somewhere along the crash both of your helmets had been thrown off. 

"Hey.. I told you not to move, we need to find help," Ben says as he finally reaches you both. You jump from the sudden, unfamiliar, voice. You'd been too focused on making sure that your friend was ok to even begin noticing the surrounding area. 

"Who are you?" You question, immediately on the defence. Ben is taken back by your response, worry flashing through his eyes. He finally remembers that this isn't the you he knows. 

"I'm just... a traveller. I saw your crash. Is everyone alright?" He responds. Your breathing is erratic as you try and focus on anything but the pain spreading through your limbs. You could only imagine what kind of injuries you had received.  "No," you respond, warmth dripping onto your skin. The blood from your friend. “No one is ok, we need to," You gulp, heat blinding your vision as black spots dance around. 

"We need help." You finally choke out .

"Hey.." He seems to notice your swaying as your head feels limp, your limbs going weak. 

"Hey you need to stay awake. Open your eyes for me." You shake your head, trying to shake away the woozy feeling. Your party must have seemed to finally noticed the accident as you hear snowmobiles approach and shouts resonate into the ravine. Ben manages to catch your form as you finally give into the darkness. Ben awakes with a gasp, searching for you immediately. You place a hand on his face, rubbing your thumb on his cheekbone as he comes back to you. He grasps your other hand in his, squeezing tightly. You're the first to speak. 

"I spent six months in a hospital." You say, he opens his mouth to speak but you continue. "I started to hate life. I started to hate the kind nurses who even dared walk into my room smiling. I started to hate the optimistic physical therapist who would shout encouragement. I started to hate the people who were living their lives while I was stuck in an endless hell." Your name leaves his lips, but you don't give him a chance. "When I was finally released... I didn't even want to leave my room. I didn't know how to come back from it. How to continue on like nothing had happened. Six months of my life wasted. I didn't want to deal with the pity and looks of concern as I limped past. It wasn't until one day I realized... I wasn't going to stop being miserable until I helped myself. My trauma doesn't define me. It happened- and now I needed to live with it." His eyes trail downwards to your right leg, sure he'd seen you start to limp a few times here and there after a long day of walking, but he'd never known why... or had he been too careless to ask. His hand leaves yours to rest on your thigh. "Eventually.. I healed. I came back and made my life what it was going to be. I wasn't gonna let this stop me. I stopped hating everything, I stopped being so angry. Sometimes the biggest strength is being able to take the punches in life and smile through it." You finish, giving him a big grin. 

"I'm so" He begins sadly, but stops himself at the look of exasperation you give him. He laughs then. "You amaze me, you really do." He pulls you in for a kiss, holding you close to him. "I could really take a lesson or two from you, you're so much stronger than I could ever hope to be."

[the-darklings]

—𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒋𝒂𝒓;

pairing: john wick x f!reader

word count: 14.2k+

summary: His lips shape your name.

warnings: emotional distress/trauma, ptsd, swearing, ANGST.

notes: I know you’re all looking at the WC and wondering what the hell I’m on but I honestly couldn’t split this part up anymore without losing tension (previous part and this one were originally going to be one piece if you can believe it lol) so please bear with. A LOT is going down in this part so strap yourselves in folks. You’re in for a ride. Enjoy! 

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | . . | 04 |

You don’t remember much.

There are flashes of agony. Even more flashes of John’s face.

From what you later learn, the doctor worked on you for six hours straight.

A part of you wonders what it must have looked like to others: John in his usual sharp suit and expression severe enough to make lesser men scurry away in fear, and you bleeding and unconscious in his arms.

Tokyo Continental is silent as a graveyard when you finally come around. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re on the top floor, or perhaps because it seems to be the middle of the night.

Someone you assume to be the doctor—a short, stout woman with thinning silver hair and a fixed scowl—regards you critically when she notices your tiny twitches. She says something loudly in what you think is Taiwanese but your mind is too foggy to fully comprehend what language she’s using.

But then, you realise that she isn’t talking to you after all but rather to someone that steps into your line of sight, his gaze drilling.

John looks more dishevelled than you’re used to seeing. His tie is missing and there are creases in his dirty white shirt that speak of an eventful last 24 hours at least.

His lips shape your name.

Your cheeks hurt but you still manage a faint, relieved smile before everything fades once again.

“Stop moving, girl.”

A girl. That’s funny. No one has considered you a girl for a long time. To be a girl is to be pure and innocent, to be good and kind. You’re none of those things—not anymore.

You can’t force a single muscle in your face to so much as twitch in an attempt to show your amusement. Words burn against the back of your mind but they, too, fail to come. The silence is, perhaps, made even worse by John who stands like a watchful shadow in the corner of the room, observing you silently.

You’re not sure whose silence is more telling: yours or his.

The needle sinks into your skin again and it takes every last shred of self-control not to flinch. There’s a terrible urge in you to turn around and snap the old woman’s arm in half. The pain is slight in comparison to what you had to go through in the last ten days of captivity.

Just ten days.

Only ten.

Is it possible for ten days to feel so agonisingly long?

Clearly yes.

Shuddering, you allow yourself to flinch when the needle sinks into your skin this time.

“I said—”

For a split second, you’re not in the hotel room at all. You’re back underground. You’re back with Kishi and his touch still staining your skin—his hot, thick blood flooding your mouth and dirt smeared across your face.

Your fingers wrap around the woman’s neck ready to crack every bone in it before you’re sharply jerked back.

The scent and heat of the body holding you back are familiar but a strangled, manic, “Don’t touch me!” still tears out of you so loudly the doctor jumps.

She looks mortified as she gapes at you. Then, even worse, her weathered features crease with concern, with pity.

John’s arm tightens around your waist, and even though pain is prominent and twinges from every muscle and bruise, you still put up a fight. It doesn’t last long though.

Kishi fades, as does the fun room. The water and the electricity and the pain, the pain, the pain…

“You’re safe.”

John’s voice is barely a murmur against your ear and you slump against him. You’re only standing because he’s holding you up, anchoring you. Maybe because he pities you too—

Why won’t he? You’re so weak.

Once that voice sounded like your old school bully, then Tarasov, Kishi—

Now, it just sounds like you.

John mutters something in Taiwanese in that low, calm voice of his and you hear the doctor leave hurriedly.

It’s so quiet.

John doesn’t talk, he simply turns you around and patiently leads you towards the bed. He notices how you struggle to sit down, and holds your hand while his other stays around your waist, supporting you. Your hands are shaking so badly, you push your palms between your knees, lacing your fingers together.

Whatever will come out of John’s mouth next will be kind, you know that.

So, because you can’t stand the way he’s looking at you, you speak first, “Are they dead?”

John sits down beside you. The stretch of silence between you is painful, leaden with things unsaid. Eventually, his fingertips touch your unfinished shoulder and the tentativeness of his touch hurts more than the actual wound.

A part of you wants to ask him if it is pity. Another part of you tries to imagine what he must have felt. How you would have looked to him when he found you: bleeding, bruised, clothes soaked, covered in blood, and mud smeared all over your body.

You must have looked like a nightmare—an awful, broken thing who lost her mind to days of torture.

“Yeah,” he intones icily, his touch a stark contrast to the tone of his voice. “They’re all dead.”

Relief is the first emotion.

Second is, predictably, angry disappointment.

Third, surprise.

Tilting your head in John’s direction, you lock his eyes with yours. In that moment, you do see the Boogeyman. Baba Yaga. You see the reason he is feared when to you all he’s ever been is John. Just John. Your John. Except, of course, he’s not really—not even at all.

“Pity.”

Talking hurts too. Your voice is now reduced to a gritty, uncomfortable drawl.

Another few minutes pass in silence. There’s a thousand things you want to say and yet, you can’t seem to find the ability to form words that once came so easily.

The needle is slower, kinder, when John is the one doing the work and normally you would have joked about him making a mess by now. You don’t. He notices, of course.

“Did they—”

He cuts himself off. Frustration, rage, sadness; they flash through his expression so quickly you almost miss them before he rearranges his features into a familiar impassive mask.

There’s a lump in your throat. You know exactly what he wants to know. After all, you’ve been the one to remind him what happens to those who fail to protect themselves.

“One tried,” you force out, every word choked out with enough pain to still John’s hands. “I ripped—I ripped his throat out.”

It feels disgusting saying it, acknowledging that you’ve been forced to resort to animalistic instincts in order to survive, to live, to see him again.

