#let the dormant volcano start to rumble.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Let Rasputin get mad.

I don’t mean about personal stuff. That’s whatever. He can deal with that on his own time, or not because he has the emotional coping mechanisms of a concussed brick, but that’s not my point. My point is: everything sucks.

The solar system Red worked so hard on is absolutely trashed. Half the factions are here just to fight the other half while Guardians do the rounds for loot. There’s not one but TWO enormous derelict alien warships lying around illegally-parked. The Moon’s fucking haunted! Two moons and a planet are gone! Some anime-ass megamind cosplayer keeps swanning around like they can’t even be bothered to kill us! And his stuff! It’s morning noon and night people trying to use his stuff to do something awful! You can be angry, you can fight back, without invoking the war-for-war’s-sake that Xivu represents. You can defend yourself without becoming violence incarnate. Guardians have to learn to walk that line now or we’re all royally screwed anyway. We have to learn to use it as a tool, same as Stasis, without being consumed by it.

So let him get mad. Let him get furious, at high velocity. Let him address a spread of caedometric ordnance “To Whom It May Concern.” Let us see the anger of a gentle machine. Let the solar system remember who was here first.

(technically the Vex. but you get my point.)

[deathfavor]

survival starter call | @redue

Izana hadn't been expecting for one of his captains to report that one of Toman's former members was in his territory. As far as he was aware, most of them had seemed fine with letting things be and fading into retirement. So why the hell was someone snooping? It wasn't his main priority but...It could be trouble. With that in mind, the king decides to pay a little visit to where this observer has been spotted.

He approached from behind, ready to crush whatever old member has been poking around like a bug under foot. But he doesn't expect it to be that person, crouched behind a wall in some poor attempt to be stealthy.

" I'm beginning to see why Kisaki viewed you as such a problem, Takemichi. You're stubborn and nosy. " Izana speaks, looming over him with a cold expression. Something old gnashes its teeth in his chest, a dormant volcano that quietly rumbles again, but he pushes it down.

He steps closer, wisteria eyes peering down on him with evident distaste. " What do you think you're doing? " His lips curve up, like he's thought of something funny. " You're not trying to start a fight all by yourself, are you? Or are you trying to get back into the gang lifestyle? "

[trans-mando]

you know what’s funny

i wasn’t nearly as scared of volcanoes before i took geology and heard the professor’s Volcano Story

(content warnings for: death, volcanoes, the most viscerally uncomfortable irony I have ever met, I am not kidding about the scary volcano shit)

---

“I used to work out in the Texas oil fields,” said the professor. “Plenty of geologists do, especially right out of undergrad. It pays well and they’re always hiring.”

(I judged him a little bit for that, because I am not fond of oil fields, and also because my opinion of him mattered 0% so I felt okay about making a snap judgement.)

“And I had this coworker who was a real geologist. Older than me, and I found out eventually that he used to be a volcanologist. ‘Jerry,’ I said, ‘What in the world are you doing here?’ Because sure, it paid okay, but it was a dull job. Same thing every day for weeks on end.”

At this point, the class - 60-odd students, largely sophomores, largely non-geology majors - was only halfheartedly paying attention. It was ten minutes till our time slot was up, the professor had turned off the projector, and nobody was taking notes, not even me.

“And Jerry told me that before working in the oil fields, back in the 80s and early 90s, he had been a professional volcanologist. He’d been sponsored to go to this global conference in Columbia to see what everybody else was researching, and one of the major seminars was about predicting eruptions from stratovolcanoes.”

The professor smiled wryly. The class, remembering the early part of that day’s lecture - which was about how impossible it was to predict eruptions, even with modern technology - laughed heartily.

“Yeah, you remember. It wasn’t a big breakthrough or anything, but it was a keynote speaker, so they planned a field trip as part of it. It was supposed to be just a local museum thing, but the conference wasn’t far from a semi-dormant stratovolcano, and it was a gorgeous day. There was no seismic activity on the mountain, so the volcanologists decided to take an impromptu hike up to the peak, snap a few pictures of the crater, maybe take a few samples back to their labs.”

The professor hadn’t emphasized semi-dormant, but something about the way he said it made me look at his face. He was no longer smiling. The class’s chuckles were starting to uncomfortably trail off.

“Jerry’s company agreed to let him go on the field trip. They told him he had to wear a hard hat and safety gear, even though the volcano hadn’t had a major eruption in years. He got laughed at, of course, but he still wore the stuff.”

The professor paused. “When I knew him, Jerry was out of shape. Back then, he’d been even more so. So when they hiked up the mountain, he was pretty far back with a couple others. He was still a fair ways below the crater rim when the first group reached the peak - real athletic folks, marathoners and mountain climbers. Some of the world’s leading experts on volcanic eruptions. Two of them started to descend into the crater to collect gas samples. Four more were taking measurements from the crater rim.”

I had never heard a lecture hall that silent, nor have I since.

“The ground rumbled. Half a second later, the volcano was erupting,” the professor said. “The two who went down into the crater were vaporized.”

(He said all of this very calmly.)

“Everything was shaking, and the volcano was starting to spit out bombs - pebble-sized, fist-sized, car-sized. If you get hit by one of those, it’s going through you. The survivors from the peak were running down the mountain. He and his hiking buddies tried to shelter behind a boulder.

“His friends weren’t wearing hard hats. One of them got lucky. He watched the other die right there, a foot away from him.

”He showed me the scars on his back. They were still there, a decade later. So that’s why Jerry was working in the oil fields. He got as far away from volcanoes as he could. He was still working there when I left.”

The class had still not moved an inch. There was not a single zipping backpack, snapping binder ring, or clicking pen. The professor shut down the computer and slung his bookbag over his shoulder.

“Enjoy your weekends. Review chapter 14 before Monday.”

---

I looked it up later. The volcano was Galeras. Its 1993 eruption killed six volcanologists and three tourists. Multiple books have been written.

(This account certainly contains inaccuracies. It’s coming from a witness, though a retelling years later, and then through several years of my memory. The fella’s name is probably not even Jerry. However, it is still as terrifying as I remember it being.)

[strawbkiwijuice]

The Challenge

Purple Yam and Dark Choco finally meet.

Standing across from him was like a dream and a nightmare all at once. The wind off of the nearby mountains sent strong, heated breezes through the valley, blanketing their makeshift arena in a floating mist of heat and ash. 

Looking at him now, he seemed no different than any other man, taller, maybe, but no more fearsome. In fact, it was not fear of the man that stood Yam rooted to his spot, but of the battle that was soon to follow. It would be his final battle, hed decided, one way or another. 

“Dark Choco.” He called to the figure, shadowed already in an air of mystery, made further a shapeless figure from the clouds of dust that surrounded him. “I’ve found you at last.” Saying this, Yam unhooked the heavy mace from his back and held it beside him. Dark Choco turned to look at him, his fiery red eyes placid, almost questioning. 

“Who are you?” He called across the field of craggy rock. 

A sting of anger pitched in his stomach, sending a shaking wave up through his body as Yams face contorted momentarily in a silent rage. Who was he? He didnt know?! All this time searching and he had the audacity...Taking a deep breath, he recalled the words of his friends. If you must be angry, let your anger be your fuel, but not your lighter. 

“My name is Purple Yam. I was a knight in your army.” He said, gripping his fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. 

Dark Choco raised an eye brow, but said nothing. 

“I’ve come to challenge you. To bring you to justice for everything you’ve done!” Yam continued, raising his spiked mace to point at the dark figure of a man. 

“I see.” The reply came without hesitation as Dark Choco casually reached for the sword hanging from his belt.

“W-Wait!” Yam called, surprised. “Dont you want to know why?” If only they had met sooner in his travels, he would have had no hesitation at all back then. 

“Does it matter? You seem intent on fighting, and you raised your weapon first.” Dark Choco held his sword to the sky, the metal glinting even in the dim light of the dusty volcanic basin. The red jewel embedded in its hilt shone menacingly, filling the arena with a dim, red glow. 

It matters to me! How desperately did he want to say these words. They were right there, begging to be spoken, but he choked them back. Why would this corrupted prince care about how he felt...the frustration of trying to work through those emotions quickly boiled over into a rage that filled his brain. Fuck it, time to fight! 

In a burst of speed,  Yam ran at Dark Choco, winding up for his classic mace spin. To draw first blood would be so gratifying. Mid swing, a crash of lighting split the sky and shook the ground, bathing the arena in bright red light. Blinding pain shot through his body, doubling him over in pain even as the ground cracked beneath his feet, revealing a molten core below.

Now the field was shattered into pieces, floating on a pool of lava. That cheat! Changing the field of play without even crossing swords first! Growling, he picked himself up off the heated floor and rushed his opponent once again, swinging his mace with all of his power. 

The sickening sound of metal on metal echoed in the air as their weapons clashed, ruby red sparks flying. Dark Choco pushed hard against his blade, forcing Yam back towards one of the fissures. Yam pushed back, despite the mans looming height, he at least stood his ground. 

“You’ve come a long way just to die here.” Dark Choco all but whispered, sword shrieking as it slid down the mace’s spikes.

“Thats my line!” Yam shouted, jumping backwards over the gap in the earth and once again barelling foward. The battle continued in this way for some time, the unbearable heat mixing with the clouds of dust from the not so dormant volcanoes to form a miasma of unbearable vapour. Sword and mace met again and again, each unrelenting, each time refusing to give an inch. 

Sweat poured from his brow as Yam paused in his attacks. Dark Choco seemed unchanged, standing there in armor and a heavy cape without so much as a wrinkle. Impossible...how could he be so much stronger of a combatant...how could you be so weak? Yams thoughts raced, eyes fixated on the figure before him, whose silouette shimmered in the waves of heat. 

One way or another, this would be his last battle. Even though he’d already decided that, why was his mind filled with thoughts of his friends? Milk’s annoying voice in the early morning to wake him up, or Mala and Dino singing the hearty songs of Dragons Valley around the campfire at night. This battle would be his greatest honor and what he had worked for all his life, even if that life should end here...so why did he have regrets? 

“Changed your rmind, boy?” Darck Choco asked from across the arena, sword still held in front of him, on guard. 

“No...No! Dont you mock me!” Anger started to boil inside him, already made stronger by the sweltering atmosphere. “I wont let you look down on m--” 

“Purple Yam!” The voice came from above, strained, desperate, and achingly familiar. Spinning, Yam looked up to the ledge of the basin, where Milk stood, his usually pristine garb stained by the crimson clay of the surrounding valley. 

“Milk! I told you not to come!” Yam shouted, anger abating into something more like concern.  “You dont have to do this, my friend.” Milk replied, looking around for a way down into the half destroyed field of battle. 

Yam turned back to Dark Choco, who surprisingly hadnt moved from his spot. Was he...waiting? 

“We can leave Dragons Valley, we can continue traveling and exploring, and discovering together!” Milk continued, pleading as he slid down the half slope walls and landed solidly on a floating platform. Yam gritted his teeth, cheeks aready red from the heat turned all the more flush from his friends words. Why here, why now? Save the preaching for outside of battle, for Witchs sake! 

“Right, Dark Choco?” Milk said, smiling anxiously, looking past Yam to his silent opponent. “You understand, dont you? Whats the point of giving your life to battle when you have so much else to live for?” 

Dark Choco’s eyes changed then. Before they were calm, collected, almost disinterested. But after being directly adressed, it seemed like his own kind of quiet anger started to come forth. 

“How dare you...” The dark man finally said, silencing both across from him. “What kind of a farce is this. A companion calling to halt in the middle of battle? Some kind of lover quarrel when weapons have already been raised? You dare to call in your reinforcements when youve yet to draw blood?!” Dark Choco roared, slashing his sword to the side as a wave of dark energy erupted forth, shaking the ground once again and knocking both Yam and Milk backwards. 

“Take heed, Piest!” Dark Choco went on, red static crackling around him. “Don’t dare to suggest you know my thoughts. Do not make me regret saving your life all those years ago. Stay silent, and do not cross my blade. From this point on, I will not hesitate.” 

Saying this, it was his turn to advance, and he did so in a rush of speed that belied his size. Yam turn quickly from Milk to Dark Choco and jumped to meet him, the clash sending shocking waves down his arms as he halted the attack. 

“Milk, get out of here! Its not your fight!” He called backwards, though his eyes were locked in combat as much as his weapon. 

“No! Come with me! Stop this pointless battle!” 

Yam shoved the sword away from him, but Dark Choco did not relent, and came at him in a flurry of blows, each sending an echoing crack through the air. Why?! Why did Milk have to be so obstinant, what did it matter if he survived or not? 

Dark Choco retreated, leaping backwards and hoisting his sword upwards again. In a panic that drove all anger from his mind, Yarm turned to Milk and ran towards him. “Milk, get down!” 

Lighting struck in an eruption of lava and stone, and a deep, rumbling rolled across the ground, shaking both of them to the core. Yam threw himself at Milk and the two of them fell to the ground as rubble began to fall from the thunder struck cliffs above. 

Breaths heavy in his chest, Yam held himself above his friend as the rumbling died down. Eyes wide, he was frozen in place at the realization that he’d willingly run away from an opponent, run in the midst of battle, and all to protect... “Yam, I dont want to lose you.” Milks voice was quiet, trembling. Despite his size, Milk was a gentle soul. ...No. He was just weak. And if this continued, his weakness would cause Yam to lose this battle. 

“Idiot! Do you want to die?! I told you! I’m not leaving. Im not. Running awa--” His sentence was cut off by the sound of flesh being pierced. Milk shouted in surprise as blood began to drip down onto him from above. Dark Choco stood behind Purple Yam, sword driven deep into his back. 

“Fools. Both of you.” Dark Choco said, drawing his sword in a spray of blood as Yam collapsed. “I hope you can live with the outcome of this battle, Priest. Your meddling has cost both of you much.” With that, he turned and walked away, the blood on his blade disappearing, almost as if it were being soaked up into the metal. 

Milk pulled himself out from under Yam, shaking hands hurriedly turning the bleeding man over. 

“Yam! Yam! Focus on my voice!” He called, clapping his hands together in a hastened prayer before placing them on the wound. Yam coughed, blood dripping from his mouth as he moaned a gutteral reply, though it was impossible to understand. Still, he saw Milk, sitting above him, glowing in a white light that made him feel warm, but in a comfortable way. Nothing like the sickening heat of the volcano. 