Your ring gleams, still dirty, but it’s not like you can remove it for cleaning since the swelling hasn’t gone down yet. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

“You survived,” John states, his voice empty of judgement, empty of contempt. If anything, it’s full of terrible sort of understanding, and his simple acceptance of what you have done—of what you had to give up to be here—makes you feel warm for the first time since you’ve been taken. “You survived.”

“What if I didn’t?” you whisper, looking past his shoulder and a tremor shakes you. “I don’t feel like myself, John, I feel—I don’t—”

He doesn’t try to feed you false, hollow words to make you feel better and you’re immensely glad for it. He knows you better than that, and you know him enough to never believe something like that from him.

Instead, John finishes fixing your torn stitches and helps you get more comfortable in the bed. He does this is silence, your eyes occasionally meeting as if he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling, if you’re still present in the moment with him.

These last three days have been lost to bouts of fear and anxiety that you haven’t escaped the underground after all; it now haunts your every waking moment.

Once that’s done, John sits on top of the covers beside you. He places his arm around your shoulders without a sound, and you press your lips together to stop them from quivering.

I’m here, his touch seems to say, and I’m not going anywhere.

He stays with you through the night. Simply holding you, and you lose count of the number of tears you shed until the sun kisses the horizon.

Tears of hurt, pain, fear and despair stop quickly enough.

But in their place blooms a slow, poisonous sort of numbness.

“You heal fast.”

The doctor regards you with a shrewd expression that speaks of her own wariness at being in the same space as you. She’s only been coming back because you can’t imagine John left her with much of a choice.

You regard her coolly in return.

It’s not that you’re ungrateful for her help but everything feels raw and delicate; everything from your mind to your skin, to your very essence. It’s hard not to snap at any unfamiliar touch. It’s even harder trying to smother the deadly instinct that screams at you that everything and everyone will hurt you.

Not John. John will never hurt me.

Oh? Where was he when they held you in the room with no air? Where was your John then?

He came for me. He came—

Far, far too late.

You exhale harshly, your shoulders curling defensively, stricken.

John meets your gaze from across the table in a silent question.

Let her check on you, his dark eyes plead.

What if I can’t?

Your eyes slide away from him, but you reluctantly hold out your arm out for the older woman to check. She hesitates, and rightfully so. Last time you almost broke her wrist. The time before that? Her neck. Then her leg, and once, you almost took her eye out with a syringe, too.

Deep trauma, she told John in heavy English the one time they had no choice but to sedate you and thought you were unconscious, she suffers because her mind refuses to let go. She no longer feels safe. You must stay with her, boy. Let her heal.

The woman works quickly to check your body, and you’re grateful for it.

It goes well for a while. That is until her fingers press too hard against your healing bullet wound, and your fist slams against the armrest, a helpless snarl twisting your mouth.

The doctor wisely staggers back, and you follow, your legs quaking when you stand too quickly.

John’s fingers curl delicately around your forearm, steadying, and you gasp for breath.

“I—I can’t,” you choke out, pressing your hand against your mouth, your voice a stifled mess. “I’m—”

Your chest feels tight, your stomach burns like it’s full of acid, and for a moment you feel like you might throw up again. Like the terror raging through your body will burn you from inside out till nothing but smouldering embers remain.

Your mouth is full of Kishi’s blood again and you’re choking, choking, choking—

John’s voice is the same low, comforting baritone when he places his hand against the curve of your face, directing your frantic stare to him.

The hatred that blooms in your chest is stronger, however, and you pull away from him, lurching towards the bathroom instead.

By the time the panic finally subsides, it’s night again and you only hate yourself more.

Sleep is hard to come by.

John still keeps you company though.

It’s been almost two weeks since Kishi. Your body is on a mend but peace of mind is not so easily found.

From the corner of your eye, you spot John checking his phone yet again.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. More so than you’ve ever seen him do before.

“Tarasov?”

John stills, his head lifting as he looks up at you in surprise.

It’s rare for you to speak after a nightmare so John is used you letting tranquil quiet keep you both company instead.

“Not this time,” he replies shortly, but there’s an odd tilt to his voice that makes you peel your eyes away from the large window and focus on him instead. “But he’s been informed about what happened.”

Those words sink in slowly, somehow even slower than your poison usually does.

“Is that so?” you remark tightly, and there’s something sharp and acidic about your own tone that catches you off guard. “And what did you tell him? That his little slave is broken?”

“You’re not broken.”

The firmness of John’s voice makes your glare focus on him instead. From nothingness, there’s a sudden, violent explosion of irrational anger in your gut.

“Is that why you watch me like I’m some wild animal?” you hiss angrily, your voice dropping to the point of cracking. “Is that why you keep checking your phone day in and day out? Like you rather be anywhere else? I rather not be a burden or a pity case to you, thanks. Just go.”

John frowns; a faint, disappointed thing and it makes you feel less angry and more…more lost, stupid.

Trapped. Always trapped.

Be it your life, your body, or your mind.

He saved you, he’s helping you right now when he doesn’t have to, and this is how you repay him?

The irrationality of your own anger embarrasses you, and you turn away from him swiftly, hoping he hasn’t noticed your wet eyes in the dim light.

“I’m not going anywhere, (Name),” he states, firm and insistent, and you cringe. Why is he still being kind to you?

Do you love me as I love you? Is that it?

Your lips part and those words are right there, ready to be spoken. But something holds you back. Something is always holding you two back, or so it seems.

John’s phone buzzes again. You look at him, expectant.

“It’s not him,” John repeats, and you try to figure out what the slight catch in his voice means. He doesn’t sound angry or disappointed. “But if you want—”

“I want to see him.”

His expression falters, brows pinching in a tight line that showcases his disapproval of your idea already. His clear hesitance says everything you need to know.

A scoff fills the room, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, John. You’re avoiding him.”

“I’m not,” he argues but it rings false.

Your eyes return to the window, to the street below you. A gaggle of schoolchildren must be coming back from cram school and you watch them with detached sort of interest. Three people—two boys and a girl—walk in front, laughing and discussing something with that wild, feverish enthusiasm you can faintly recall too. Close behind them walks a couple, their hands laced together and eyes only for each other. The scene makes something pang in your chest; and acute, familiar ache.

From this high up you can just barely make out their faces, and you distantly wonder what they’re talking about, what is the thing that’s bringing them so much joy. If they’re really as happy as they look, or if it’s fake. They may breathe the same air you do, but they couldn’t be further away from you. To them, you only exist in movies and stories. You’re a shadow; a thrilling tale they share in their friend group, a faceless nobody. With that realisation comes a terrible sort of loneliness and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re dead to the world.

For the first time, Kishi’s words ring true.

Despite your many arguments, John still manages to put off the trip back to New York for another two weeks.

He even employs the doctor to drill you with the many reasons why you can’t go just yet.

Still healing, still need more rest, still not sleeping enough.

Still, still, still.

They might as well say you’re too weak and call it a day.

You’re not resentful with John though. You know he’s trying his hardest to shield you from what will be an undoubtedly epic explosion of Tarasov’s anger.

Your fingers twist in your lap and it’s near impossible to not fidget. Most of your physical bruises may have faded in the last month, but you know there’s still a mile and a half to go before you’re physically back to your old form.

At least you no longer fly into mindless fits of rage that made you attack the doctor trying to tend to you in the first place. Despite that, sitting through entire check-up is still an endlessly arduous task.

A warm, large hand lands on yours and you jump. Turning, you meet John’s stare and force yourself to relax. His dark eyes are softer than usual though he doesn’t say anything. His fingers stay on top of yours, keeping your own still. Without a word, he’s still able to pick up on your poorly veiled distress.

I love you.

It tickles the back of your throat but you don’t dare to say it out loud, not now of all times.

The closer you get to Tarasov’s office the harder it becomes to keep calm.

You recall the last time you visited this place, and you can recall in an even sharper detail how that meeting ended. How you’ve been so sure that you were walking to your death. But that was then.

What about now? What will he do now?

The taxi rolls to a stop in front of an all too familiar building, and John reaches into his pocket to pay but the cabby only shakes his head. “Free of charge this time, sir Wick,” he insists, and the older man’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror. “Welcome back Miss Vipress. Mr Winston sends his regards.”

John makes a small noise at the back of his throat and you blink, confused.

“Thanks?”  

The cabby grins, a little awkward, but nods his head.

The journey to Tarasov’s office is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A part of you has assumed that after everything you’ve gone through in Tokyo, this will be easy in comparison, but it doesn’t feel easy at all.