Was he dying? Probably. Its what he deserved. He let his emotions get the better of him and turned away from an engaged opponent. How disgraceful...still...Milk was okay. If his life meant anything at all, at least it was enough to keep him from harm. At least he could do that much. The glow of Milk’s healing hands started to fade, and his eyes grew heavy. The last thing he heard was Milk calling his name. 

To Be Continued?

[riannekaufman]

Broken Spirits / Self Para

Everything is a fucking lie.

Every little thing I’ve ever been told about myself is a fucking lie.

The angry words tossed around in Rianne’s head over and over and over again. She had spent the past few weeks pouring over every single thing she thought might have clues. Over a decade worth of her own journals, newspaper clippings her grandmother had saved, photo albums. All of it. She had even gone digging into the attic of her familial home in Wildemount, hoping to find something to make sense of everything.

Instead, all she found was that her past had been altered and erased, her twin being scrubbed from the record so that they were nothing more than the ghost of what could have been. Her long, thin fingers traced every single newborn picture on the pages of her grandmother’s photo albums. Each one made her wonder, was that her, or was that Noelle? 

Sleep deprived, angry, and defeated in general, the witch sat listlessly in her living room, surrounded in piles of books and filing boxes. Her body and head ached in a way she had never felt before. What was the purpose of her going through all of this pain? The betrayal from her grandmother, the re-hashed trauma of her childhood as a depressed lonely child. It was all avoidable. She could have had a friend from the beginning in her sibling and it was all ripped away from her.

Ripped away like Yasemin and Myles, two people she had started to care about, maybe even love. She didn’t know where they had gone, just that they had left. Like every other person did.

Ripped away like Jonas, the one she had loved before them. She could see his face whenever she wanted, sure, but his beautiful mind? Gone as far as she knew, taken over by a demon. A demon that for all purposes, was even more charismatic than the musician she adored. The pain of not being able to save him, like she couldn’t save her parents, ate at her every single day.

Ripped away like her joy in childhood. Every ounce of loneliness could have been avoided. Every time her grandmother did what she could to suppress her powers could have been avoided. She thought of what would have happened had her parents survived. Would she have actually been powerful? Would she have been allowed to have a normal childhood with her twin? She’d never have the answer to it, perhaps that’s what hurt the most.

At the end of the day, every single person left Rianne in one aspect or another. They ran from her, they died, shit, some didn’t even know she existed. 

There was a bit of fury burning deep inside of her chest. Boiling, bubbling, rising up like lava in a dormant volcano, just waiting for the violent eruption to release the tension. Tears streaked down her pale cheeks as the anger continued to fester. The soft, muffled cries began to turn into wailing. Her chest heaving with every ragged exhale. 

Soon, she felt the floorboards rumble beneath her. It felt as if the house would crumble alongside her and for a brief moment of time, she felt better. More in control. Was this just a taste of what she was deprived from by the joke of a caretaker she had? Her grandmother had spent years preaching ‘nature first’, and ‘only healing or minor spells’. Was she purposely kept away from greater, stronger power in an effort to keep control over her?

That thought sent the petite brunette over the edge. The wailing had now become feral screams. The house shook around her more, so much so that she could hear the windows rattle. She balled her fists so tightly that her fingernails started to dig into her palms. And with that, she began to make wild sweeping motions with her arms. With every motion, something else flew by her. Before she knew it, paintings had been knocked from the walls, vases and statues shattered on the floor. Feathers from her throw pillows floated through the air, effortless gliding to the floor along with the ripped pages from the books around her. 

This is power, she thought. Letting her anger run through her, deep and true. 

What was the fucking point of staying on the straight and narrow if she had nothing left to lose? Yas and Myles had left her, they were gone. She was convinced that sweet Jonas was gone, gone too far to ever touch her soul again. Soon, surely even Noelle would leave her. 

Everything was a fucking lie. Except for this.

And finally, with that last bit of extreme emotion, Rianne felt it. A break inside of her. Sudden calm washed over her and the home. Her screaming halted, as did her tears. The silence now was far more upsetting than any of the noise she had created up until this point. The debris left scattered around her settled in, save for a few feathers still mindlessly drifting downwards. It was appropriate, really. Her house, her life, and her heart all destroyed at once. 

With a deep breath, the witch finally mustered up the strength to pull herself from the floor and dust off her knees. The Rianne people had come to know was gone. There was no point in her trying to do what was right, what was just. She could dance with the flames, toy with the dark, play with the demons. None of it mattered anymore. There was only one person that mattered, only one person that would have her back - herself. And it was time she began to do things that benefitted her alone. 

[goldenworldsabound]

Last Night Under The Stars

After Golden and Kabu finally find a Sizzlipede den and Golden catches it, they spend one more night out in the wild area together. They get to sharing stories about the things they’ve experienced. Content warning: none, word count: 1902

With a new Sizzlipede pal in hand (or, in Poke'ball as the case may be), Golden and Kabu were bringing their wild area expedition to an end. They would spend one final night together in the wild area before making the trek back to Motostoke tomorrow.

With dinner out of the way and the sky mostly dark, Golden found herself sitting on a log next to Kabu, a campfire glowing in front of them. Despite the exhaustion of the day, she felt like she wanted to make the most of the remaining time with Kabu. But how? She turned to look at him, thinking. As if feeling her gaze, he looked back at her, smiling a little.

"I've never been to Johto." Kabu said after a moment, as Golden scrambled and failed to find a topic. "Is that where you're from?"

Golden nodded. "Yeah. Ecruteak, specifically. That's where I grew up." She leaned back, smiling up at the sky.

"Ecruteak is a sort of...cultural epicenter with regards to legendary Poke'mon, is it not?" Kabu asked, gazing at her intently.

"You could say that. It's steeped in tradition and legend. The Burned Tower and the Bell Tower, tied to the three legendary dogs, as well as Ho-oh and Lugia." Golden rattled those off without effort. "People come from all over to try and gain the attention of the legendary beasts, and Morty, the gym leader, has a long standing desire to meet Ho-oh."

The way Golden said that last line, Kabu felt she was leaving something out.

"Have you?" He asked bluntly.

"Have I? You mean, met- heh." Golden grinned, looking away again. "When you ask me that directly it's hard not to be honest with you." She closed her eyes before meeting his gaze again. "I have. I've met them all."

"..." Kabu was shocked. He had expected from her reaction that she had met one of the legendary Poke'mon she'd mentioned. But all of them? That was... "You must be a very special person." He finally said after a moment of silence.

"Hm." Golden was still smiling. "That's what the legends would say. Don't let that spread around too much though." Her smile turned apologetic.

"Of course. Would it be...rude of me to press you for more information?" Kabu asked, quirking his brow with a wry smile.

"Ha. I'll allow it this time." Golden looked thoughtful. "Well, how about this. You have any run-ins with a legendary Poke'mon?"

"I was still in Hoenn for the incident with Groudon and Kyogre." Kabu admitted, internally wincing at how he'd aged himself with that statement. "I remember it well."

"Oh, wow." Golden blinked at him. "I was...I was young, for that. I hardly remember much, other than hearing about it on the news. Alright then," She grinned. "I'll tell you about one of my encounters, and you tell me about one of yours. Which one, then?" Her grin turned sly as she turned the question onto him.

Kabu looked thoughtful. "Suicune." He requested after deliberation.

"Good choice." Golden steepled her fingers for a moment as she thought. "I first saw Suicune in the Burned Tower as a child. I wasn't supposed to be in there." She chuckled. "But I wasn't a very obedient child. The real reason I went in was...I thought I heard...crying? Whimpering?" She shook her head. "I was trying to find a safe way down to the bottom floor, when I fell." She still remembered that terror. Her Mareep and her Eevee had both called out to her in a panic, but they'd been powerless. "That was when Suicune appeared. Suicune caught me on it's back."

Then came the moment she would never forget. She'd slid off it's back, and held out a hand. Suicune had headbutted her hand affectionately. Then, it motioned towards a ladder, gesturing for her to go. She climbed up, Suicune watching from below to make sure she made it up safely. With the encouragement of her own Poke'mon, and Suicune matching her from below, she carefully made her way back to the entrance. Once she was safely in the entrance, Suicune had gracefully jumped up to join her. A rumble came from it's throat. And then, as silently as it had appeared, it had run out of the tower, going out of sight at an incredible speed.

No one else had seen Suicune that day, Golden learned.

"Ah, that was also when I met Haunter." Golden added. "Well, Gastly at the time." She smiled, glancing over at her shadow, which seemed to vibrate in response. "He followed me out, though I didn't realize for quite some time."

"That is an incredible story." Kabu replied, voice genuine.

"It is. I could have died that day, if not for Suicune." Golden wasn't done yet, though. "Once I grew up and took on the gym challenge, I saw Suicune intermittently on my journey. I felt that it was trying to tell me something. And in the end, I met it again in the Burned Tower."

Golden went quiet. That was too personal to share, the reunion between the two of them. The way that they had battled. The way that Suicune had given her a chance to capture it, but she had refused. I will see you again. She had said. This masterball doesn't need to contain you for you to be my friend. And then Suicune had left. She hadn't seen it since. But she knew in her heart she would, one day.

She didn't realize she'd put her hands over her heart, gazing into the fire distantly as she recalled her memories. Kabu's hand on her shoulder stirred her back to the current.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." Kabu bowed his head. "I was already impressed with you from how I've seen you battle, but if you impressed Suicune, you must be even stronger than I know."

"Heh. One of these days we'll have to fight with both of our full teams. You ain't seen nothing yet." She joked, winking. She yawned, blushing a little. Ugh, it was late, wasn't it? But she felt anything but ready to sleep.

She tensed briefly as she felt Kabu slip his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to lean against him a little. Her face warmed as she heard him laugh, his body shaking a bit against hers.

"I'll take you up on that sometime." He smiled down at her. "I've wanted to visit Johto myself." Golden felt momentarily lost in his gaze. "Did you want to go to sleep?"

"N-no!" Golden objected vehemently, flushing deeper. "I mean, I'm a little tired, but I'd like to hear your story. That's only fair, right?"

Kabu laughed softly. "Of course. You can rest your head on my shoulder, if you'd like, while you listen."

Swallowing, Golden nodded, before shifting to let her head rest on his shoulder as he'd suggested. It was comfortable to be touching him like this. She was glad the firelight was low, hopefully hiding her blush a bit.

"Thanks...a-anyway, go ahead with your story."

Kabu hummed thoughtfully. "I grew up in Lavaridge town. I was still there when Team Magma and Team Aqua had their dispute that rocked the entire region." His tone was wry as he spoke. Team Magma and Team Aqua had goals that were hard to comprehend. And yet, they had had the power to almost decimate an entire region. Kabu breathed in deeply, Golden feeling his chest expand with the motion. He exhaled.

"When Team Magma tried to raise Groudon from Mt Chimney...it was terrifying." Kabu frowned. "It had long been rumored that Groudon lay dormant inside the volcano, but...no one had ever tried to awaken it. The ground shook, and we thought the volcano might erupt."

"I went up to the top of it, to see if I could put a stop to Team Magma. But two young trainers were already handling it. By the time I got there and figured out what was going on, they'd fought down Team Magma and stopped the volcano from erupting." Kabu was quiet for a moment, recalling the vivid memories.

After a moments hesitation, Golden wrapped her arms around his torso, closing her eyes as she hugged him. Whereas her story had been a tale of personal growth, Kabu's was one of fear and terror. Blinking, he looked down at her, smiling gently before diving back into his tale. She felt him squeeze her arm reassuringly.

"And then, of course, when that storm began from Kyogre and Groudon fighting...many of us went to the top of Mt Chimney. The storm clouds over the ocean were visible even from the mountain." He shivered involuntarily. "The blows they were exchanging were visible as flashes. It was a great power. It was even raining up on the volcano." The sound of droplets hitting the lava, hissing as they evaporated instantly, had been almost deafening at that time. "And then- Rayquaza descended from the clouds." He gazed into the crackling fire. "I was awed. I couldn't tell what it was that Rayquaza did. But the clouds and the rain began to fade away, and the legendary Poke'mon disappeared out of sight before long." He laughed a little. "I don't think I'll ever forget that image. The long, green dragon descending from a beam of light. It was almost too heavy handed." The last line was a joke, accompanied by a wry smile.

"Legendary Poke'mon are kind of just like that." Golden added with a grin, pulling her arms back to her chest, even though she remained resting against Kabu. "That's an incredible experience too."

"Hm. Yes. We were very lucky to have the trainers who put a stop to it by involving Rayquaza. But it was a reminder of just how powerless I was." Kabu admitted, biting his lower lip ever so slightly. "That was what really kick started me to pursue my dream of becoming a gym leader."

"I can imagine." Golden replied softly, afraid to disturb the vulnerability he was showing. She gazed up at him tenderly, blushing as he looked back down at her. Throughout his story he'd been watching the campfire flames. Now his intense gaze was turned to her, and she felt unable to look away.

"Nonetheless. It's not as impressive as meeting a legendary firsthand." He teased, squeezing her arm again. "Very few people can lay claim to that sort of experience. Let alone multiple legendaries."

Golden looked away awkwardly, clearing her throat. "Yes, well...that doesn't mean I'm better than anyone else, or anything like that. And who knows," She couldn't help but smile. "Maybe if you visit me in Johto, you'll get to meet them too."

"That would be wonderful - legendaries or not." Kabu replied with a grin. Golden yawned again. Kabu laughed a little. "I think you really ought to get to sleep. We have a long day back to Motostoke tomorrow."

"Mm, yes, I suppose so..." Golden admitted reluctantly. "I'll get up in just a minute..." Her cheeks burned with her thinly veiled attempts to remain like this a little longer. But Kabu seemed happy to humor her, or perhaps he was enjoying the moment just as much - she couldn't keep her eyes open, much less judge his response. They sat in comfortable silence for longer than they should have.

[syntheticpoetry]

And the World Spins Madly On, Chapter 11

Summary:  A few weeks after visiting Kurt in New York and confessing to cheating Blaine is attacked and left for dead, resulting in a traumatic brain injury. Burt finds him on his way home from work and calls Kurt to deliver the news. How will Kurt help Blaine pick up the broken pieces when his own heart is still so conflicted?

And The World Spins Madly On (ff.net link if you’d like to leave a review!)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10

Finn closed the door quietly behind himself as he descended the stairs to Kurt’s room to find him lying in bed.  He appeared to be having a staring competition with the ceiling, resting his hands on his stomach, as he fidgeted with his fingers by interlacing them and unhooking them repeatedly.  At the sound of Finn’s heavy footfalls a few steps up from the bottom Kurt dragged his eyes lazily towards the staircase and pushed his hands into the bed to sit up. 