Every inch of your body feels like a livewire.

Some deeper cuts that are still healing ache dully with every too sudden twitch of your body. John is beside you, a constant you’re more grateful for than ever, and you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his arm when Tarasov’s office door looms in the distance.

John stops immediately, turning to face you.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says quietly before you even open your mouth to speak, and you hate the fact that a part of you immediately wants to agree. “We can come back another time.”

“No,” you shoot back quickly—too quickly—and you both know it’s because you’re wavering. “Will you…?”

His features smooth and he dips his head. “I’ll be there.”

Stepping into Tarasov’s office is like stepping back in time. Suddenly, you’re years younger in your tiny, damp Moscow flat, facing Tarasov and his armed guards as you cook dinner through silent tears. You recall how Tarasov’s jovial voice washed over you as he explained—in great, visual detail—how your father died begging and your mother remained strong till the end.

One second, you’re still in that flat but then you’re back here, in this office, but only months prior. Taste of copper in your mouth as Tarasov pats your bruised cheek with a lingering smile.

I will have John himself put a bullet in your pretty little head.

Back then it sounded less like a warning and more like a promise.

A price to pay for failure.

Tarasov’s face suddenly comes into view and time seems to screech to a halt.

Fear, panic, anxiety—

It feels like someone is opening up your ribcage and scooping out all the emotions that live there one by one with frightening efficiency.

A sort of hush falls over you as you stand there staring at him blankly.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t force a single emotion to the surface. Fear that has once crippled you in front of this man, seems to have up and vanished like smoke.

John is speaking. Tarasov is too. His guards shift when you look at them. You recognise one of them. He was there when Tarasov beat you. Your lips curl into a faint snarl.

“What I need to know is how useful she will be—”

“I can still kill,” you speak up, but don’t recognise your own voice. “If that’s what you’re so worried about.”

Tarasov falls quiet, peering at you like he’s never seen you before. His eyes narrow in concentration before he glances towards John who stands stoic beside you. Then the Russian’s gaze goes back to you. He places the expensive cigar back into his mouth and hums in thought. The motion eerily reminds you of Kishi and a shiver crawls up your spine.

He regards you like one may regard a vicious animal, and he’s a lot less subtle about it than John is. His fleeting looks are at least laced with genuine worry as well. Tarasov simply looks at you like one would look upon broken goods. Judging their worth in that familiar, clinical manner.

“How long?” he rolls out his letters in what now feels like jarring Russian. “Before you can be back on the field?”

“Three months.”

“A week.”

Your head snaps towards John but he’s looking straight at Tarasov who exhales a puff of smoke and chuckles.

“Now, now, John,” he chides, leaning back in his chair. “We both know that’s not practical for business. The girl has already wasted me enough time and made a mess in Tokyo.”

John doesn’t expand on his argument for three months though. John simply stands there, unmoving, a looming shadow while minutes crawl by in a tense stalemate.

Much to your surprise, Tarasov’s amused smile fades first.

He’s uneasy. Truly and openly.

Afraid.

And that thought seems so ludicrous that you want to dismiss it immediately, except you can’t because the truth is right in front of you.

“A month,” you propose instead, absentmindedly fiddling with your ring.

Tarasov doesn’t look at you right away—in fact, it’s almost like he’s more worried about looking away from John in case John will leap at him the moment he does. Prey and predator. The comparison gives you an immense surge of smug satisfaction. But when the man does, eventually, reluctantly move his attention in your direction your face is fixed in an unmoving mask as well. Tarasov, despite his steely nerves and well-known ruthlessness, looks taken aback by this entire exchange and is doing a poor job of masking his surprise.

“A month,” he agrees reluctantly.

And then, for the first time since coming into his employment, you turn around and walk out of the room without waiting for dismissal.

John follows you without a word.

Tarasov doesn’t stop either of you.

Burying your face in a plush pillow, you sigh.

Being back in the New York Continental is a bit like being back home. Not that you’ve ever had a home for longer than a few years at the time, but the feeling still burrows under your skin.

You never thought you will get to see it again.

Your eyes crack open and you watch John move around the room. Neither of you has brought up what transpired inside Tarasov’s office only hours ago. Truth be told, it’s still hard for you to determine what exactly did happen. All you do know is that Tarasov has never looked at you like that.

Like he was actually seeing you. Like, for the first time, he regarded you as something more than a nuisance to be dealt with.

“Let’s run away.”

John stops in his tracks, his broad back facing you.

Your words are innocent enough, almost playful, but when John turns to face you, you realise that he didn’t take them as such.

“Run away?” he echoes, his tone flat. “Where would we go? The rules—”

“Fuck the rules,” you say, foolishly drunk on the faint glimmer of a dream you can almost see in front of you. “We could get away from it all. From everyone. Didn’t you say that’s what you wanted once?”

John appears stricken, and you feel your eyebrows pinch downwards at the look on his face.

“There’s no running from the High Table,” he replies, and the stiffness of his words surprises you. “You know that.”

Your lips part to reply but before you can do so, the sound of John’s phone buzzing rings through the room. He pulls it out right away, and you feel a sting in your chest at his deliberate ending of what you wanted to be a serious conversation.

You watch him carefully, and feel yourself swallow when you note how the slopes of his face soften at whatever he sees on the screen. You’ve been so sure that you’re the only one capable of doing that to him. Of making him appear this unguarded, this—

Loving.

“I have to do something,” he says, at long last, but it sounds distant in your ears, fragmented. “Will you be alright by yourself for a bit? If you want I can send—”

“Just go, John. Dear God,” you mutter under your breath as you snuggle into your pillow, trying to mask your uncertainty. “I can handle a few hours by myself, I’m not a toddler.”

“I’m surprised. Seems like you managed to fool me,” John replies dryly, and you close your eyes, flipping him off with a faint smile.

“Stuff it, old man.”

Silence greets your words. After another minute of waiting for a reply, you open your eyes to check if he left, and that’s when you find him staring at you from the doorway.

You can’t pinpoint his expression. But there’s something in it that coils your stomach with unease.

“What? What is it?”

Why is he—

“It’s nothing,” an easy and obvious lie.

You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow and regard him frankly, “Then why are you looking at me like that?” you demand, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

For a brief second, you think John will tell you what’s on his mind. But then his lips press into a tight line, and he looks away as if settling on a different decision. The clear conflict on his face only fuels your confusion. John rarely lets anything slip by—rarely allows you to see anything besides the cool professionalism he radiates.

“I’ll be back soon.”

The hotel room door closes with a soft click and you fall back onto your pillow, staring up at the ceiling as his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Why were you looking at me like you’re saying goodbye?

The feeling of nameless dread chases you into a restless sleep that transforms into yet another nightmare.

[3 WEEKS LATER]

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you.”

Not hearing a reply, you roll your eyes. Typical John.

Before today, John has never been late. But clearly, there’s the first time for everything since you’re the one forced to wait on him for once.

Winston has proposed dinner in the lounge area and you’re already running ten minutes late.

John who is always painfully punctual came back from one of his mysterious meetings late. Something has been going on these last few weeks and it makes you antsy to know what it is.

John is a private person and you’ve always respected that—have always accepted the fact that there’s certain things about him you will likely never know. But this was also before he started acting so oddly around you.

Whenever he thought you weren’t looking at him or openly paying attention, you would catch glimpses of this profound emotion on his face. You couldn’t help but wonder what it is about being in your presence that makes him look so sad now. It chills you whenever you think about it. He’s never been one for expressive emotion before.

“John is not one for emotional finesse. He’s not a man to feel easily or lightly.”

Marcus told you that once in a straightforward, blunt manner you’ve come to associate with him now, and you have taken his words as a fact ever since. Back then, of course, you read the deeper warning in his words, too.

John is not a man to love.

The last time you saw Marcus, his warning had been a lot more direct. “Kill it. Whatever it is you feel for him. It will never work.”

By the time you two had that conversation, it was already far too late, but you couldn’t tell him that. Your heart is your secret and no one else has any right to it.

A sound of phone buzzing fills your ears and your head turns slowly.

John’s phone is just barely visible as it sticks out of his suit pocket. He’s taken it off in a haste upon returning, apologetic and open to your teasing complaints.

Your fingers curl into a loose fist.

The answers, as far as you know, are all inside that phone.

It’s wrong to even consider a breach of confidence like this. But you have to know.

Have to confirm to yourself that you’re simply being paranoid and there isn’t some deeper meaning for John’s sudden distance.

He’s been a near-permanent fixture in your life since Tokyo—he would never leave you for longer than a day without at least checking in—but you have never felt further away from him.

This closeness should make you happy.

But right now this closeness is making you ache with longing instead. It’s like he’s right there, right in front of you, but you can’t touch him without a fear that he’s going to flinch away.

Maybe he hates you, maybe he thinks you’re a monster after all—

No. John wouldn’t. He’s one of the few who truly understands.

You keep repeating that to yourself as your gaze drills into his phone but an echo of those words feels unconvincing even to you.

You stand up on autopilot.

You walk across the room on autopilot, too.

Your fingers wrap around the phone and that’s when you hesitate.

There will be no need to snoop, you tell yourself, you will simply look who messaged him. See if it’s someone you know. Try to figure out if they’re the one whose been sending John messages ever since Tokyo.

Your finger presses a random button and the screen lights up.

The roar of your heartbeat drowns out all other sounds as the message flashes on the screen.

Thank you for the dinner tonight. I look forward to seeing you again soon—Helen.

Oh?

Oh.

“Sorry it took—”

John’s words die the moment he notices you. His phone is still in your hand but the screen has gone dark again and you stare at the small object between your fingers impassively. The roaring in your ears is so loud you think that a bomb could go off right next to you, and you won’t hear a thing.

The silence between you is deafening.

John knows because you know. Because he can no doubt read the blatant, bewildered shock on your face. The devastation. The hurt.

“When?”

Just like back in Tarasov’s office, you don’t recognise your own voice. You barely sound human and that hurts even more because it echoes that underground cave on outskirts of Tokyo too much.

But because John is John, he answers your bluntness with equal bluntness of his own, “Two weeks after your birthday. She’s a friend.”

You slam the phone in your hand back on the table with enough force to make your hand sting. The sound is like a gunshot tearing through the room, and you exhale slowly.

It still sounds strangled.

Your head turns towards him gradually. Every inch of it hurts. “Do not bullshit me,” you bite out with such ferocious anger soaking your words that your vocal cords actually hurt. “You do not chat with random women. You don’t take them out for dinner. She’s not just a friend. Do you really think you can hide her from this world? From Tarasov?”

His expression darkens like a sky before a terrible storm. “Tarasov will never touch her.”

God. God. Why does it hurt so much?

“After everything, I—” your voice breaks, and you inhale a shuddering breath. “After everything we went through—why are you even here?”

His expression transforms into that all too familiar, sad thing that you hate so much. You have never wanted to punch him more than at that moment.

“Because you needed me.”

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

It’s more hysterical than assertive but everything spins in your head like a volatile cocktail of emotion, and you’re not sure if you’re about to burst into tears or tear this room to pieces.

“Yeah, you do,” John says so gently, so kindly, that tears sting your eyes despite your best effort to control yourself. “I’m sorry. I never planned for this to happen.”

You splutter in outrage. Just like that, the hurt starts to boil into something else. “Planned for it? Do you think I panned it? Do you think I wanted this?”

The nameless thing between you is like a third person in the room; that’s the amount of presence it has. You both know perfectly well what you’re referring to. You’ve made clear what you wanted from the start. It’s him that said that you couldn’t be together and now—and now—

“I know you didn’t. I—”

“No, you don’t know a goddamn thing. Not a damn thing, John.”

John doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look like he even wants to. He just stands there, looking at you with that pitiful stare.

So it is pity after all. Every minute he spent with you since Tokyo was likely spent wishing he was with this Helen instead. You’re just an obligation to him. A burden.

“She’s not one of us, is she?” you whisper and can’t help but laugh; an empty, cold sound. “Does she even know who you are? Does she have any idea how many people you’ve killed? Does she? You’ll never find peace with her.”

John sighs, looking down before he steps closer towards you but you shrink back, taking a step away from him. You almost wish he was angry in return but he is—as always—unfailingly patient with you. Understanding. Sorry.

“She does know,” he admits softly, like he knows exactly how much of a blow those words will land against your heart. And they do—God they do. “But you’re right. There will be no peace for us. That’s why—(Name), I’m leaving this world behind.”

Your vacant expression creases, uncomprehending, and at first you wonder if you’ve heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I’m going to ask Tarasov for permission to leave,” John explains like it’s so simple. “Cleanly. I’m going to retire and never return. Start a new life.”

It’s then that the nagging, ugly thought you tried to convince yourself couldn’t be true becomes unavoidable.

“You love her.”

You whisper it; as soft and as delicate as your own love for him.

John’s face falls and he reaches for you but you find that you can’t quite move. You feel shackled to the spot you’re standing in.

It hurts.

“No,” John’s voice is stern but you don’t believe him. For the first time in your life, you don’t believe him. “It’s not—it’s not like that.”

“I’m nothing to you,” you continue in a trembling murmur. “I’m an idiot. I’m a goddamn idiot. You n-never felt—”

John’s fingers wrap around your elbow, and he’s so close you can feel the warmth of his body, can see the shadow of devastation shrouding his features that he doesn’t hide from you. Like that’s somehow supposed to make everything better.

“You’re wrong,” he argues, but you’re already shaking your head, and everything inside you cracks further with every word leaving his mouth. “You told me you didn’t want a life outside of this and I thought that meant me, too. Tarasov would have never allowed it, either. But it’s different with Helen—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” you snarl, ripping your hand away. “You don’t know anything. You’re just like the rest of them. Go and be with your precious, darling Helen. I hope you’re both very happy. Except you never will be. Not ever. You will never get out, and even if you d-do this life will still come back and haunt you. You think you’ve earned it? Peace? Happiness? After all the blood you’ve shed? You don’t deserve it! You don’t deserve any of it.”

It’s acid. Vicious and destructive venom that seeps from your tongue so easily, you’re left gasping for breath after you’re done. It feels like you can’t get oxygen into your lungs fast enough to throw more hateful words at him.

You don’t need him. You’ve always been alone and it was stupid to ever expect him to feel the same. And now—now he’s gone ahead and fallen in love with another woman. In love. So in love that he wants to leave everything behind and start a life with her. Even if he won’t admit it, you know him enough to understand the gravity of such a decision.

It hurts so much.

It’s an awful kind of devastation to feel. After everything you’ve gone through just to get back to him. When Kishi was torturing you for hours, John was likely enjoying dinner with his new beloved. The thought makes you feel sick to your stomach. You try to imagine her. Is she beautiful? Kind? Funny? Smart?

What does she have that I don’t?

“(Name).”

“Leave.”

This exchange feels hilariously delicate in comparison to what just transpired a few minutes ago. The air—previously so charged with a violent mix of emotions—now feels empty of anything other than unspoken kind of sadness; dense and suffocating.

John’s head lowers. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and in that time you almost hope that he will say something that will give you hope. That he’s changed his mind. That he realised how he wants to stay here. With you.

He doesn’t.

John turns. And he begins to move towards the door.

Don’t let him go, your heart begs, gushing with despair.  

You stumble forward a step. “If you walk out of that door,” you state harshly, your voice cracking. “I never want to see you again.”

John stops. His head turns slowly, and he glances at you from over his shoulder. Your eyes meet across the room. You don’t understand the look in his eyes.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

The door clicks shut behind him.

In the white cracks of the ceiling, you view your whole life.

You see the failures (so many), you see the victories (too few), and wonder how one person can feel everything and nothing all at once.

Your vision blurs and you close your eyes. They ache; a dull, persistent kind of throb, and you turn your head to the side in hopes of alleviating the sensation.

Your phone keeps ringing, and ringing, and—

Eyes still closed, you pull it out of your jacket and press it to your ear.

Hours after John left, and you’re still in the same spot he left you in. Except, the moment that door closed, you felt the last shred of self-control and strength crumble away into nothing. Your knees caved, tears coming in earnest, and you fell away to nothing.

“What?”

“Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Fuck you, Marcus,” you croak out, feeling angry that you didn’t check who was calling before answering. “What do you want?”

An inpatient sigh sounds through the line. “I want you to pull yourself together and listen to me carefully.”

Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you exhale impatiently, “While I’m certain this would be a riveting conversation, I’m not really in the mood for one.”

“Shut up and listen,” Markus snaps and you feel a twinge of pain through your temple at his tone. “John went to Tarasov. To ask for his freedom.”

You’re silent as you digest his words. Already. He’s gone to Tarasov already. John must have gone straight to his office from the Continental.