“Hey,” Finn rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the doorframe. “I wake you up?”

“Nah, couldn’t actually get to sleep,” Kurt admitted. “Wanna sit? You look like you have something on your mind.”

The mattress sank down with Finn’s weight, causing Kurt to involuntarily lean against his shoulder; Finn was so spaced out he didn’t seem to notice.  Kurt adjusted and crossed his legs underneath himself.  “What’s going on?”

“I was just talking to Blaine; he doesn’t remember that Rachel and I broke up.”

“Yeah, he’s been having some issues with that on and off.  It should hopefully get better as he does,” Kurt shrugged lightly, suspecting this was not the only thing plaguing his thoughts.  “Something else going on?”

“Does she ever, you know,” Finn trailed off, expecting Kurt to fill in the rest.  Kurt knew where this was headed and wanted nothing less than to get in the middle of them.  Rachel had already chewed his off ear enough about Finn back at their apartment every day since they had broken up.  “Talk about me?”

“Uh,” Kurt hated this.  Rachel was one of his best friends and Finn was his brother.  He had known their rocky relationship from its infancy, disagreed with many of the toxic little jabs they had taken at each other over the years and honestly felt like their being broken up was doing wonders for both of them as individuals.  But it still left him right smack in the middle of it all.  He sighed and tried to figure out the best way to go about responding.  “Look, Finn–”

“Nah, it’s okay, I get it, I get it,” he quickly interjected and waved his hand dismissively.  “Forget I asked.  Sorry, I know you guys are friends and I don’t want you to feel like you’re–”

“Caught in the middle?” Kurt smiled appreciatively.  “Thanks.  Look,” he placed his hand on Finn’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Just give it some time.  Who knows what’ll happen, right? You guys may be friends again.”

“Right,” Finn replied.  “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Accident?!”

Kurt and Finn both jumped at the sudden sound of shouting, muffled but still distinguishable. 

‘That’s Blaine.’

“What the hell?”

“Oh, right, Cooper said he got in touch with their parents.  They were gonna call ‘em back–”

Kurt was sprinting up the stairs before Finn could finish and took a seat on the top step, cracking the door open to listen better.  Finn followed him up, his footsteps thudding just as loudly as they had on his descent.

“Shh! I can’t hear!” Kurt hissed, making Finn pause and try to tiptoe up the rest of the way.  Despite his best effort, the stairs creaked and groaned loudly in response and Kurt let out an exasperated sigh before inching closer, sticking his head out of the open door.  It was no use though; Blaine was speaking so quietly now he could not hear a thing.  He pushed the door open further and crawled out on all fours, straining to fine tune the static of the conversation as he navigated his way closer to the living room.

_____________________________________________

“Blaine! Hi, sweetie!” 

Her voice sounded all wrong.  The words came rushed, slurred and clattering over the soundwaves of the tiny speaker, reverberating with such ferocity in his ears that he felt miniature earthquakes begin to erupt beneath the surface of his skin.  She was drunk.  She was fucking drunk.  He wanted to scream, the overwhelming frustration and sadness bubbled up from the tips of his toes like a dormant volcano just begging to explode.  His fingers curled tightly around the phone, and he willed himself for the strength to snap it in two at that moment.  He balled his other hand into a tight fist.  While he lacked the strength he once possessed, there was enough energy to etch tiny crescent moons into his palms from the jagged fingernails he had taken to gnawing at away from prying eyes.

“Are you drunk?” He asked in a low, primal growl, struggling to keep himself restrained.  Beside him, Cooper’s eyes grew wide and he reached out a hand as if to ask, ‘Give me the phone?’ Blaine turned away from him, tightening his vice-like grip around the phone. 

“What? No, just a glass of wine.  Anyways, listen, sweetie, I changed our flight to Wednesday night, we’ll be home for Thanksgiving! Isn’t that wonderful?” she lowered her voice to a whisper, as though trying to prevent prying ears from their conversation. “Cooper told me about your little accident–”

“Accident?!” Blaine shouted angrily, violently shoving away Cooper’s hand as he tried to swoop in and grab the phone from him.  

“Blaine, give me the phone,” Cooper pleaded. 

“You mean getting my head caved in with a bat? That ‘accident,’ mom?” Blaine wanted to spit fire and cry all at the same time.  He blinked back tears, an action he was getting so sick of constantly repeating, and tried to swallow any bit of moisture left in his mouth to keep his voice from breaking as he continued, “Why are you even coming? You guys don’t even care.” He had failed and the words fell out as battered and bruised as he felt.  

“Blaine, of course I care, it’s just– your father–” 

Blaine heard the muffled clamoring of accusations and arguing from her side of the line, the sound of static as though someone was trying to pry the phone away from her and running their hand over the microphone and in the next moment a deep voice had caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, “What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

Blaine froze.  His mouth was a barren desert and all of the smoldering anger that had been threatening to erupt had been reduced to a low rumble at the sound of his father’s voice on the other end.  He sounded annoyed and there was no way to ignore the malice interlaced with the question.  “Dad,” Blaine whispered, dumbly.  “He hates me, he sounds like he hates me–” Blaine could feel the words leave his mouth and, in a moment of sheer panic, dropped the phone onto his lap– Cooper snatched it up while Blaine brought his hands up to cover his mouth, looking mortified. 

“What did you just say to him?” Cooper yelled, angrily.

“I asked what he’s done this time,” Mr. Anderson said, calmly.  “Your mother has just informed me she changed our flight, without my knowledge,” he emphasized the last part as though trying to make it absolutely clear he disagreed with her decision, “Because of some accident?”

“Not how I described it to her,” Cooper snarled. “He didn’t do anything, he was attacked–”

“Maybe if he wasn’t prancing around like such a–”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cooper interrupted him, his own blood rising beyond boiling point now.  “He’s your son–”

“He’s not my son,” his tone was cold, callous and final.  “The only reason I’m coming is because it’s too much money to change the flight again, your mother’s already wasted enough the first time.”

“Let me talk to him!” Blaine heard his mother’s shrill voice in the background even though the phone was nowhere near his ears.  “I’m not doing this anymore, let me talk to–”

“Shut up!” 

“Put mom back on,” Cooper’s jaw was clenched so tightly he was surprised he was even able to speak at all.  “And don’t bother coming, we don’t want you here.  Now put her back on.”

There was the sound of more arguing and yelling in the background and the loud Slam! of a door before Mrs. Anderson’s voice was back, “Blaine?”

“What the fuck is his problem, mom?”  Blaine slowly lowered his hands from his face and turned to Cooper at the mention of ‘mom.’ “And why would you tell him it was an accident?” 

“It’s complicated–”

“Doesn’t seem all that complicated to me,” Cooper’s fury was a stark contrast to Blaine’s now deflated anger.  

“Let me talk to Blaine again?” She asked and Cooper hesitated, not wanting to inflict anymore pain onto his dejected brother.  He already felt as though he had made a mistake in initiating the conversation between them at all.  She had sounded so genuine in their earlier call, but he was starting to wonder if he had misjudged her authenticity altogether.  He felt fiercely protective over Blaine, and that feeling had only intensified further in the last few moments.  So, when his mother’s voice rang out in his ear again with a quiet, “Please?” after he had not initially responded to her he surveyed Blaine with further hesitation.

“Blaine, do you want to talk to mom again?” 

Blaine contemplated the question.  He had heard the snippet of her screaming in the background to talk to him again, the desperation in her voice.  And what had she meant when she said ’I’m not doing this anymore’? Doing what anymore? Suddenly a painful throbbing erupted across his forehead, pulsing like a metronome or a timer counting the seconds he was wasting in his hesitation.  “Put her on speaker,” he finally stated, quietly.  Cooper obliged and Blaine inhaled an unsteady breath. “What do you want to say to me?”

“I’m so sorry, Blainey,” Blaine closed his eyes at the sound of the nickname, but was not quick enough to stop the single tear that raced down his cheek, initiating a dull burn in a cut that had not been healing as quickly as some of the others.  “I really am.  I’ll explain it all when I’m home, I promise, okay?” 

“Why does he hate me so much?” Blaine could not stop the words from tumbling out, did not even care that he had meant to keep it internalized like every other pain he tried so desperately to keep buried away.  “Do I really repulse him that much?”

He heard her sniffle loudly– she was crying too. “I promise I’ll explain when I’m home.  I love you, okay? I’m sorry for not showing it enough, I’m gonna do better, my little love.”

Blaine could not maintain his composure any longer; she had not called him that since he was a child and the conflicting clash of emotions raged against his brain like a gathering thunderstorm at sea.  He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and inhaled, mentally counting to four, before pursing his lips and releasing the air in a long, shaky sigh.  “You really promise?”

“I really promise.  I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he pressed his palms against his eyes harder as though it would stop the now steady stream of tears and had to ease up when the pressure forced the rhythmic throbbing to spread from his forehead to his eye sockets.  “Okay, mom.  I’ll see you soon then.” 

“I’ll see you at the airport Thursday,” Cooper would not take his eyes off of Blaine, who was still trying to breathe tranquility into the thick fog of despair blanketing the entire room.  Blaine’s fingers suddenly flew to the clasp of the helmet he was starting to despise with more malice than he could ever muster for an inanimate object, fumbling to unclip and remove it.

“Coop, get this thing off of me.  Please, get it off.  I hate it, I hate this stupid—,” Blaine mumbled through tears of frustration in his struggle, his clumsy fingers trembling over the clasp.  Cooper hung up and gently moved Blaine’s hands away to help him, setting the helmet down on the floor beside the couch. He placed his hand on Blaine’s arm, barely even tugging, and Blaine immediately melted into the touch, allowing himself to be pulled into the desperately needed embrace.  “I’m sorry,” Cooper said, gently.  “I didn’t think it would go like that.”

“He’s never going to love me; he fucking hates me.  Why does he hate me so much?” Blaine’s voice was muffled and small against Cooper’s chest.  He was transported to their night in the hospital after the first attack, with Blaine’s distressed queries being vocalized only due to his decreased inhibition from the drugs coursing through his veins– it had taken a brain injury now to lower Blaine’s walls enough to accidentally expose his darkest fears.  Cooper wished he had an answer for him, wished it was not even a topic of discussion that needed to take place. 

“Because,” he began, eyes searching the walls for aid and falling on Kurt and Finn sitting near the entryway of the room instead, both wide-eyed and absolutely silent. “He’s an ignorant piece of shit who doesn’t deserve all you have to give, Blainey.  Just— just try to focus on mom, yeah?” 

“What reason could there possibly be? What can she say? H-How is it going to make anything different?” Blaine dragged his face across Cooper’s chest with such travail that Kurt imagined heavy weights were attached to it.  He let his cheek remain in place against his brother’s chest as he turned his head, eyes falling in Kurt and Finn’s general direction without actually noticing them sitting there still.  

“I don’t know, Blaine,” Cooper offered sympathetically.  Evidently the answer had not been good enough for Blaine, who slammed his fist backwards against the cushion of the couchback and grimaced, grunting loudly at the pain caused by his own sudden movement.  He gritted his teeth and repeated the action again, wishing more than anything he had strength for an actual punching bag to release his anger onto.  Every neuron in his brain began firing off at once, sending him spiraling into a particularly vivid memory while he continued to connect his fist against the cushion repeatedly.  

_____________________________________________

“Dad, let me out, please just let me out!” 

Blaine pummeled a fist against the closet door his father had just forcibly thrust him into.  His other hand was cupped tightly against his nose as a cascade of blood trickled through trembling fingers, coating his lips like macabre face paint, and began to seep into his shirt .  He could not have been more than ten the first time this had happened, but this time was different.  This time things had escalated beyond the easy to hide bruises on his torso – he had gone for his face and drawn blood for the first time.  With the light switch located on the other side of the door, he was left to bathe in the indistinguishable darkness of an endless void that somehow seemed to be closing in on itself now and threatened to envelop and squeeze the life out of him. 

“I’ll stop! I’ll change! Just let me out!” He choked out, spitting violently as the taste of liquid metal coated his tongue.  It proved to be a pointless act though, the taste persisted, clinging to every cell in his mouth and threatening to make him vomit.  He tilted his head forward and tried to pinch the bridge of his nose while still cupping his palm around the nostrils to prevent further desecration of his taste buds.  It was useless, the stream remained steady and heavy.  He pounded his fist against the door again, releasing a primal scream of desperation, and continued to taste more blood before the agonizing staccato intake of breaths set his lungs ablaze and forced all of his focus on one thought– ‘I can’t breathe.’

“Dad!” His voice was a hiccup between gasps, the effort to scream while his body was beginning to compose itself from carbon dioxide instead of the oxygen his brain hungered for forced him to his knees.  His knuckles felt beyond bruised and wet when his fist connected with the door again– they had split open, leaving another orifice of escape for what little oxygen saturated blood he had left in his body.  The taste of salt reached his lips, blending with the bitter metallic residue he was certain would never disappear, and restoked the flames of nausea again.  He leaned his forehead against the door as a wave of despair washed over him, leaving him feeling forlorn and inured to his father’s bouts of violence.  He was not sure how long he had spent in the darkness– gasping, crying, and pleading– before the door opened again and he was released without so much as a word from the man who had locked him away in the first place. 

_____________________________________________

Kurt remained planted as a bystander, soaking in the ramifications of what began as a seemingly innocuous phone call, and wondered what could have been said to elicit the anger in both of them.  While he had firsthand experience with the cruelty of others, he had never been shown anything less than limitless affection from both of his parents which left him wading through foreign territory as he tried to imagine what Blaine’s experiences must have felt like.  As Blaine continued connecting his first with the couch cushion, Kurt felt the urge to stand up but his body disobeyed and left him frozen on the ground, knees bent and growing numb in the aftermath.  Blaine did not seem to hear Cooper telling him to stop before he hurt himself, he did not seem to notice Kurt and Finn spectating from the sidelines, and he did not seem to notice as the next words spilled out from some deep pit within his broken brain. 

“I hate him, I wish he was dead.” 

The words were venom to Kurt’s ears; he had never heard Blaine speak like this about anyone before.  Gentle Blaine, who tried so hard to shove his darkest fears down the deepest well and always found something kind to say about everyone.  It was like something had possessed him, using his body as a puppet to spit the malicious words into the atmosphere around them.  Cooper remained speechless, eyes mirroring the defeat in his heart, and closed his hand around Blaine’s wrist before embracing him tighter.

“You don’t mean that,” Kurt’s voice was low and hesitant. 

“Yes, I do,” Blaine grit his teeth and squirmed in Cooper’s arms, trying to free himself. “Stop it, you’re hurting me, Coop!” Cooper immediately loosened his grip and let his arms remain lazily around Blaine, unwilling to let him go completely.  The anger was still unwavering as frustration and sorrow clashed violently within him, each emotion amplified and struggling to fight its way to the forefront.  “You don’t even know the half of it, Kurt.  You don’t know what he’s said, what he’s done—”

“Because you don’t tell me! You don’t tell anyone!” Kurt felt the ripples of his own anger and fought to keep them at bay.  After all, he was not really angry with Blaine in that moment, but more frustrated at his continued efforts to shove everyone away and claim that they did not understand.  ‘He’s just projecting his anger, don’t take it personally.’ 

“Blaine, what do you mean ‘what he’s done?’ What haven’t you told me?” Cooper suddenly asked, still hesitant to release him, attributing at least part of Blaine’s restraint against physically lashing out again to their close proximity.  The questions did not seem to register on Blaine’s radar, and still he continued to rant on. 

“He’s a monster, Kurt.  A fucking monster who has done nothing but make my life hell ever since I was a kid,” Blaine’s fists shook as he balled them up tightly, his voice wavering with rage.  

“Then talk about it, Blaine!” Kurt's eyes welled up with the months’ worth of pent up frustrations he felt whenever Blaine had repeatedly shrugged off his insecurities.  “Stop trying to hide, stop trying to be strong and just be honest—”

“You want to hear the truth, Kurt?” Blaine snapped back at him. “You want to hear about how he has been telling me since I was ten years old that I’m not his son? How about how he used to beat me senseless and lock me in a closet for hours at a time, telling me if I wanted to be a fucking fag so badly I could just stay in there until I learned my lesson? Is this what you want to hear, Kurt?” Blaine half shouted, half sobbed his recollections while Kurt watched him, horrorstruck.  Beside him, Cooper seemed just as shocked.  He further slackened his embrace around Blaine, who took the opportunity to squirm and try to break free completely.  Cooper immediately tightened his grip again, ignoring Blaine’s frustrated groans of protest.

“Let me go, Coop!” Blaine whined and continued to flounder weakly in the embrace.  In the back of his mind he knew what sort of spectacle he was forcing the scene to become, knew that the embrace was meant to be comforting, but right now it was only amplifying the feeling of being caged.  Even without Cooper’s arms around him he would not be able to leave the room, would not be able to deflect and run away from their prying eyes as his emotions continued to spiral out of control because his broken body would not allow him to escape.

“No, I’m not letting you go, Blaine,” Cooper replied sternly.  The next moment betrayed his determination though, and his dejected tone mirrored his frustrations towards himself for never having noticed the past abuse. “Why didn’t you tell me any of that? I didn’t know it was that bad, you made it sound like they just ignored—”

“I didn’t want to accept that this was my life!” Blaine shouted, though his tone was more bitter than outwardly angry, his fists still clenched so tightly the knuckles were devoid of colour.  “If I talked about it, if I said it out loud then,” he gave another forceful tug against Cooper’s arms before becoming resigned to his inability to escape.  “Then it was real.  It’s all anyone would see when they looked at me, and I didn’t want that.  I was being judged enough at home, I just wanted to be,” Blaine’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he allowed a tentative Cooper to tighten his embrace. “Normal.”  The last word was impregnated with the years of pent up insecurities and sorrow he had carefully tried to hide, but oddly enough it lent Kurt enough strength to finally stand up and cross the room to join them on the couch.  Finn remained planted, feeling like a stranger invading their shared intimacy, and that every moment was the wrong time for him to add his own thoughts to the conversation.  

Kurt crossed his left leg and leaned his side against the back of the couch in order to face Blaine and Cooper.  Cooper cautiously released Blaine from his arms now that he had calmed and helped him shift to return Kurt’s attention. “Thank you for sharing that Blaine, I know it must have been very difficult for you to do that,” he fought the urge to cup Blaine’s face between his hands. “But I also know you, and I know that despite all of those horrible things he’s done to you, you don’t actually want to see him dead.  You want to see him love you, and I’m sorry that those two things feel like the same emotion right now.  I’m sorry,” Kurt dragged his fingers across his eyes, trying to focus the increasingly blurred image of Blaine through his tears, “That you had to experience all of that pain.  I know it’s no replacement for a father’s love, but we love you.  Cooper, my father, Finn, Carole, all of our friends… me.” Blaine opened his mouth as if to protest this last confession, but Kurt cut him off. “Yes, me.  You really think I could just stop loving you because you hurt me? Of course, I can’t.”  Blaine surveyed him, his eyes scanning Kurt’s expression with a curious desperation— What does that mean for us?

Kurt exhaled through pursed lips, the breath wavering unsteadily in the silence that had taken over the room, and thought carefully about how to phrase his thoughts.  “I want you in my life, Blaine.  I want to be in your life.  I think we both definitely need to work on some things in the process, but I’m not letting you shut everyone out again.  So, will you trust me enough, as your friend, to let me try to help you?”

Blaine stared at him incredulously, lips parted, as he let the words sink in.  “I should be the one asking for your trust,” he finally stated. “How can you— I don’t understand how you—”

“I’ll let you earn mine if you let me earn yours.  Deal?” Kurt interrupted, offering a sympathetic smile and Blaine slowly nodded his affirmation to the terms, looking demure as he seemed to bite back a question.  “Go on, what do you want to ask?”

“Is it okay if I hug you?” Blaine blurted out immediately at the prompt and Kurt let out a quiet laugh as more tears came. 

“Yes, it’s okay.  Come here,” Kurt held his arms open as Blaine melded against his chest and slid his arms around his torso.  Kurt chanced a glance at Cooper, who seemed to be under a spell of both shock and anger still, and nudged his foot against his shin to earn his attention.  Cooper mouthed a silent ’Thank you’ before patting Blaine’s back gently.  

“Blaine, I’m gonna go pick up that wheelchair for you but I’d like to talk more later, if you’re up for it,” Cooper stood up and placed his hands in his pockets, thumbing the cell phone he desperately wanted to use to confront his father about the recently discovered transgressions against his younger brother.  Blaine remained in place in Kurt’s embrace, but turned his head towards him and nodded in agreement.  “And look, I know you don’t want to but,” he picked up the helmet and Blaine’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it, his face scrunching up in disgust like a toddler about to receive a spoonful of medicine.  Cooper set it down beside them, “I would never forgive myself if something else happened because I was too lenient with you, so just wear it… please?”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Kurt replied, earning a quiet whine from Blaine. 

Finn’s eyes followed Cooper out of the room and seemed to rouse him enough to find his voice. “Should I give you guys a minute?” 

Kurt was ready to answer ‘yes’ for them when Blaine spoke instead. 

“No, it’s okay,” Blaine straightened up and dragged his knuckles across his eyes.  “I’m okay.  I just really want a distraction right now; can we go back to playing Batman?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Kurt replied without missing a beat, despite not really knowing why Blaine’s hasty reply for a distraction stung him as much as it did.  After Blaine’s confession he was hoping they might take some time to discuss things further, but considering the overwhelming onslaught of emotions and tension that continued to plague them throughout the day that began with the panic induced flashback earlier in the morning he supposed he could not really blame Blaine for wanting to switch off his mind for the time being.  There would be another opportunity later that felt more natural to continue the conversation.  He picked up the helmet and gently placed it on Blaine’s head, trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered as Blaine pouted in protest to the action.  He fumbled with the clasp momentarily before securing it and cleared his throat quietly. “I think I’m gonna go make some more coffee, anyone want?”

“Nah, thanks,” Finn took Cooper’s vacant seat and retrieved the Xbox controller that had fallen onto the floor somewhere amidst the shuffle.

“None for me, feeling jittery enough,” Blaine let out a small self-deprecating laugh and took the controller from Finn’s outstretched hand.  “Thanks though.”

In the kitchen, Kurt took his phone out of his pocket and tapped on Isabelle’s name in the contacts list.  Tilting his head to hold the phone in place between his head and shoulder, he shuffled through the cabinets for coffee grinds and a filter for the pot.  

“Kurt! Ciao, darling!” Isabelle’s jubilant voice spread warmth throughout his entire body.  “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” Kurt placed the filter into the basket and began scooping in heaping mounds of Amaretto flavoured coffee grinds.  

“Just okay?” she probed, and he could picture her expression perfectly right now: eyebrows raised knowingly, seeing right through him.

“You got me,” he felt his lips tug into the familiar tired smile.  “It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster, to be quite honest.”

“I take it you had that talk with Blaine you were dreading?”

“And then some,” Kurt stuck his head out to peek into the living room and saw Blaine and Finn completely engrossed in their video game.  He walked back over to the coffee pot and lowered his voice.  “It just felt like it was too soon, like it was forced.  It was almost like he needed me to hear it or he’d never get another chance again and I was still just so angry, I didn’t even want to hear what he was saying so I just started trying to hurt him the way he hurt me and–” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before turning on the spot and leaning his back against the counter.  “And then he tells me all of these things I never knew like how he tried to kill himself because his parents ignored him after the first time he was attacked, which is obviously where his abandonment issues stem from, and that his friend that he went to that same dance he was attacked at died right in front of him, and—”

“Kurt, slow down, baby.  You’ve gotta take a breath at some point,” Isabelle interrupted him. 

Kurt tilted his head back, keeping his eyes on the ceiling in an effort to keep the seemingly endless tears from streaming down his face yet again.  ‘Have I always cried this much?’  “They were able to get in touch with his parents today,” he sniffled quietly. 

“And based on your tone, I take it that also didn’t go well either?”

“I don’t know the details yet, I could only hear a little bit of what Cooper and Blaine were saying, but Isabelle I’ve never seen him like that before, never heard him– he said he wished his father was dead.  And don’t get me wrong, the guy definitely deserves some gratuitous violence his way, but I’ve never heard Blaine speak like that about anyone before.  And I know he doesn’t mean it, I know where it comes from, but I keep feeling myself getting pulled in with this feeling of guilt that just doesn’t belong to me when I see him in so much pain like that.”

“I’ve been doing a little research on his injury since our last talk, and I’ve read difficulty controlling emotions is pretty common.  Mood swings, inappropriate anger, outbursts, things like that.  Sometimes people act completely different from how they were before,”  Kurt felt another twinge of guilt wash over him as she listed things off– truthfully, he had not done any research into Blaine’s condition between the crying fits and trying to navigate conversations with him after he had woken up from his coma.  “Do you want me to send you what I found?”

“Yeah, that would be very helpful, thanks, Isabelle.”

“Of course,” A stretch of silence nestled itself between them, a rare occurrence, before she spoke again.  “Can I ask… what do you ultimately want out of all of this, Kurt?”

Kurt contemplated the question, knowing the longer he lingered on it the more confused he felt regarding the entire situation.  Isabelle was right back in his ear again, “Don’t think, just say it.”

He sighed and said the first thing to come to mind, “I want to help him, I do.  I want to be his friend, but how do I do that when I keep bouncing back and forth between wanting to kiss him and yell at him all in the same train of thought?”

“So then set boundaries if you have to, give yourself rules to follow if you want.  Kurt, if this is the process you want to take to work through your feelings then I think you just have to go with your gut, whatever it tells you to do.  And just take it one step at a time, see if it grows to what it used to be or something else.  And if it doesn’t, you can’t tell yourself or anyone else that you didn’t try, right? And you know I’m always here if you need me, just one call or text or video chat away.”

“It really is so wonderful to hear your voice, I’ve felt so trapped in my own head lately.  It honestly feels like some of our friends are just so invested in us getting back together they can’t give me any unbiased opinions when I try to talk to them.” Kurt turned his attention to the coffee pot in the absence of the sound of dripping and grabbed a large mug from the cupboard above it.  He filled it nearly to the top, sacrificing adding the flavour of milk and sugar for the extra caffeine, and took a sip.

“Anytime, my dear,” he heard her make a loud kissing noise on the other end and smiled into the coffee mug.  “So, what’s next?”

“Well, some of our friends, Sam and Puck, are coming over later on to come see him.  I think I might see about taking a ride with Cooper to Blaine’s house to pick up some clothes for him while they’re together.  Then there’s the matter of going over my plans for Thanksgiving dinner with my dad and Carole–”

“Oh! About Thanksgiving,” she interrupted him.  “I’m going to be visiting home for the holidays, I would love to see you if you’re free at all.”

Kurt nearly choked on his coffee as he tried to speak and swallow it simultaneously.  “Why wouldn’t you lead with that?! Of course I want to.  Would you want to come by for dessert?”

“You let me bring my famous pumpkin pie and you’ve got yourself a date, my friend!” she laughed heartily, sending that warmth down to the very core of his bones again.  

“Noooooo!” Blaine’s anguished cry reached his ears.  He slammed his mug down, spilling coffee all over the countertop and floor, and found himself running into the living room, phone still pressed firmly against his ear while his heart thudded violently against his ribs to keep up with the pace.  Finn and Blaine looked to him as he staggered into the room, their curiosity etched plain as day on their faces at Kurt’s frenzied appearance. 

“What happened? Why were you yelling?” Kurt panted out loudly, looking between them before he caught the words ‘Game Over’ on the television screen.  “Damnit, you scared me!” he grumbled, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creep up into his cheeks, which he imagined were fire engine red now.  

“Sorry,” Finn laughed, but Blaine seemed hesitant to join in on the laughter. 

“Sorry,” Blaine offered, quiet and genuine, but Kurt noticed the timid smirk on his face.  He rolled his eyes and scoffed dramatically at both of them before retreating into the kitchen to finish his conversation with Isabelle and clean up the mess he had left in his haste to check on them.  

“Everything okay?” Isabelle’s concerned voice had waited for him to clarify.

“Yeah, stupid video games,” Kurt grumbled as he mopped up the spilled coffee with a paper towel, earning a laugh from Isabelle.  Kurt topped off his mug and brought it over to the kitchen table with him, sinking down heavily into the chair as he let his mind wander back to the bits of the conversation he and Finn had eavesdropped on.  “I think his parents, well I guess at least his mom, will be coming home on Thanksgiving.  I heard Cooper telling his dad not to come and saying he would be at the airport on Thursday.”