“You knew about her,” you conclude shrewdly, and Marcus is silent which really says everything you need to know. “Why should I give a damn? He cut me loose. He showed exactly how much he cares about me.”

“John cares—”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarl, low and furious, and feel the mangled edges of your heart sharpen your trembling voice into something harsh. Cruel. “Don’t you dare to tell me he gives a shit about how I feel because he doesn’t.”

“Can you stop being a whiny child for one second, and think of something other than yourself,” Marcus cuts in coolly, his own voice losing any guise of warmth. “Tarasov gave John a task he will not survive.”

And then Marcus explains. Tarasov’s task. The mad, hilarious impossibility of it.

You can’t help but laugh—can’t help but marvel at the victorious surge of satisfaction you feel. “I told him he will fail. It can’t be done.”

“No, it can’t. Not unless someone helps him.”

Your laughter dies. “No one will go up against the Russian.”

Marcus hums and even that manages to sound annoyed. “We both know that’s not quite true,” he insists knowingly. “Camorra might. The Italians might.”

You scoff. “The old man will never, and Gianna is too smart for something like that. And—”

Marcus is silent once again and you drag a hand down your face.

You feel raw as an open nerve.

The realisation is gradual and you curse yourself for it. “That fucking hypocrite.”

“Last I heard you’re quite chummy with Santino,” Marcus remarks, and doesn’t bother hiding the judgement in his voice. “Make sure that when John asks for help, he gets it.”

You sit up so quickly, the sudden rush of blood to your head bathes your vision white. “No,” you snap coldly. “Is that clear? No. I don’t owe him anything.”

“Listen to yourself,” Marcus speaks stiffly, and sounds both irritated and disgusted all at once. “After everything he’s done for you? After Tokyo? You can really sit there and say you don’t owe him? You owe him your life. And we both know that I’m right. So stop crying and whining about how bitterly unfair this all is. I told you what will happen if you allow yourself to feel for him, but did you listen? Hm? Did you?”  

“I love him, Marcus,” is your tiny, wet whisper. It’s the first time you’ve ever spoken those words out loud and they taste so bitter. “I would have followed him anywhere if only—I love him. But he loves her instead.”

Just when you think that maybe Marcus hung up on you because you couldn’t put up with you anymore, he answers, “I know,” he utters quietly, and in that moment, he’s the kindest he’s ever been. “I know you do. Which is why I’m asking you this now: will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him? You know the Russian. You know what will happen if John fails.”

“He can’t kill him,” you breathe, but feel unsure of your own words.

“Perhaps not,” Marcus agrees but he, too, sounds worn. “But you and I both know that it’s not the worst thing he can do. And you also know John. You know what will be unleashed then.”

That’s not quite right, either.

You did know him. Once.

Now though…

Now, you think that you hate him for making you love him more. Now, you truly and fully feel the realisation that John is gone sink into your bones. If he succeeds, you will never see him again. He will be gone and you will be alone once again.

Not just alone.

Trapped. Again. This time without anyone to fall back onto.

“(Name)?” Marcus wonders after you fail to respond.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you wipe it away with an angry scowl. “I will speak with Santino,” you tell him, emptying your voice of any emotion. Of heartache. Of John. “But after today, you don’t ever mention his name to me again.”

You don’t wait for his reply before you hang up.

You pause in front of the table, waiting for the guards to check you but a chuckle greets your hesitation instead.

“Please, cara mia, we’re friends, no?” Santino greets with a slight smirk, nodding his head to the seat opposite to him. “Please, sit.”  

“Santino.”

You sit down in front of him, meeting his curious stare. The restaurant he’s picked is as fancy as you would have expected from him, and it takes substantial effort to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Seconds go by in mutual quiet.

Santino observes you through narrowed eyes, his expression growing grimmer with every second that ticks by. “I know about Tokyo—”

“Don’t.”

His scrutiny doesn’t let up. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asks, his displeasure clear. Then, like a storm passing his features soften, almost disappointed. “I’m not a charitable man, you know that, but I would have helped you. Taken care of you.”

A small noise escapes you. Under different circumstances, it might have been a chuckle but now it lacks any kind of joy or amusement. “Is that what you think I need? To be taken care of?”

His expression strains. “Why do you twist my words?”

“Because I’m not here to discuss this.”

“Then at least tell me who did this to you,” he demands, his tone icy, and his head tilts. “Give me their names and it will be done.”

You look away, frustration boiling in your chest. The very last thing you need or want right now is a trip down the memory lane.

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “They’re all dead now.”

Santino exhales in frustration, leaning back in his seat, and folds his arms elegantly on the table. “Pity.”

You almost laugh at that. Almost.

“I think you already know why I’m here,” you say, and watch him watch you as his eyebrows arch. “So don’t give me that look.”

“Contrary to what you believe, cara mia,” he responds with a roughish little smile. “I am not a psychic. It would be truly beneficial if I was, of course.”

You roll your eyes. “Santino,” you address him directly, not in the mood for his teasing. “I’m here to talk about—”

“The infamous John Wick, yes, I figured you were,” he cuts you off, his words clipped. His piercing eyes flicker away for a moment, and he grabs an expensive-looking bottle sitting on the table between you. “Champagne?”

“No thanks,” you mutter quickly, “So you know why I’m here then?”

Santino pours himself a glass, turning his head from side to side as he hums. “Well, I believe I can wager an educated guess,” he remarks thoughtfully as he looks up at you. “But I’m afraid that you are too late.”

“Too late?”

He takes a small sip and sighs, his eyes closing. Just as you start to feel your frayed nerves begin to rip even further, he finally speaks, “John has already come to me, asking for help with his Impossible Task. I refused him.”

His words leave such potent silent between you that you can hear your own irregular breathing.

“Why?”

Santino takes another sip and smiles that slippery, sly smile of his. “Why what? Why did I refuse? Why won’t I? Everything has a price, cara mia. You know this. Besides, John and I have never seen eye to eye when it comes to…certain things.”

His clever eyes drill into you, and you rack your suddenly empty mind for something else to say. You never accounted for a scenario where you would have to go into this on a back leg.  

“He would have offered you something in return.”

Santino nods in agreement. “He did. But it just so happens that our visions did not align. Not to mention he still owes me from the last time.”

“The last time?” you repeat, uncomprehending. “Since when does he owe you?”

He blinks as if caught off guard by your words, and a gleam of realisation reflects back at you. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” you mutter, your words wrapped with frustration. “What the hell is it that you want, Santino? There’s always a catch with you.”

The sharply dressed man in front of you sighs again, and rests his chin on his folded palms as he gazes at you, assessing. “I do believe that the real question here, cara mia, is why are you here? Did you come to bargain with me? Are you going to beg in his stead?”

Your jaw clicks and your eyes narrow. For a long, tense moment you both simply stare at each other. “Everything has a price,” you quote, at last, your voice distant. “What’s yours?”

His lips flatten in dismay and he lifts his chin, fingers unlacing as he gestures to the side. One of his many guards comes closer and you instinctively tense, your hand wrapping around your poisoned blade. Santino takes note of your taut body right away, signalling for the man to stop and approach slower. He doesn’t look happy about your reaction. The guard casts a wary look your way and places whatever he was carrying into his boss’s awaiting hand.

Santino rolls the object between his fingers deliberately, considering, before placing it on the table in front of you. Not quite halfway, but close enough for you to touch it if you want.

A Marker.

Your throat goes dry.

“You—Winston is not here to witness it,” you whisper unsteadily, feeling trapped once again. The spacious restaurant suddenly feels like a cage, and you feel your heartbeat spike.

“Semantics,” he rebukes easily, lazily. “We both know no one will doubt the legitimacy of this.”

Your eyes finally peel away from the smooth metal and drag up towards him. He’s watching you curiously, expectant. Your heart is in your throat as you do the same. No matter what alternatives you try to think up, they all seem to lead to the same destination.

Bound to yet another contract. Chained to whims of another power-hungry man.

“What do you want?”

You sound angry. Good.

You’re furious.

“A favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

Santino regards you with something close to gentleness, and it makes you even more enraged. “I am not Viggo Tarasov. I will never ask you to do something that will go against your moral fibre.”

Your responding scoff is as disbelieving as it is mocking. “Of course,” you agree sarcastically, and ignore the way Santino’s guards bristle at your clear show of disrespect. “Because I’m supposed to just believe that you’re not all the same. Power-hungry and selfish.”

“Oh, I’m most certainly am, cara mia,” he intones coolly even though his lips twist into a smile. “But if you want this, then you’ll have to take that chance, won’t you?”