“Have you met them before?” Isabelle asked.

“Once for like five minutes.  She seemed… okay, I guess? I don’t know, we didn’t really talk.  His dad just straight up scared the shit out of me, but I mean all dads seem intimidating when they aren’t your own, right?” Kurt took a long sip, letting the bitterness wash over his tongue as he focused back on the details of Blaine’s confession moments ago.  “I hope he doesn’t come,” he felt the weight of his words linger between them, morphing into another stretch of silence that so rarely occurred when they were conversing.  The image of Blaine, bloody and bruised, pounding his fists against a locked closet door and pleading to be let out paraded its way across his mind and he shook his head lightly, trying to will the imagined rendition of his beloved broken boy to fall out of his ears and stop the tightness in his chest.  “Blaine’s just told us all he used to beat him repeatedly and lock him in a closet for hours,” he said quietly, the words tumbling out as the mental depiction persisted.

“Jesus,” Isabelle responded breathlessly. 

“I knew there was something more that he never told me, even Cooper didn’t know.  I don’t understand how he can just bottle it all up like that.  I mean, did he think I would judge him if he told me while we were together? Because I never would have—” He blinked back tears and took another long sip of coffee. 

“We all have our demons, Kurt,” Isabelle offered soothingly.  “And sometimes it takes people longer than others to face them.  Whatever his reasons were, I’m sure it had less to do with how he saw you and more with how he saw himself.”

Kurt sniffled as quietly as he could, not wanting to draw Finn and Blaine’s attention from the other room.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Ugh, alright, I need to go clean up.  I swear I’ve been crying off layers of my skin for the past two months.”

“Alright, sweetie.  It was good to hear from you, I’ll be seeing you real soon,” she made another loud kissing noise into the microphone.  “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Kurt’s smile faltered after she disconnected, he was already missing the sound of her voice filling up the silence.  Almost immediately after they had hung up she sent him a text message with different website URLs on information for traumatic brain injuries.  He drained the rest of his coffee, squinting as the extra bitter dregs from the bottom of the mug reached his tongue, and crept past Finn and Blaine to retreat back to his bedroom.

______________________________________________

By the time Cooper had returned, Puck and Sam were already situated in the living room with Blaine, Finn and Kurt.  He rolled Blaine’s new wheelchair into the room and was pleased to see him located at the piano with Kurt beside him, his helmet in place just as Kurt had promised.  Blaine was watching Kurt tap away at some of the piano keys, his eyes darting back and forth between the sheet music propped up on the stand and Kurt’s hands.  Puck and Sam were both sat on the sofa, their own acoustic guitars in hand, while Finn was slapping his palms against his thighs to turn himself into a makeshift human drum set.  They all seemed to be separately practicing quietly, a discordant quiet symphony filling up the room.  

“Hey!” Finn stopped his drumming upon noticing Cooper enter the room.  Everyone else turned their attention towards him at the sound of Finn’s voice.  “You need help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.  What are you guys working on?” Cooper rolled the chair over to Blaine’s side of the piano bench and locked the brakes.  There was a plastic bag positioned on the seat that Blaine eyed curiously before immediately deciding to stick his hand inside of in order to examine the contents while Cooper glanced at the sheet music.  “Ah, let me guess whose idea it was to do Disney,” he laughed knowingly as he focused his attention on Blaine. 

“Coop, what’s all this stuff?” Blaine continued to rummage through the bag, discovering an assortment of candies ranging from sour to sweet, essential oils, what looked like different sized rubber stress relief balls, lotions, and a plain wooden box.  

“Something I was going to surprise you with later, nosey,” Cooper swatted his hand lightly and he retracted it.  “Kurt and I had an idea— I thought we might spend some time later putting together a box of things you can go to that will help calm you down.” 

Kurt watched Blaine’s attention immediately shift to where Puck and Sam were sitting, clearly in self-conscious anticipation of what they were going to say.  After all, they had no clue of any of the events that had transpired since Blaine’s discharge yesterday.  They were still fiddling around with melodies on their guitars, making a point to keep out of the conversation they felt they were not invited to.  “Blaine,” Kurt said softly.  Two fearful hazel eyes came into focus, shifting frantically as they scanned his face.  “No one told them, you can relax,” Kurt watched the tense expression dissipate and added, “But you know they wouldn’t think any less of you if they did know, right?”

“I don’t— it’s too much right now,” Blaine mumbled and turned back to the piano, tapping down so gently against a few random keys that the notes were barely audible.  “It’s hard enough just with you guys, I can’t– I can’t–” His hand froze, hovering above a key as his expression went blank and unfocused. 

“Blaine?” Cooper and Kurt both asked as soon as he had gone silent.  Kurt touched his hand to Blaine’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shake, receiving no response. “Blaine, can you hear me?” He struggled to keep the edge off of his voice and remain calm.

“What’s going on?” Puck asked.  He and Sam had stopped playing, diverting their full attention to them. 

“I don’t know—” Kurt began to reply but Blaine’s eyelids suddenly fluttered and he shook his head lightly, bringing his fingers down onto the wrong piano keys to play a particularly flat sounding chord.  He frowned and flexed his hand as though it had been the clumsy culprit of the misstep in his musical progression.  As an awkward silence blanketed the room, he felt their collective stares burning into the back of his skull and looked around nervously. “W-What’s everyone looking at?” 

“Blaine, what just happened?” Sam asked, using his guitar as an armrest.  

“What do you mean? What did I do? Did I say something?” Blaine asked, alarmed. 

“Relax, it’s okay,” Cooper spoke softly.  This wasn’t a good enough response for Blaine though.  He turned to face Kurt, feeling the panic start rise up in his chest. “Kurt, what did I do?” 

The blatant fear in Blaine’s voice roused Kurt from his own consternation and he softened his expression to one he hoped appeared calmer and more collected.  “You just zoned out for a second and we got a little worried, that’s all.  Nothing embarrassing, nothing to be afraid of, okay?” Blaine searched his face, almost in an accusatory manner, but began to become placated once Kurt had taken his hands into his own and squeezed them reassuringly. “Right, Coop?” Cooper, on the other hand, still looked worried. 

“Uh, yeah, right,” he said, sounding dazed.  “I’ll be right back.”  He quickly left the room before anyone had another chance to say anything.  Blaine was too busy staring at their clasped hands to notice.  Kurt furrowed his brow and locked eyes with Finn who gave a small nod and followed Cooper out of the room. 

“Blaine, why don’t we get back to playing?” Kurt suggested, slowly raising their hands up to the piano. “What song were you teaching me next?” 

“Go the Distance,” Blaine supplied the answer without hesitation, watching as Kurt adjusted his hands to have Blaine’s resting atop of his in order to guide them over the proper chords.  The smile that spread across Blaine’s face was almost enough to make things feel normal for Kurt.  Almost. He allowed Blaine to clumsily guide his hands over the keys but kept his mind on Cooper in the other room. 

‘He thinks there’s something wrong.’ He tried to stop the thought from coming, but it was all that filled his brain even as Blaine hummed along quietly in place of where the words were meant to be as they played. ‘Why didn’t I read up on anything?’ He had barely had time to read half of an article from one of the websites Isabelle had texted him earlier before Puck and Sam had arrived, and its contents had more to do with emotional changes rather than physical.  His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden vibration in his pocket. 

“Sorry, let me check my phone a sec? Keep playing, it sounds great,” Kurt languidly withdrew his hands out from under Blaine’s and wrestled his phone out from his right pocket.  There was a text from Finn waiting for him.  His heartbeat quickened as he punched in the unlock code to read it. 

Finn 5:10 p.m. He’s talking to the doctor. Thinks it was some type of seizure. Will let you know more. 

He tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. ‘How could it be a seizure? All he did was space out.’ He slid his phone beneath his right thigh, wanting to keep it easily accessible in the event of another update, and watched Blaine continue to clumsily mash different Disney songs together into a medley. 

“Blaine, how about something a little more rock and roll?” Puck asked, causing Blaine to stop and turn his attention towards him. “Your choice.”

Blaine contemplated his suggestion and frowned.  “I can’t think of any.” 

“Weren’t you working on some Queen songs?” Sam contributed. 

“Was I?” Blaine asked, continuing to frown. “Did–did I say which songs?”

“I think it was Don’t Stop Me Now,” Sam searched on his phone for the sheet music. Blaine turned back to the piano and began fiddling around. “Damn, it’s so small on my phone.” 

“Play it,” Puck suggested. “You’re always good at figuring that stuff out anyways.” 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” Kurt announced, growing impatient with waiting for news from Finn. “I bet you’ll have the whole song figured out by the time I get back,” he smiled at Blaine as he stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket again. 

“That’s quite a bit of confidence you have in me there,” Blaine replied nervously. 

Kurt left the room as Sam started playing the song off of a YouTube video on his phone and went to search for Finn and Cooper instead.  He found them both in the guest room, deep in conversation, and threw up his hands impatiently. “Well, what’s going on? What did she say?” 

“She said by the sound of it that it may have been something called a complex partial seizure.  Because he had that first seizure in the hospital he’s been at an increased risk for developing post-traumatic epilepsy, which can range anywhere from what we saw to full blown seizures.  Which is why I’m so paranoid he keeps that damn helmet on all the time,” Cooper ran his hands through his hair.  “You haven’t noticed anything else like that happening before now, right?” 

“No, that was the first I’ve seen it,” Kurt chewed on his lower lip anxiously.  “Does anything set it off or?” He trailed off. 

“No, it can just happen randomly at any point.  The meds he’s on will hopefully help prevent it, but it may take a combination or completely different ones.  We just have to keep an eye on it, take note of how long it lasts.  She said if it’s a full seizure that lasts longer than 3 minutes or he’s not back to normal 20 minutes afterwards we call 911, if it’s less than 3 minutes then we call her.” 

“What made you think to call her? I really need to research this stuff, I’m practically useless here–”

“You’re not useless,” Cooper interrupted sternly. “I vaguely remembered it from a discussion at the hospital.  There was so much information, I don’t think I really paid attention as much as I could have.  I’ve been trying to go over his discharge papers and I had her walk me through some of the major things.” 

“I wanted to see if we could take a ride and pick up some of Blaine’s clothes and things back at his house after Sam and Puck leave.  Do you think you could fill me in on the technical stuff on the way over? I want to be prepared.” 

“Yeah, of course.  When were you thinking?” 

“I guess after dinner at this point.  I should get back there now, I told them I was just going to the bathroom.” He hesitated before asking, “Does he know the extent of any of this? Are we telling him?”

“He knows some, he was there when we had the conversations with the doctor in the hospital.  I don’t know how much he absorbed or remembers, but I’m not keeping anything from him.  Just didn’t want to worry him without finding out for sure.” 

Kurt nodded in agreement.  “Okay.  Finn, you coming back too?” 

“Yeah in a minute,” Finn replied, and Kurt left them to talk while he returned to the living room.  Blaine, Puck and Sam were in full on jam mode when he approached them.  He paused in the entrance and leaned against the wall to watch them goof around, not having the heart to interrupt when Blaine looked like he was having more fun than Kurt had seen in the last 3 weeks.  He watched Blaine’s hands fly seamlessly over the piano, took in the giant grin on his face as the three of them harmonized their over the top Freddie Mercury impressions and suppressed a laugh.  He was not a religious man by any means, but he sent a silent sentiment of gratitude out into the universe that Blaine had been able to retain his ability to perform.  Without that outlet Kurt shuddered to think of what his recovery would look like, but at least he still had music to help him through it.  As they ended the song, laughing amongst themselves, Kurt applauded them and smiled. 

“See? Told you,” Kurt folded his arms across his chest, still leaning against the wall. “Mastered it, by the sound of it.” Blaine beamed up at him in response, as though no one had ever granted him such high praise before. 

“Come join us!” Puck encouraged and Kurt rolled his shoulder into the wall, pushing off of it, and headed back over to the piano bench to sit beside Blaine again.  

“Kurt, you pick the next song,” Blaine told him. 

“So much pressure,” Kurt laughed. “How about a Beatles song?” Blaine’s fingers fumbled across the keys at the suggestion, playing a few discordant notes.  Kurt immediately realized what he must have been expecting at the mention of the band — ‘Fuck, he thinks I’m going to say Blackbird.’

“What song were you thinking?” Sam prompted.

“Actually, maybe something else—” Kurt started to say, but was interrupted when Puck began an upbeat chord progression.  Sam quickly recognized the song and joined in with him, leaving Kurt to watch as Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head towards Kurt’s shoulder, stopping inches before making contact.  Just as Kurt was about to question him, he realized Blaine’s fingers were hovering elegantly over the piano keys, his nimble fingers morphing to form the shapes of various chords— he was listening to Puck and Sam, composing the chord progressions by ear.  It was a scene Kurt had witnessed many times before, but still it left him mesmerized now.  Puck and Sam continued to repeat the same few chords until Blaine suddenly sat up straight and began actually pressing down on the keys to join them.  It was only when Blaine started singing and the other two joined in that Kurt recognized the song.

“What would you think if I sang out of tune?

Would you stand up and walk out on me?

Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song and I'll try not to sing out of key.

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. 

Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends.

Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

Kurt watched the wide grins break out across Puck and Sam’s faces.  Despite Puck’s shortcomings, Kurt was taken aback at just how perfect his song choice had been.  He turned his attention to Blaine again who seemed to be more focused on concentrating on the piano than anything or anyone else in the room.  Despite everything that had happened, this was the Blaine that Kurt recognized, this was the Blaine he had fallen so deeply in love with— confident and comfortable in his element, oblivious to the magnetic energy field he cast around himself.  And this was the Blaine that left him so dizzyingly conflicted in his emotions now.  The one he wanted to kiss and cling to as though everything was right in the world again. 

“What do I do when my love is away?

Does it worry you to be alone?

How do I feel by the end of the day?

Are you sad because you're on your own?

No, I get by with a little help from my friends!

Mm, get high with a little help from my friends.

Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends.”

At the start of the next verse, Kurt could not suppress a loud snort as Finn came careening into the room, singing enthusiastically and holding his arms spread out.  “Do you neeeeeeed anybody?”

“I need somebody to love!” Puck and Sam returned his enthusiasm, unable to keep their laughter at bay at Finn’s dramatic entrance.

“Could it beeeeeee anybody?” Finn sang louder, his pitch rising in octave as he did so.

“I want somebody to love!” Puck and Sam sang in response, laughing louder with him.  At that moment, Kurt realized the sound of the piano chords had disappeared.  Finn’s entrance had been so distracting he had not noticed that Blaine was no longer singing along either.  Kurt turned his attention towards Blaine and was horrified to see him clamping his hands over his ears tightly, his face screwed up in a pained expression as he hunched over the piano.  Kurt quickly began waving his hand, trying to signal them to stop, but had to resort to trying to yell over them instead.

“Guys, STOP!” 

Blaine winced and pressed his palms tighter to his ears, but Kurt had received his desired effect— everyone had stopped what they were doing.  He tentatively placed his left palm on the small of Blaine’s back and immediately regretted doing so as Blaine recoiled so violently it was as if an electric shock had pulsed through his entire body.  

“Don’t,” Blaine hissed through gritted teeth, the muscles in his jaw set so tightly Kurt could see the veins in his neck start to pop out.

Kurt quickly withdrew his hand and turned to Finn, keeping his voice low as he spoke urgently, trying to mask the terror in his tone, “Go get Coop—”

“Stop shouting,” Blaine moaned beside him, sounding disoriented, as Finn dashed from the room. “Please stop shouting.”

“Blaine, I’m not—”

“Stopstopstop,” Blaine curled his fingers around the cartilage of his ears and continued to press his palms tightly against his skull.  Kurt noticed his fingernails digging into the skin and instinctively placed his hands over Blaine’s to try to interlace their fingers and prevent him from causing further harm to himself.  In response, Blaine lurched sideways in an attempt to evade him but froze immediately afterwards, the colour draining from his face.  In an instant Kurt knew what was coming next.

“Fuck, one of you grab a—”

But it was too late.  Blaine’s body gave a violent shudder as his stomach constricted and he vomited over both his and Kurt’s lap.  Kurt cringed at the sudden feeling of warmth soaking into his thighs through his jeans, but still remained determined in his effort to ease Blaine’s fingernails away from his ears.  He fought back the urge to gag and took to breathing through his mouth to avoid the smell as Blaine, now trembling and weak, allowed Kurt’s slender fingers to interlace with his own.  He let out a soft moan as his body, this time involuntarily, began to lean towards the opposite direction of Kurt’s.  

“No, no, no, I gotcha,” Kurt whispered as loudly as he dared, hoping the sound would not set him off again, as he simultaneously scooted closer and positioned his left hand against Blaine’s shoulder to hold him steady.  Finn practically slid into the room again with Cooper trailing behind him just as Sam and Puck, who must have run off while Kurt had been focusing on Blaine, returned with a few washcloths and a small trash bin from the bathroom.  Kurt gave a very gentle pull against Blaine’s left shoulder and heard another quiet moan as his right shoulder came to rest against Kurt’s chest.  Cooper accepted the washcloths from Sam as Puck set the trash bin beside them and knelt down on Kurt’s side. ““Oh no, Blaine are you—” 

“Shh,” Kurt interrupted him as quietly as he could, shaking his head, as Blaine grimaced and kept his hands planted against his ears.  They sat in silence, watching and waiting for Blaine to make the first move, and after five extremely long minutes crept by he haltingly lowered his hands away from his ears, keeping his eyes shut, and swayed ever so slightly against Kurt’s loose hold.  “Blaine?” Kurt finally chanced a whisper after another few seconds of silence since Blaine had stopped trying to physically shut the world out. 

“Well, that’s new,” Blaine replied, still sounding dazed, but Kurt could tell he was trying to distract away from the embarrassment.  “Sorry about your jeans.”

“Good thing we have a washing machine,” Kurt responded lightly.  “You okay?”

“Aside from wishing I was invisible right now?” 

Kurt felt the tiniest twitch at his lips and let the smirk occur, “Yes, aside from that.”

“I think so,” Blaine still kept his eyes shut as though his inability to see everyone else meant they could not possibly see him.  Kurt held a hand out to Cooper for one of the washcloths as Finn corralled Puck and Sam out of the room.  “Everyone still staring?”

“Just me and Coop here with you now, you can open your eyes,” Kurt waited for Blaine’s eyelids to flutter open before pressing the washcloth against his thighs gently to mop up most of the mess, opting to help Blaine first before himself.  Though he was still pale and clammy, a flash of rouge coloured his cheeks as he mumbled another apology while Kurt cleaned himself up. “Hardly the first time, remember?” Kurt joked lightly, trying to ease the tension and Blaine simply turned a darker shade of red. 

“What happened? A headache?” Cooper had stood up again and folded his arms across his chest, giving off the appearance of a concerned parent. 

“No, I dunno,” Blaine motioned to run his hand through curls that still had not grown back in yet, his fingers twitching against the hard plastic of the helmet he had forgotten was secured to protect the open hole in his skull beneath a bandaged surgical incision, and dropped his hand down again.  “Finn came in and started screeching and everything just got really… loud? It was like everyone was screaming and my ears were next to a speaker set at full volume.  It made me feel so nauseous.” Blaine furrowed his brows as he noticed Cooper had taken out his phone and was typing as he spoke.  “Who are you texting?”

“Just making a note so we can tell the doctor at your follow-up appointment on Friday.  Do you remember that she wanted us to keep a list of symptoms?” Cooper replied. 

“Oh,” Blaine said simply. “No, I guess I didn’t remember.”

“Coop was going to fill me in on everything, so I can help you keep track of it all,” Kurt dangled the soiled washcloth between his index finger and thumb over the trash bin before dropping it in.  Blaine nodded stiffly, crinkling his nose in disgust as he watched Kurt discard it.  He did not even have to speak for Kurt to know what he meant.  “Yeah, I was thinking we go get cleaned up and changed.”

“Please, because I’m gonna puke again if I get another whiff of that, so gross,” Blaine mumbled, and Kurt let out a quiet laugh. 

“Here, I’ll help you into the wheelchair,” he stood up and checked to see that the brakes were locked before helping Blaine move from the bench into the seat.  “Well, this certainly makes things a lot easier.” 

“Kurt, I know you wanted to take a ride over together but maybe I should just go while you two are getting cleaned up?” Cooper asked. 

“Take a ride where?” Blaine looked from Cooper to Kurt. 

“I was going to go pick up some of your clothes and things from your house with him,” Kurt released the braking mechanism and wheeled Blaine backwards away from the piano to give them space to navigate.  “But yeah, that sounds like a better idea.”

“We can all sit down later and go over everything.  You can take the bandage off and see how the incision looks; he’s allowed to wash it.  Just be careful when you do.  Otherwise I have the normal saline for cleaning it in the medicine cabinet with more bandages if you wouldn’t mind doing the dressing change?”

Kurt nodded his response and wheeled Blaine towards the bathroom.  “I’m gonna grab some towels and clothes for us, be right back.” He disappeared, leaving Blaine to look around the bathroom, his forearms resting against the arms of the wheelchair to avoid folding his hands on his stained pants.  As quickly as he had gone, Kurt returned and shut the door behind himself, clicking the button on the knob to lock it.  Blaine watched as he knelt down beside the bathtub and twisted the faucets, sliding his hand under the running water to test the temperature.  When he had been satisfied he plugged the drain and picked up a bottle filled with bright pink, viscous liquid and began to pour some in— the aroma of raspberries quickly filled the room.  As bubbles started forming Kurt stood up and approached him.  He undid the clasp of the helmet and set it on the counter beside their pile of clothes before motioning for Blaine to hold up his arms so he could help him undress.  Blaine felt the heat creep into his cheeks again, even though this was simply a repeat of the previous night, and sluggishly raised his arms up enough for Kurt to work the shirt off.  He coughed lightly and turned his head away as Kurt continued to help him strip before helping him up and lowering him into the tub, keeping his gaze locked on the wall.

“Still embarrassed, huh?” Kurt let out a quiet chuckle.

“I guess a little,” Blaine responded quietly, turning to face him finally. “W-what are you doing?” He sputtered out as Kurt began pulling his own shirt off.  For some reason it had not dawned on him that when Kurt said they were both going to clean up that it would be at the same time.  

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Kurt rolled his eyes and wriggled his hips as he struggled to shimmy out of his jeans.  Blaine’s eyes widened and he quickly looked away again, clumsily bringing his elbow to rest on the side of the tub so he could use his palm to block his view of Kurt.  Kurt shook his head and let out another quiet laugh.  “Blaine, really, with how many times you’ve seen me naked before—”

“Y-Yes, but—”

“And if you think I’m gonna sit there smelling like puke—”

“Of course not,” Blaine lowered his hand and chanced a peek just as Kurt slipped his boxer briefs down past his ankles and gave them a gentle kick into the corner before shielding his view again, feeling feverish with how much he was now blushing.  

“Are you going to let me in now?” Kurt asked, the amusement heavy on his voice. 

“Where should I— Where do you want to sit?” Blaine replied. 

“Lean forward,” Kurt twisted the faucet to shut the water off and lowered himself down behind Blaine, who remained rigid as he struggled to keep his weight off of Kurt.  “Blaine,” Kurt spoke softly as he rested his palms on either side of Blaine’s upper arms and gently pulled him back against his chest.  “You can relax, it doesn’t have to be weird.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Blaine blurted out, refusing to allow himself to relax even as Kurt worked his thumbs and fingers up his arms and over his shoulders.  “You’re confusing—” The remainder of his train of thought was swallowed up when Kurt pressed his thumbs into two particularly sensitive spots where his shoulders met his neck and a soft, breathless gasp escaped his mouth in place of words.  Kurt continued to circle his thumbs into the knotted tension, watching with satisfaction as Blaine’s shoulders began to droop down.  He thought back to his conversation earlier in the day with Isabelle as Blaine continued to melt beneath his fingertips— Set rules if you have to, but I think you just have to go with your gut.  Right now his gut was telling him not to think, even if what he wanted was going to make things even more confusing and messy to deal with.  Blaine released another breathy moan and Kurt bit his lip in silent contemplation as he alternated twisting his shoulders backwards against Kurt’s touch.  Before he could linger any longer on his thoughts, Kurt tilted his head forward and moved his hand aside to plant a delicate kiss on Blaine’s neck.  Instinctively, Blaine tensed up again and motioned to move away as he tried to speak through a louder, breathier exhale, “Kurt, what are—”

“Shhh,” he whispered against Blaine’s neck, sliding his arms around his torso to keep him from moving any further.  “Just be in the moment with me right now, okay?” When Blaine still seemed hesitant to relax he unhooked his arms from around his chest, bringing them back to rest on his upper arms again as he caressed Blaine’s neck with his lips to place another tender kiss.

“But I don’t understand—” Blaine protested weakly, as though he was afraid he was being lured into some sort of trap. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Kurt’s lips hovered over his neck, his warm breath tickling the skin and making Blaine squirm against him.

“N-No,” Blaine rasped shyly.  He turned his torso slightly, twisting his head and straining to face Kurt.  Kurt had forgotten the magnitude of the depth of secrets swirling around those galaxy eyes.  Eyes that desperately scanned and searched his face now, further enforcing Kurt’s current desire to throw reason to the wind and let his heart make the careless decisions for at least a little while.  “Is this a dream?”

“I think you’d have woken up by now if it was and you realized you were dreaming,” Kurt replied, his gaze falling onto Blaine’s lips. “Don’t you think?”

‘Just do it.’

As soon as the thought entered his mind he felt himself lean forward and press their lips together, gentle and unsure.  Blaine immediately began whispering against his mouth, “Please be real, please be real—”

“Blaine, stop thinking and just kiss me,” Kurt responded, keeping their mouths together.  He moved his right hand to rest against Blaine’s cheek, cupping his face and kissing him more forcefully.  It took Blaine only a second’s worth of hesitation before he was pressing back against him with a quiet, desperate hunger, bringing his own hand up to rest Kurt’s face.  For the next few minutes they remained in their silent battle of tug-of-war, each one pushing and pulling towards each other, before Blaine had to ease up.  He rested his forehead against Kurt’s, panting softly to catch his breath. 

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice was raspy and breathless as Kurt moved his free hand down to Blaine’s lap beneath the thick layer of bubbles coating the water.  Kurt ran his palm up the length of his thigh, soaking in the sudden hitch of Blaine’s breath as he inched further and further up, and planted soft kisses along his jaw.  He traced the outline of Blaine’s hip bone, dragging his fingers in lazy streaks over his stomach just above his groin.  He continued his trail of kisses up Blaine’s jaw, over his cheek and hovered his lips over his mouth.  Blaine’s lips were slightly parted, breathing desperate and quiet little moans into the air between them.  Kurt kept his eyes trained on his face as he let his fingertips slide down and brush against Blaine’s half-hard cock.  Blaine’s eyelids fluttered open briefly as a particularly loud moan escaped his lips; Kurt immediately covered his mouth with his own to muffle the sound.  Blaine seemed to have rediscovered some of his old confidence as he twisted his body to lean sideways against Kurt’s chest and snaked his arms around his neck, trying to close whatever remained of the little distance between them and whimpered in a low, gravelly voice, “Please don’t stop.”

Kurt rested his cheek against Blaine’s, whispering into his ear, “Think you can keep quiet?” He curled his fingers around Blaine’s cock and squeezed gently, feeling him growing harder by the second.  Blaine inhaled and sucked his lower lip in between his teeth before exhaling sharply through his nose, battling down the urge to let out another loud moan.  He nodded frantically, afraid if he opened his mouth to reply the floodgates would be unleashed and he would not be able to control himself.  Kurt nibbled on Blaine’s earlobe as he continued to clench and unclench his hand around Blaine, alternating between cupping his balls in his palm and running his thumb over the head.  Blaine did his best to keep himself subdued, his eyelids continuing to flutter open and closed as his breath hitched and quickly transformed into staccato eager pants.  Before he knew it, his fist was full of Kurt’s soft, luscious hair, gripping and pulling in time with Kurt’s quickened pulls. 

“I’m not gonna last,” he gasped out followed by a low moan.  “Fuck, Kurt, don’t stop,” Blaine let his head fall sideways onto Kurt’s shoulder, panting heavily against his neck as tiny beads of sweat began to drip down the length of his nose, and thrusted his hips clumsily against Kurt’s rhythm.  The water lapped and splashed loudly against the walls of the tub as they moved.  Against his side he could feel Kurt’s erection, as hard and wanting as his own, but he could barely think straight enough to lend a helping hand.  

“I love when you say my name like that,” Kurt squeezed harder and lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot on Blaine’s neck, grazing it with his teeth.