Your expression falls and you press your mouth into a tight line, peering down at the object between you.

Is John truly worth it? After everything he’s done?

Here you are, seriously considering selling yourself and for what?  

A man who loves another woman? Who wants to leave everything that you’ve had together behind and move on? John is effectively abandoning you—has abandoned you. But, at the end of the day, it’s not like he owes you anything. And maybe you don’t owe him anymore either, not after this. You promised Marcus that you will talk with Santino, and you have, but you never agreed to this.

Haven’t you done enough? Sacrificed enough?  

“Will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him?”

No. The awful truth is that you won’t be able to live with yourself.

John may have torn your heart to pieces by walking out of that door, but that didn’t make your feelings for him magically disappear in a matter of hours.

Let him go.

But I can’t.

You have to. He doesn’t want you.

Maybe this is exactly what you need. If you do this, John and his departure will always be tied to this Marker. It will be a constant, terrible reminder of your own lack of freedom. Perhaps, with time, the bitter anger and disappointment that comes with it will help you forget how much you love him.

Your fingers touch the cool metal gingerly.

But before you can take it, a larger, elegant hand lands on top of yours, squeezing.

“Really?” Santino practically hisses, his eyes narrowed into slits as he leans closer to you. “That’s all it takes to get you to sign yourself onto a Marker? And for what, cara mia? A man who does not love you?”

You jerk your hand back but Santino’s fingers wrap around your wrist, holding your hand next to the Marker.

“I confess myself disappointed,” he intones tightly after a brief pause, calmer now, but his eyes still rage. “He left you. For another woman. An outsider to our world, no less. You. The Vipress. And you would still give yourself away, would still tie yourself to me with a blood oath for him. Why? Tell me, do you truly love him that much?”

You glare at him for a heated moment.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He jerks back like you’ve struck him, his grip on your wrist loosening. Wasting no time, you drag your arm back, still glaring at him.  

It shouldn’t surprise you to see a glimpse of pure envy contorting Santino’s face, but it does. His intentions in regards to you have always been clear, and he’s always been forthcoming about them. For all his tricks and sly games, he’s always been surprisingly clear cut with you.

The only problem is that you’ve never taken him seriously until this moment.

Men like Santino D’Antonio crave excitement and bore easily.

But perhaps you’ve been too quick to judge him.  

He leans back, his palms dropping down to his lap and he regards you critically. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you—if the fresh scars you wear are visible to him. The way he looks at you makes you think that perhaps he can see them after all. That perhaps that’s why he looks so calmly furious right now.

The silence between you hangs, hangs, hangs—

“Very well,” he mutters, his smile a sharp, unpleasant thing. “I will help your precious Johnathan.”

A relieved sigh escapes you and you reach for the Marker. Santino grabs it before you can and lifts it to his face, shaking the object a little in your direction with a stilted smile before he pockets it.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper as you watch him rise from his seat, smoothing wrinkles in his suit. “You said everything has a price.”

“Indeed it does,” he insists as one of his guards’ hands him his overcoat. He shrugs it on calmly, an elegant motion that only adds to his effortless charm. His eyes find yours and he looks at you for a long moment. This time, you find his expression impossible to read. “But my mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry,” he explains, a thoughtful frown on his face. “It rhymes.”

He steps towards you but you find that you can’t move a muscle. “John was here because he wants the freedom to start a new life, you are here because of John, and as for me…well, I’m simply here. So no charge, not this time, cara mia. But only because I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.”

He reaches down and gently takes your hand in his. His lips press against your knuckles, the warmth of his breath prickling your skin and making you shiver. His eyes don’t drop away from you the entire time, and you both know that he lingers for far longer than would be deemed appropriate for two friends.

“Besides, something tells me that you and I will be seeing each other again very soon,” he breathes, and you almost jump when he presses another tender peck to your skin with a glimmer of a crooked grin. “Remember, I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

He pulls back, letting go of your hand reluctantly. “Speak to you soon, cara mia.”

Then he turns around and walks away, leaving you alone in the expensive restaurant.

The text comes two days later in the early hours of the morning.

Marcus’s name flares like a sunbeam across your phone screen and you linger on the Unlock button. Regardless of what this message contains life as you knew it is over. You don’t want to lose it yet, don’t want to let go. Not yet. Either John is dead or…

Or he truly chose that stranger and his new life over you.

‘He did it.’

You exhale slowly—in pained relief, in anguish; raw and entangled in each other—and lift your eyes to the ceiling.

The phone in your hand smashes to pieces when it connects to the wall opposite to you.

[1 YEAR LATER]

“Miss Vipress.”

Charon’s greeting is full of subtle surprise, and the slight smile that twitches his lips to one side is a welcomed sight.

“Charon.”

The man inclines his head. “May I say that it is most pleasing to have you back with us again,” he tells you as you place golden coins on the counter. “The usual, I presume? For how long shall I book you in for?”

Clicking your tongue, you glance around, soaking in the feeling of being back here again. “Thanks. And let’s say two weeks?”

The rest of the exchange is familiar to you and a faint, genuine smile lingers cross the seams of your mouth as you look around, spotting more than one familiar face in the lobby.

“There is one more matter that I’ve been instructed to bring to your attention upon your arrival,” Charon begins, and the slight hesitation in his tone catches your attention. “The manager has requested to see you.”

Your eyebrows arch. “Winston? He’s in at this hour?”

“The manager is always in,” he answers, a glimmer of amusement colouring his words. “Would you like me to announce you?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. The lounge?”

“Indeed, Miss Vipress,” he says, passing your key across the counter. “Please do enjoy your stay.”

Shooting a quick smile his way, you head towards the bar, knowing that Charon will take care of your travelling bag.

Considering that it’s early hours of the morning, the bar is more active than one would expect. Most of the people here are used to the nightlife though, and come from many differing time zones. You’re all nocturnal creatures, living in the shadows because that’s where you feel most alive.

You greet a few familiar individuals with a slight nod of your head and ignore their invitations to join them for drinks.

Instead, you cut a straight path across the lounge to a corner that has long since been dubbed “Winston’s corner”. The man himself sits silent and focused as he examines a small pile of golden coins placed before him.

“New shipment,” he calls by the way of greeting. “Bad timing but impeccable quality as always.”

“Winston,” you greet in return, and the man finally lowers his glasses, looking up at you. “Little nighttime indulgence?”

Your gaze pointedly fixates on what you can only guess is a glass of brandy.

“Can’t an old man enjoy life a little?” he questions with mock surprise and you smirk. Winston gestures to the empty seat. “Do sit down. We have much to discuss. It has been a year after all. How are your new friends?”

Noting his tone, your eyes narrow. “I don’t have friends,” you rebuke swiftly, coolly, “Not anymore. Learned my lesson last time. Now I assume there’s an actual reason why you wanted to see me?”

Winston nods his head, lips twisting thoughtfully. “But of course,” he says like it should be obvious. “But before all that, I want us to discuss some things. For example, your involvement with Santino D’Antonio. Honestly, out of all the people you could have gone to—”

Your expression warps with disbelief and you scoff under your breath. “Is that judgement I hear in your voice?”

“Goodness no,” Winston shoots back, but his bright stare is cutting. “I’m merely questioning your sanity. I don’t think I need to remind you what kind of man he is. His interest in you, for all intents and purposes, is bound to come with an expiration date. And then what?”

“Then,” you force out painfully slow in order to control your tone. “It won’t matter anymore. Because they will all be dead. Honestly, Winston, what did you expect me to do? Lay down and let them kill me? How can you sit there and judge me for doing everything I can just to survive.”

He exhales wearily, and his slumping shoulders make him look older just for a moment.

“Johnathan was a top-level associate of ours, a legend in his own right,” he begins and that name being spoken out loud cuts through you like a knife. “I always knew that his departure would cause a rather large power vacuum in our world. As his closest associate, I also knew that some people may see fit to try and take out their old grudges on you. Johnathan had as many enemies as he did friends. But he did his best to protect you. The depth of his care for you—”

“I’m sorry, his care?” you repeat, soft and disbelieving, as you consider the man in front of you. “His care came in the form of abandonment. He as good as threw me to the wolves. He left without so much as a second glance, so please tell me again, where exactly was his care?”