“Kurt, I’m gonna—” 

Kurt sucked the skin into his mouth, gnawing down harder than he had intended to, and Blaine saw stars explode behind his eyes as he dug his nails into Kurt’s shoulder blade.  His hips gave a violent thrust as the feeling of warmth extended from his stomach and he let out his loudest moan yet.  Kurt immediately unlatched himself from Blaine’s neck and rammed their mouths together, teeth clashing sloppily as Blaine continued his crescendo and decrescendo symphony of groans against his lips mingled with a few breathless renditions of the word Fuck.  Kurt held him as he worked his way down from his high, his loud panting becoming soft little whimpers, and began pressing kisses against his forehead, his lips tasting salt as they passed over the thin sheen of sweat, once he was sure Blaine could be quiet again.  The motion of affection seemed to rouse something in Blaine, who sank his hand below the water to return the favor.  Kurt tilted his head down to rest his forehead against Blaine’s, parting his lips to breathe out the low moan as Blaine worked his hand up and down the length of his cock. 

“You’re so good at that,” Kurt whispered, biting down on his lower lip to quiet another low moan.  Blaine decorated his neck in kisses, and it was not long before Kurt followed him in his orgasm, gasping softly and feeling his cock twitch sporadically in Blaine’s hand.  They spent the next few moments embracing one another in silence, still drunk on the ecstasy of having touched each other for the first time in months, until a loud knock against the door made them both jump.  Blaine threw his head backwards and Kurt reacted just in time to thrust his hand between his skull and the wall, cushioning the blow.

“You boys okay in there? Been in there awhile,” Burt’s concerned voice came muffled and loudly.

“Yep, fine! Be right out!” Kurt listened as his father’s footsteps retreated and did not remove his hand until Blaine shifted his head forward and offered a whispered Thank you.  Kurt nodded and realized that Cooper had asked him to remove the bandage from Blaine’s head and clean the incision site.  “Forgot about that,” Kurt brushed his fingers lightly over the bandage.  “We should probably just clean it in the sink at this point though, considering this bath water is definitely not clean anymore.” 

Blaine responded with a tentative smirk, “Whose fault is that?”

“Fifty percent mine,” Kurt strained and searched for the drain with his foot, using his toes to pull out the plug. “And fifty percent yours,” he smiled. “Alright, let me get up and dry off then I’ll help you up.”

Blaine gripped opposite sides of the tub and leaned forward to allow Kurt to stand up before leaning back again.  As Kurt quickly toweled himself off, racing to beat the water so he would not leave Blaine freezing in an empty tub, he noticed the sudden onset of worry on his features, the way he chewed at his bottom lip and kept his eyes trained on the tiny whirlwind on the opposite end of the tub where the water was draining.  “Go on, what’s on your mind?” Kurt pulled on a pair of pajama pants and approached the tub with a dry towel to help Blaine up. 

Blaine seemed reluctant to share, biting down harder on his lip as though it would do anything to help suppress the way his thoughts continued to rush directly from his brain and out into the world.  As Kurt suspected, the gesture did little to stop him from blurting out his question, “Why did you do that?” 

“Because,” Kurt, still shirtless, knelt down and wrapped an arm around Blaine’s torso, positioning his arm around his neck to help him up, “I wanted to.” Blaine grunted softly on the ascent and Kurt gave him a minute to get steady, learning from last night not to move too quickly unless they wanted to invoke another vertigo spell.  Blaine closed his eyes and concentrated before opening them again, signaling he was ready to move as Kurt wrapped the towel around him and all but lifted him out of the tub.  With minimal effort, Kurt helped him sit on the toilet seat near the sink.  

“But why?” Blaine watched him curiously as he knelt down in front of him to meet his eye level.  Kurt had another towel handy and gently began patting down his torso as Blaine’s stare remained intense and unwavering.  

“Does everything need an elaborate explanation?” Kurt asked softly, dropping his arms to rest on Blaine’s left thigh to avoid putting pressure on his injured knee.  “It felt right so I went for it.  Are you okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” Blaine rushed out. “It’s just— well, I mean yesterday you— I thought you said you didn’t forgive me and then now you—” Deep crimson covered his cheeks once more, he could not even bring himself to say it.  “I’m just,” the pained expression in his eyes painted the entire picture, but Kurt still held his gaze. “Confused.” 

“I haven’t forgiven you, Blaine,” Kurt said simply, surprised at how easily the nonchalant confession had come.  As expected Blaine’s face fell, but Kurt continued.  “I’m still trying to figure things out, Blaine.  I’ve gone back and forth the entire time I’ve been home, through the entire spectrum of human emotions, and right now I’m trying not to think so much and just do what feels right.”

Blaine’s fingers twitched in his lap and he quickly laced them together, fidgeting as he swallowed hard.  “Do you think,” he exhaled a sharp sigh as though the action would actually expel any of the surmounting anxiety over the question he was dreading to ask.  Kurt waited patiently, slipping his hands into Blaine’s to stop him from twisting and writing his fingers together.  Blaine watched their hands for a moment before lifting his gaze to Kurt’s face again, “Do you think you would feel the same if I hadn’t been hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt answered truthfully.  “But that’s not the situation we’re in, so I don’t really care about the what if’s.  I care about right now, and right now,” he lifted Blaine’s hands and pressed a soft kiss to the back of each palm, “I want to cozy up on the couch with you and watch a movie.”

Blaine let out a laugh half-mixed with a cry and tried to lift his hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, but Kurt had not released his grip.  He tilted his head down, raising their interlocked hands halfway and alternated rubbing his eyes on his knuckles before dropping them down onto his lap again.  “Okay.”

“Now, let’s see what we’re working with here,” Kurt released him and gently began working at removing the bandage on the side of Blaine’s head.  He had seen the incision in between dressing changes at the hospital, even helped as the nurses taught Cooper how to care for it at home, but the initial image of the long curved row of staples just above the ear had been so jarring he was not sure if he wanted to faint or cry.  He had grown accustomed to it by now though, especially since the swelling had gone down and there was no longer copious amounts of crusted blood embedded into the metal.  He carefully peeled away the tape borders securing the dressing and assessed the damage.  “It’s looking better, less bruising around it too, do you want to see in the mirror?”

Blaine felt his stomach lurch and shook his head lightly, “Not at all.  Throwing up once already today has been more than enough for me.” 

“Fair enough,” Kurt opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve the materials Cooper had stocked it with and took to gently dabbing the incision with gauze soaked in normal saline.  Blaine had shifted his hands beneath his thighs and closed his eyes to avoid accidentally catching sight in the mirror.  He sat rigid, his jaw clenched tightly as Kurt continued to work.  “Doing okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Blaine’s strained reply came.  “You’re not grossed out by it?”

“With how many times I’ve seen it and helped Cooper while you were at the hospital it doesn’t really faze me so much anymore,” Kurt replied, ripping open the large dressing gauze pad package as he waited for the normal saline to air dry. “It was much worse to look at when you still had that drain sticking out of your head.”

“I don’t remember a drain, that’s disgusting!” Blaine’s eyes were still shut tightly, terrified to open them until Kurt gave him the all clear that the incision was covered. “You helped clean it before?”

“You slept through the ones we helped on, they had you on some pretty heavy pain medications,” Kurt carefully lined up the dressing over the incision before securing it in place with four pieces of medical tape.  “Okay, all done.” 

Blaine slowly opened his eyes and reluctantly turned towards the mirror as Kurt closed the medicine cabinet.  He ran a hand over the short stubble where his thick curls had previously been before dropping it down onto his lap. “I miss my hair,” he said sadly. “My head looks so weird now.”

“The wild mess will be growing back in no time,” Kurt discarded the wrappers and other trash from the dressing change before grabbing his pajama shirt and pulling it on.  “Your head does not look weird.”

Blaine continued to turn his head from side to side to inspect his reflection now that the bandage was in place.  Kurt leaned back, sitting against the sink, to block his view and lifted up the safety helmet to secure onto his head again.  “Come on, let’s get you dressed so we can pick out a movie.” 

After another few minutes of struggling to help Blaine into his pajamas and onto the wheelchair they made their way into the living room to find Burt and Finn sitting on the couch watching football.  Burt picked up the remote and lowered the volume as Kurt was locking in the brakes on the chair.  “You sure everything’s alright? I heard noises,” Burt could not help but notice the flare up of red on Blaine’s cheeks as he averted his gaze to the television, but considering most things made Blaine feel embarrassed lately he thought nothing of it. 

“Yeah, dad,” Kurt smirked affectionately at Blaine’s reaction.  “Blaine just bumped his knee as we were getting him in, right Blaine?”

“R-Right,” Blaine sucked his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard to keep his thoughts contained, mumbling something incoherently.  Burt furrowed his brows in absolute bewilderment, but Kurt offered no further explanation. 

“I was gonna see if we could watch a movie, but if you guys are busy,” Kurt slipped a hand to Blaine’s shoulder and let his thumb sink down against the tense muscle.

“Dinner’s almost ready anyways, so maybe we can all watch one together afterwards?” Burt asked.

“Sounds great,” Kurt replied.  “I’ll see if Carole needs any help in the kitchen.  You okay staying in here, Blaine?” 

When Blaine nodded his reply, he gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and left the room.  Blaine kept his gaze trained on the television, not really paying attention to the game at all but not wanting to face Burt or Finn either, and took to chewing on his fingernails, twisting his thumb against his teeth anxiously.  Burt, who had given up on the game as soon as Kurt and Blaine had entered the room, watched him curiously.  Blaine had never been nervous around him, even when he and Kurt had first become friends.  Burt thought back to one memory in particular: Blaine’s bold approach about having ‘the talk’ with Kurt after he had tracked him down to the garage where he worked, the confidence with which he carried himself when expressing his concern for Kurt’s wellbeing and praise for the relationship he envied that he would never have with his own father.  Burt recognized none of those qualities anymore.  They had been beaten and ripped away from him, leaving a gaping hole in his head and in the hearts of everyone who surrounded him.  He had still not been able to get the image of Blaine, bloody and broken, crying and begging for help out of his head.  He still woke with a start in the middle of the night as his dreams steered him towards a scenario where he had not managed to find Blaine in time and instead had to deliver news of the unthinkable to Kurt.  As he continued to watch Blaine fidget his fingers against his lips, pausing to gnaw at the nails, he smiled sadly and wondered if he would ever see any semblance of the boy who had once stolen his son’s heart.  

_______________________________________________

Cooper had returned from their old house with Blaine’s things just as they were settling down to eat dinner.  After assuring Blaine he could inspect the outfits he had picked out afterwards, earning a pout from Blaine and a loud snort from Kurt, they proceeded to pass food around and discuss upcoming plans for the holiday week.  Blaine was channeling all of his concentration onto the spoon gripped tightly in his fist, following it determinedly with his eyes as he cautiously raised it from his plate, his hand shaking slightly before he lowered his head down to shove a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  Kurt watched him from his peripheral vision and waited for him to lower the spoon again before covertly sliding his hand onto Blaine’s lap beneath the table.  Blaine looked down at Kurt’s hand briefly, a quick flash of a smile appearing on his face, before moving in for another successful attempt at raising the spoon to his mouth without dropping it.  Kurt listened lackadaisically to the quiet buzz of conversation between everyone else and perked up only at the mention of food shopping for Thanksgiving. 

“Oh, I forgot to say.  Isabelle is gonna be visiting for the holidays, I sort of told her to come by for dessert.  Sorry I didn’t ask first, but is that alright?”

“Yeah, of course, bud,” Burt responded.  

“Did you boys want to invite anyone else over for dessert? Any of your friends?” Carole asked.

Kurt looked between Cooper, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Blaine, who was still too absorbed in his own world as he concentrated on feeding himself, and realized that neither he nor Blaine had mentioned anything about Blaine and Cooper’s parents coming home.  “Coop, did you get a chance to talk to my dad and Carole?” 

“About what?” Burt asked, cutting into a piece of chicken breast.

Cooper cleared his throat awkwardly, casting a glance over at Blaine who remained oblivious, and spoke, “I was able to get in touch with our parents.  They, well at least our mom, is coming home on Thanksgiving.  So, uh—”

“So, we’ll be setting out another plate or two then for dinner,” Carole continued with a smile.  Cooper nodded appreciatively and returned to his meal.

“What time does their flight get in?” Kurt inquired, stroking Blaine’s thigh absentmindedly as his mind lingered on what the reunion was going to be like for everyone.  Truthfully, he was terrified thinking about it.  Blaine glanced down at Kurt’s hand on his thigh again, chewing some cooked vegetables slowly as he watched, before wriggling his fingers beneath the strap of the helmet to scratch his chin.

“I have to check the flight info, plane leaves Wednesday night so I think it was late afternoon or early evening on Thursday,” Cooper narrowed his eyes at Blaine fiddling with the helmet strap, his lips pursed and ready to scold him.  Blaine continued scratching his chin for a few more seconds and then returned to gripping the spoon in his hand.  Cooper turned his attention back to his plate.  “Thank you, guys, for letting us crash the holiday with you.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Carole replied. “You boys are family; we’d be happy to have you and your parents over.”

“So, everything was fine with them?” Burt asked gruffly.  He had still not forgiven them so quickly for having been unreachable while Blaine was in the hospital.  

“My dad said they didn’t buy SIM cards so they couldn’t use their phones over there,” Cooper responded, sounding uncertain now after the phone call that had occurred with Blaine.

“You know that’s a lie, right?” Blaine said matter of factly, earning everyone’s attention.  His spoon was raised halfway up to his mouth when he realized all eyes were on him and it clattered back down onto the plate loudly as he lost concentration on his coordination. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he mumbled as his fingers clumsily fumbled with the handle of the spoon so he could pick it up again.  

“Would you like some help?” Kurt offered kindly.  “I know you can do it by yourself,” he rushed out when Blaine had opened his mouth to protest.  Blaine’s guarded expression softened and he responded to Kurt’s inquiry with a stiff nod.  Kurt picked up the spoon and held it out for him to grab it; Blaine’s fingers curled around it tightly and he muttered a quiet Thanks as he went back to avoiding everyone’s stares.  After that the rest of dinner passed by mostly in silence except for the quiet scraping and clinking of silverware.  After Finn and Kurt had helped clear the table, they all retried to the living room to pick out a movie to watch.  Kurt was lowering Blaine onto the couch as Finn read DVD titles aloud behind them while Burt and Carole settled down onto the other couch, Cooper taking the armchair.

“Ooooh, Avengers?” Finn asked enthusiastically after Kurt had turned down six other superhero films, earning a dramatic eye roll. 