“I assure you, he went through great lengths to ensure your protection,” Winston replies calmly, and there’s that hint of chilly authority in his voice that usually makes people shut up and listen. It’s a sore spot for a topic, and you know that’s the only reason why he’s tolerating your cracking disposition and sharp tongue. “What I’m hearing from you right now is bitterness and jealousy. You’re better than that. We both know that what you truly resent is not the fact that Johnathan left, but that he did so without you. But what did you expect?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me be blunt,” he begins and lifts his glass, sloshing the amber liquid inside from side-to-side. “Viggo was onto you. He knew that there was more going on between you two than a simple partnership. He would have had you killed if he got so much as a shred of proof. Johnathan knew that too. He did you a kindness by pushing you away. He was more fond of you than you can ever truly understand. Too fond. I warned him against it. But he couldn’t let you go. The distance you imposed after his rejection—if you can even call it that—came at a good time. Meeting that woman was an accident. In her, Johnathan saw a chance for a different life. Saw a way for both of you to be safe and happy. You told him that you couldn’t see a life for yourself outside of this, did you not? He left so he could forget you and keep you safe. And I imagine that Santino D’Antonio did not, in fact, help Johnathan with his task out of the goodness of his heart. Especially not when Johnathan already owed him for Tokyo. So I think you’ll forgive me when I say that I don’t quite buy into your supposed hatred for him.”

You stare at Winston in dumbstruck silence. Forcing air into your lungs, you clear your throat, trying to process everything you’ve just heard.

“What—” your voice creaks and you swallow again, determined. “What do you mean John owed Santino for Tokyo?”

“Of course I’m referring to—you don’t know,” he concludes astutely, an eerily familiar understanding washing over the contours of his weathered face. The same understanding that you saw on Santino’s face a year ago on that dreadful night. “Oh, how typical of Johnathan. He left you to believe whatever was the easiest. What do you think happened, my dear? How did Johnathan get there, do you reckon?”

“He—but Tarasov—”

Winston tuts, and places his glass back on the table.

He looks almost sorry when he speaks next. “Johnathan noticed your absence quickly, and you’re right to assume he went to Tarasov first,” he tells you quietly, and the words rattle through your mind like marbles. “But Tarasov refused him. He did not care. So Johnathan went to someone he knew would.”

“Santino.”  

Winston dips his head slightly. “I do not know the terms of what exactly they agreed but I do know that Santino was less than pleased with the outcome. He didn’t tell you this but…John called in a great number of favours and burned an even greater number of bridges to get to you. He did not rest until he got you back. Except he didn’t, did he? A part of you died in that damp, dirty underground pit. You haven’t been the same since Tokyo.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No.”

Your eyes move away, and you try to subtly swallow the sudden lump in your throat. Despite your best effort to appear unaffected, it still feels like you have lead sitting in your stomach. You want to stand up and walk away from him, but you also respect the man in front of you too much for that.

“Why did you help him?”

You let out a weak chuckle. “Come now, Winston, we both know why. Why even bother asking?”

“Because I need to know that I can give you this,” he replies, taking out a white envelope and placing it on the table between you. “Without the worry that you will do something…unwise.”

Your gaze zeros in on the white material and for some reason it frightens you more than you would care to admit.

“What is it?” you ask, already regretting the question.

“I don’t know,” Winston says, all nonchalance, and you wonder if it’s because he knows what this is doing to you. “But Johnathan took a great risk to call in this favour. It came to me three months ago. I would have had it sent to whichever Continental you were staying at but Johnathan was very clear that it’s for your eyes only. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Burn it,” you tell him stiffly. “I don’t want it.”

Winston shakes his head, a flash of displeasure crossing his features. “You will regret it if you don’t take it. Make this the closure you need it to be. You never said goodbye properly. Maybe this can be the full stop in this tale that you so desperately need.”

Your lips part and you hurriedly lick them, feeling even more frustrated than before. There’s truth to Winston’s words but it feels too much like picking at a scab that has just healed over.

Tapping your fingers against the table, you finally reach over and snatch the envelope, rising to your feet.

“What do you plan to do about the people still coming after you?” he wonders idly, curiosity lacing his words.

The letter burns in your hand, an enormous weight that makes you feel like you’re being dragged to the ground.  

“What I do best,” you inform him without turning around. “Kill.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that Winston’s laughter followed you out.

You consider the envelope for a long time.

You consider ripping it to pieces and throwing it away.

But a part of you that sounds suspiciously like grumpy Winston stays your hand.

So instead you eat, shower, stare at the envelope, pace your room, and stare some more.

You’ve moved on.

Or have been trying to, at least.

Life without John is a different experience. It’s a colder, even crueller place than it was before. So, to a degree, you understand what Winston meant when he said that John has been shielding you from the worst of it before.

But he’s gone now. And you’re relearning everything from scratch.

Santino’s offer, now more than ever, burns through your mind.

You did not give him your answer before leaving Italy, and a part of you wants to call him right now—let him be the voice of reason that will tell you to throw the letter away.

You’re done with John. You are.

Falling heavily onto the loveseat, you reach for the envelope.

It feels heavy but not too full. Something hard is inside but it’s still bendable when you test its limits. Curious, you bring it up to your nose, inhaling, and run your fingers through the length of it to see if anything suspicious sticks out.

Nothing.

No odd odours, no unusual edges or bumps.

You stare at it.

There is nothing but your name scribbled in a familiar, cramped font on the front. Your fingertips trace over it and you feel a pang in your chest. Your hand hovers over the envelope and you watch your viper ring gleam against the white paper.  

You still wear it. Isn’t that a sign enough that you haven’t let go?

Even if you’ve been trying—so hard—it still manages to feel fresh. It’s unhealthy and you deserve better than to torture yourself over this. But this last year has already been torture for a multitude of reasons, so is this really any different?

Gritting your teeth, you rip the envelope open. You can’t allow it to have power over you. You can’t allow John to have that power, either.

A card slips out first, clearly the heavier object, and you check the inside to find a letter, too. You rub your fingers together, hesitating, before you take it out and unfold it.

Dear (Name),

I know I have no right to ask this of you, and I will understand if I never hear from you again. But it would mean a lot to me if you could be there.

- John

Short and direct enough for any doubts about its authenticity to crumble away from your mind.

Your eyes slide towards the card that lays facedown on the coffee table.

Swallowing, you pick up the expensive paper, turning it around.

You are joyfully invited to the wedding of—

The invitation slips from your hand, falling clumsily through the air before it lands on the table once again.

You stagger to your feet, swaying, dazed, and wander towards the window. Your forehead presses against the freezing glass, and a breathless sound rattles free from deep within. It’s a low, devastated sort of noise and like a wounded animal you fold into yourself, breathing deeply.

A wedding.

John is getting married.

Is this some cruel joke?

Is he doing this on purpose? Why else would he invite you to the one occasion you would never want to attend? Especially after how you last parted ways.

But John is not one for cruel tricks, not one for mindless harm for the sake of amusement.

Last time you saw him, you told him that you never want to see him again, but it’s clearly not a sentiment he shares. The problem is that you’re not sure if you can handle it. For all your struggles, for all the ferocity to keep living, this could be the one thing you will not be able to overcome. That night, a year ago, was already bad enough.

Your head moves back, and you look over your shoulder towards the invitation still laying innocently on the table. It’s the type of startling white that sticks out in the dim room like a beacon.

Feet unsteady, you walk back towards it, reaching for it once again. Your hands are shaking and you clench your fists till your rapid heartbeat evens out. Then, gritting your teeth, you force yourself to read through the entire thing.

Finally, your eyes snag on the time and date printed, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.

Tomorrow.

You shouldn’t have come.

You don’t know why you did.

No—that’s not quite true, is it? You do know why you came.

You came because, in order to be free of him, you have to see this through. You have to allow John to drive that one last knife into your chest and twist it for good measure. Then, perhaps, you can finally let go once and for all. Strip him out of your heart till there’s no trace left of him. A full stop in this story just like Winston said.

Still, this decision kept you up for the entire night, restless and hurting, and it wasn’t until two hours before the ceremony that you finally decided to come.

The venue is stunning. A warmly lit, open space and you can’t help but envy the beautiful composition of colours and flowers.

The attendant—a stunning blonde with bright green eyes and an extravagant gown—greets you with a beaming smile, taking your invitation.

“Bride or groom?”

Your mind is so chaotic that at first, you don’t really register her words; they’re a distant murmur only. Wincing, you give her an awkward, pained grimace of a smile.

“Sorry, jetlag is a killer.”

The woman looks sympathetic and nods her head in understanding. You likely look terrible and just sleep-deprived enough for her to buy into your words.  

“And, it’s…” you trail off, suddenly unable to speak. The groom. It’s easy to say. If you can’t even speak what’s the point of coming here? Just to embarrass yourself further? “The groom. Groom’s side, I mean.”

“Wonderful! Please sit on the right, then,” the attendant says with a happy chipper in her voice. You can’t hear any forced cheer in it either which surprises you. “You’re running a bit late. The ceremony has already begun but I think you’ll still make it in time for the exchanging of vows.”

Great.

This is torturous.

It’s been a year but it feels like yesterday.

You should have taken Santino up on his offhand, deliberate offer to go to Paris together. You could have prolonged your trip for just another week and would have missed the wedding entirely. Then, you would have had an easy explanation, an out.

On instinct, your eyes sweep over the crowd. Despite it being a wedding, you still have blades and needless on you; most of them are soaked in some of your latest inventions. Each as nasty and as lethal as the last. You’ve learned from your mistakes. Never again.

It surprises you but you see no familiar faces in the crowd. A part of you expected John to invite Winston or at least Marcus—his oldest, most trusted friend.

It’s startling to realise that you’re wrong. That on one of the most important days of his life, you’re the only one here.

John has truly torn out his old life root and stem and this is proof of that.

Your eyes finally find him standing hand in hand with his bride and your stomach coils.

He looks—

He looks so happy.

The happiest you’ve ever seen him.

He stands tall and proud, his dark gaze warm and full of love as he speaks his vows.

He looks in love. At peace. Happy.

It’s like a punch to the stomach to see him like this. To know that he’s found those things you told him so cruelly he didn’t deserve to have.

And Helen…

She’s beautiful. Practically glowing with happiness as she beams up at John.

So many times—there’s been so many times when you had imagined that she wasn’t anything special. That maybe she’s ugly or stupid. That John will never be happy once the initial attraction fades. So many times when you unfairly demeaned her in your head just to make yourself feel better. But you’re wrong.

Helen is stunning. The type of woman you can’t help but admire.

It hurts so much that you feel—for the first time since that night John left you—tears begin to blur your vision.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

John smiles, a small but loving curl of his mouth, and leans down to kiss his new wife.

A shuddering breath escapes you, swallowed by the crowd that explodes into wild applause and cheers. You watch as the new-wed couple exchange words, intimate and soft, and John places a protective arm around Helen’s waist.

Your gaze drops.

The crowd is still a roar.

“What a beautiful couple, don’t you think?”

Head turning, you glance at an old man you’ve never seen before and find him clapping as loudly as the rest of the crowd.

“Yes,” is your empty whisper. “Yes, they are.”

It’s okay. It’s over now.

Your eyes close and you turn away from the happiness and cheer, walking blindly. As long as you get away from this, it will be fine.

Soft music fills the air when you stumble outside, swallowing large gasp of air and pressing your hand against your chest. Your head falls back and you look towards the sky. The sun has just set, the furthest corner of the sky already allowing first stars to peak against the darkened expanse. Then your chin drops, your vacant stare lingering on all the beautiful fairy lights wrapped around trees and bushes.

Putting one leg in front of another, you stagger forward. It feels like being back underground. It feels like that time Kishi pressed his heavy boot against your lower back, keeping you still after you tried to crawl away. It feels like you can’t move, walk, jog, breathe, exist.

Yes, I can.

You take another step and another, feeling...it’s devastating, it is. But with every heavy, pained step also comes a sense of calm. Of finally—

“You came.”

You freeze.

Blinking, you try to compose your expression before you turn around.

John comes closer, hesitant, as his dark eyes take you in. As always it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and it’s so obvious now that he’s always been so guarded around you. So unlike moments ago when he showed just how open he can be with the person he loves.

“Well,” you halt, nibbling on the inside of your cheek to gather yourself. “I couldn’t miss your wedding. Some friend I would be if I did.”  

“I didn’t think you would come,” he says, stopping right in front of you. “But I’m glad that you did. I wanted to talk to you.”

You laugh weakly, and it sounds so forced you regret it immediately. “Yeah, well, impeccable timing as always, John. Congratulations, by the way.”

His expression is unreadable, but you feel a whisper of surprise when he extends his hand towards you.

Then, with that gesture, comes the understanding.

You were right. None of this has been about hurting you. Everything; from the invitation to this, is about giving you both closure.

John didn’t want the last interaction you’ve had to be a hateful one. And, until this very moment, you didn’t know you didn’t want that, either.

You place your hand in his and he pulls you closer. Then, arms careful and hesitant around each other, you begin to sway to the distant music coming from the reception.

“You should be back there,” you tell him quietly. “Celebrating.”

He meets your stare, calm and patient as always. “There’ll be time for that later.”

Silence follows his words and you move together for a while without a sound. Your eyes flutter closed, and you rest your cheek lightly against his chest. His scent, his warmth; they sink into you gradually and you add them to your memory.

“I just wanted—”

“Winston told me.”

John looks down at you. “I asked him not to.”

Your smile feels sad, weary. “The old man likes to gossip, I guess,” you mutter in a poor play on humour, and tighten your fingers around his. “John I—I just wanted to say that—I didn’t mean what I said that night—”

“You don’t have to apologise, (Name),” he tells you, and his expression seems strained, so unlike the previous joy you saw earlier. “I hurt you.”

Shaking your head, you glance away, and try to smile again. “I was angry…and hurt. But it still did not give me the right to say that to you. You—you of all the people deserve this more than anyone. I’m happy for you. I am.”

“(Name) I—”

“Please,” you cut him off before he can continue. “Please make this easy for me. I’m trying to do the right thing here but it’s so damn hard. It’s so hard and I—just thank you. Thank you for everything. You saved me and I will never be able to thank you enough for it. But I had to at least try before this goodbye.”

“Then don’t make it a goodbye,” he whispers suddenly and your eyes find his, full of surprise. “We can keep in touch. You’re my friend.”

You chuckle; a wet, weak sound. “We both know that’s too dangerous,” you answer him, and hate how sad you sound. “You’re out, John. You’re free and you’re happy. That’s all I could ever—”

Your voice cracks and you lower your head, swallowing. John’s cheek rests against the top of your head and he squeezes your fingers when he feels them tremble between his own. You stand still for a while. Simply breathing together and you love him for the fact that he allows time for tears escaping your eyes to dry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you breathe, choked. “You tried to keep us both safe and found happiness on the way. My anger was selfish. And sometimes…sometimes people can be good together but it still doesn’t work out.”

You pull back slowly, carefully turning your fingers to free your hand from his grip. Staring at the ground beneath your feet, you allow yourself a silent moment of grieving.

For what you had.

For what you still could have had.

John stands still, sensing that you need this moment and you feel a small smile twist your mouth. You lift your head and place your hand—his ring gleaming—on his chest. He looks so handsome in a tux.

“So,” you begin with a smile. “This is me letting you go, John.”

You lean closer and press a gentle kiss against his cheek. Your expression crumbles, and you tilt your face till it’s next to his ear, so he won’t see your pain.

“Please be happy.”

Then you pull back, your hands dropping away, letting go.

“(Name), wait—”

“John? There you are. What are you doing out here?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Helen. She looks even more beautiful this close up. She walks down the steps, lifting her stunning wedding gown and recognition flashes through her eyes when she spots you.

“Oh, you must be (Name),” she greets with a kind smile. “I’m Helen. John has told me a lot about you. I’m glad you’ve been able to come. Wouldn’t you join us inside?”

Your eyes slide towards John who looks as torn as you feel. You give her a smile too. Whatever resentment you once felt towards this woman has up and vanished into thin air.

She comes to stand beside John and you’re momentarily speechless. They look good together. Like they belong.

“It’s lovely to meet you. And I’m sorry, but I can’t,” you say, keeping your smile intact. “I have, ah, a job…that I need to get to. But it was a beautiful ceremony and—take care of him for me, would you? He’s so awful at it. And…”

Your voice wavers but you’re still smiling even though neither Helen nor John are.

“I just wish you both…all the happiness in the world. Truly.”

You nod your head, inhaling deeply, and laugh.

Your eyes meet John’s for one last time and you grin at him. “Goodbye, John.”

Not waiting for a reply, you turn around and start walking away.

In and out. In and out.

The cool evening air kisses your burning, tear-streaked cheeks but you keep walking with your head held high.

Alone. Just like it’s been for so long.

A butterfly trapped in a mason jar.

Never to be free.   

. . .

an: hope you all enjoyed that pain fest (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ⌒♡*:･。.