“Finn, what makes you think I would say yes to that one when I said no to all the other ones?” Kurt asked in an exasperated tone of voice. 

“Come on, it’s so good! Blaine, you like The Avengers movie, don’t you?” Finn turned to him excitedly. 

“Uhh,” Blaine looked between Finn’s animated expression and Kurt’s scowl.  “I don’t care what we watch, don’t put me in the middle.”

“Oh, come on,” Kurt whined.

“You’re just gonna pick a musical if we let you pick!” Finn pressed the power button on the DVD player while Kurt crossed his arms in silent protestation, doing nothing to hide the pout on his face.  Beside him, Blaine could not stop the smile from washing over his face as he watched him.  He bumped his elbow against Kurt’s gently, “It is a really good movie.”  Kurt rolled his eyes in response and unfolded his arms, sliding one around Blaine’s shoulders as Finn loaded in the disc.  Blaine’s hands went to the chin strap again as he struggled to scratch the irritated skin beneath the clasp.  As he fumbled around with it the sound of the quiet click! garnered Cooper’s attention and he snapped his head in Blaine’s direction just as he was starting to pull the helmet off of his head.

“Blaine, what did I say?” Cooper said sternly.

“Come on, Coop,” Blaine whined, setting the helmet down on his lap.  “We’re just sitting on the couch, the stupid strap is making me itch, nothing’s gonna happen if I don’t wear it for a while.” “Blaine, put it back on,” Cooper replied.  “I know it’s annoying, but you just have to deal with it until the next surgery then—”

“What?” Blaine interrupted him. “What next surgery? What are you talking about?” His voice rose in octave and Kurt felt him squirming to sit up straighter beside him.

“Relax,” Kurt whispered soothingly, gently pulling him closer against his chest.

“We talked to the doctor about it before we left, I know it was a lot of information so it’s okay if you don’t remember,” Cooper replied calmly.  “They left the opening in your skull because of the swelling, the next surgery is to put the piece of bone back.”

“I have to go back to the hospital?” Blaine’s lip quivered as he hesitantly began raising his hand up to the bandage.  Kurt curled his fingers around Blaine’s wrist to stop him from touching it. “There’s still a hole in my head?” 

The terror in his voice felt like a bullet straight to Kurt’s chest.  He knew if they did not manage to calm him down now before he completely got himself worked up it would be next to impossible to do so for a long time.  He slid his fingertips delicately up Blaine’s wrist, over the back of his hand and laced their fingers together.  Finn had abandoned navigating the menu screen to join the others in their observation, the dramatic music playing quietly in the background.  “I thought they fixed it,” Blaine said quickly, his chest beginning to rise and fall as his breathing accelerated.  “Why would they leave it like that? Was something wrong?”

“Blaine,” Kurt squeezed his hand and released it, repeating the process to try to gain his attention.  “Blaine, look at me.”

“It’s normal, buddy,” Cooper slid off of the armchair and knelt down in front of them.  “It’s the normal process.  Nothing is wrong.”  Blaine continued his steady incline towards a panic attack, starting to hyperventilate as he squirmed against Kurt’s arm, leaning forward and pressing back against him as he closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.  Burt leaned forward in his seat, Carole’s arm resting against his back as they both watched on helplessly. 

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt pressed a kiss to his temple and Blaine’s eyes snapped open again. “You have to breathe with me, okay?”

“C-Can’t— I can’t—” Blaine choked out, tears starting to well up as he gasped loud, rattling breaths hungrily.

“Try,” Kurt kissed his temple again.  “Honey, please, you can do it.  Watch me,” Kurt used his free hand to gently tilt Blaine’s chin towards him before resting it on his cheek to hold his attention.  He slowly breathed in through his nose for four seconds and out through his mouth for six, brushing his thumb against Blaine’s cheek.  Blaine tried to follow along, but his lips parted for another sharp intake of air after two seconds of trying to inhale through his nose before he sputtered out another breath again as he cried louder. “I-I c-can’t—”

“Baby, it’s okay, that was good.  In for four, out for six, Cooper will count for us.  Just keep watching me,” Kurt encouraged him and inhaled through his nose again, bringing his hand to Blaine’s opposite cheek so he was cupping his face between both hands.  Cooper immediately started counting out loud as Kurt continued to soothe and guide Blaine.  After the third round of counting, Blaine was finally able to follow along, blowing out shaky breaths through his mouth as Kurt took to brushing away tears with his thumbs and kissing his forehead.  “See, I knew you could do it,” Kurt said softly; Blaine responded with a quiet sob.  They went for three more rounds before Blaine had been able to regain control of his breathing, now quiet and subdued as Kurt gently pulled his head forward to rest against his chest.

“Okay, you’re okay,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around him.  Cooper leaned backwards to sit on the floor, unable to take his eyes off of them as their secret pulsed through the room like an electrical current sending shockwaves of realization to everyone watching— something had happened, something had changed between them.  Kurt ignored their curious stares and continued to hold Blaine, before looking to Finn, “So about that movie?” Finn watched him dumbly for a moment before grabbing the remote and sitting down, hitting play to start the film.  Cooper hesitantly relocated himself back to the armchair, watching Kurt and Blaine out of his peripheral vision as the opening Marvel sequence flashed across the screen.  Kurt continued to ignore them, focusing only on Blaine, who had already exhausted himself and taken to falling asleep against Kurt’s chest.  Kurt knew he would be questioned, knew there was no other way to explain away the whispered affections and reassuring kisses he had been forcing himself to hold at bay since the first moment he had laid eyes on Blaine in that hospital bed— but for right now, he was resigned to their shared secret as he held Blaine close to his heart.  

[scifigeneration]

Red planet rumbles: NASA's recordings of 'marsquakes' let us listen to the martian heartbeat

by Rebecca Allen

The red planet. It may hold no life, but is it dead? NASA/JPL

Thanks to the audio recordings of distant rumblings on Mars released by NASA, we finally know what the red planet sounds like.

NASA’s InSight lander captured a range of sounds, most tantalisingly the low rumbles of “marsquakes” – seismic ripples rumbling through Mars’ interior.

So does this mean Mars is noisy, or quiet? Do these terms even make sense on a different planet? Does sound travel in the same way on Mars?

If a tree falls in Australia (even if no one is there to hear it), it makes a whooshing sound followed by a ground-shaking thud. These sounds travel by causing air molecules to vibrate, which in turn cause their neighbours to vibrate, and before you know it you have a sound wave.

Mars certainly doesn’t have any trees that we know of, but many things can cause vibrations, such as wind. Mars has an atmosphere too, albeit quite different from the air here on Earth. For a start, there’s a lot less of it and it’s more spread out. It’s also made mostly of carbon dioxide, whereas our air thankfully contains plenty of oxygen.

These important details affect how those vibrations travel as sound waves. If you were to drop a tree on Mars (let’s pretend the gravity is the same), the whoosh would be much quieter. But that doesn’t mean it’s less likely to drown out other sounds, because they would all be quieter too.

Sounds and vibrations are important, they tell us about the medium they’re travelling through. With some very sensitive tools, we can hear the sounds of Mars like never before. So what do these martian sounds tell us?

The song of its history

On the surface, Mars looks like a planet long past its prime. There is no water, no lush forests, not much of an atmosphere, and the Solar system’s biggest volcano lies dormant.

But we do see clues it has had an interesting history. It has water ice at its poles, and its surface shows signs flowing liquid water was once present.

What makes this red world so different from our own? To answer this, astronomers need to know more about how Mars formed.

We are pretty certain all four of the rocky or terrestrial planets formed in a similar way (well, maybe not Mercury, but we’ll leave that for another day). We’re also pretty sure their interiors have similar structures: rocky outer crust, liquid rock mantle, and metallic core.

The interiors of rocky worlds. NASA/JPL

These layers form as the molten planets cool down in the aftermath of their violent formation. Denser elements such as metals sink to the centre; whereas lighter materials rise up to form the outer layers.

While we can confirm this for Earth, doing so for the other planets requires we go there and listen to them.

Insights from InSight

When NASA’s InSight lander touched down on Mars almost a year ago, its aim was to probe the interior of the red planet to understand more about its formation and current geological activity. Equipped with sophisticated instruments, InSight could measure vibrations from things like wind above ground and detect any rumblings from beneath the surface too.

The InSight lander fitted with instruments to listen to Mars. NASA/JPL

In the same way we monitor earthquakes on Earth, InSight’s seismometer would be able to detect even very weak “marsquakes” – seismic waves travelling through the red planet. These waves would reveal information about Mars’ interior and could confirm whether its structure is similar to Earth’s.

It took months for InSight to sense anything below the surface. But since April 2019 it has made more than 100 detections. Not all of them are marsquakes – there are other sounds too. Meteor impacts on Mars’ surface would also cause sound waves to traverse the planet. And InSight itself pings and creaks as its parts move and its components expand and contract with the changes in temperature.

To understand just what was detected, NASA’s scientists had to decode the data.

A sleeping giant

This week, engineers and scientists from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory confirmed at least 20 of the detections are bona fide marsquakes. The quakes are very weak and would only register around a magnitude 3 on our earthquake scale.

This remarkable achievement highlights the sensitivity and capability of InSight’s German-made seismic sensor. The next step is to try to understand exactly what caused these mini-marsquakes. This is quite challenging with only one instrument on the planet and hopefully more detections will help reveal the cause of these soft vibrations.

But what about our original question? What does it sound like on Mars? Thanks to InSight, we can hear the martian wind, the pings and scrapes of Insight’s movements, and now even the planet’s faint seismic heartbeat.

While the vibrations have been altered a bit so our ears can actually pick them up, you can now hear the marsquakes for yourself!

While it may not have the sounds of life we hear on Earth, Mars is far from quiet. And its sounds are helping us learn even more about the red planet.

About The Author:

Rebecca Allen is the Swinburne Space Office Project Coordinator | Manager Swinburne Astronomy Productions at Swinburne University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. 

[puckinghell]

I really want to read a blurb based on Ease My Mind by Ben Platt, but I don't know who I would pick for it... Am I allowed to say whoever you think fits?

Of course you are! Idk why I got Carter vibes for this but I did. 

Now I’d never heard this song but it really hit something within me and this piece got a bit deeper than I intended it to be, so I’m putting it under a read more. I debated whether I should post it but I’m going to because it was quite therapeutic for me to write and I don’t think think anxiety should be a taboo. 

TW: ANXIETY

Note that all I’ve written is from personal experience and I’m in no way capable to judge what anxiety looks like to anyone but me. 

You can feel it coming. 

It rumbles under the earth, lays heavy in the air, crawls beneath your skin. The explosion, the eruption. It’s just a matter of time. Has been a matter of time, for a while. 

The Flyers are losing their chance to make the playoffs, fast. Carter thinks it’s his fault. It’s not, never just his, but he’s always been like that, always unfairly hard on himself, nothing you can do about it. He’s stressed. And you feel it. See the hard set of his jaw, the dullness in his eyes, the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“Have they said that?” he barks at a reporter, when he’s asked about losing their playoff spot. No, they haven’t said that. But you all know. It would take a miracle, at this point. 

He hopes he can be just that. Hopes he can be their miracle. But life is not a fairytale and it doesn’t matter how hard they fight, it’s a fight lost long before that day the hammer finally falls. 

They’re done.

You know not to push it, because you know him; he doesn’t want worry you, doesn’t want to bother you, hasn’t talked to you about anything at all. 

You ask if he’s okay. He says he’s fine. You know he’s not. 

You ask if he needs anything. He says no. You know he does. 

But he’s not willing to let you give it to him, tries to act like nothing is going on, but there is. He’s not there, not fully, not present, when he’s around you. 

And it’s having its effect on you.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” is becoming a sentence you hear all too often. The glassy look in his eyes as he stares past you, instead of at you. At some point, he even stops reacting to your touch, and that’s when you know. 

His wall is up, his defenses ready. He’s pushing you away, locking you out, and it’s killing you. 

He’s always been your source of light; the feeling of him pushing away feels similar to someone tearing little pieces of your heart away, piece by piece. It hurts, like little knives settling in your skin. 

And then it all explodes. 

“Are you coming to my nephew’s birthday party?” you ask, and he answers without looking up from his phone. 

“Of course, I’m always there.” 

You laugh, bitterly; “Fucking funny, that is.” Now, you’ve got his attention. Got what you wanted, but not in the way you wanted it. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” There’s something dark in his eyes, his lips pressed tight together. It’s like you barely recognize him. This isn’t Carter, this isn’t the guy you fell in love with. The guy who always links his pinky finger through yours, who makes you laugh by blowing air into your ear, who kisses your temple when he thinks you’re asleep, whose blue eyes always lock with yours intently when you’re talking. Not the guy who smiled and said: “You’re just beautiful” when you asked him why he’s staring at you. 

This guy, you don’t know. Don’t wanna know. And if he doesn’t trust you with this, well, is there anything he trusts you with at all? 

And so you erupt, like a volcano that’s been dormant for too long.  

“You’ve literally not given a shit about anything I’ve done for weeks now, Carter. You’re here, but you don’t want to be. So don’t fucking tell me you’re always there, because you might be here, but your mind sure isn’t.” 

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” He sounds not only angry but also exhausted, like the mere thought of having to communicate with you is just too much for him, and you’re so, so sick of it. 

“I want you to talk to me!” you yell, squeezing your hands into fists, burying your nails in the palm of your hands to stop the tears from building up behind your eyes. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” And then, the final blow. “You wouldn’t understand anyway.” 

You know, then, that that’s it. You can’t even push him over the edge. Can’t even make him yell at you. He just dismisses you, brushes you off, like an annoying mosquito, buzzing around his ear. 

And that’s when the tears fall, despite your best efforts to keep them in. “I don’t understand?” you whisper, and the way your voice breaks is enough to make him look at you, finally, actually look at you. 

What he sees is his girlfriend, tears running down her pale cheeks, heart breaking. 

“I might not understand hockey,” you tell him softly, “but if you truly believe I don’t understand you, why are you even with me?” 

Your walls crumble to pieces at the exact same moment you slam the door of his apartment, like a bullet shot to your defenses. The cold air of the night hits you in the face and it stings, but not as much as his words. 

You feel your heartbeat speeding up, your breathing becoming shallow. You can feel it coming, rumbling under the earth, laying heavy in the air, crawling beneath your skin.

Normally when you can feel it coming, you run towards your place of safety. Towards Carter, who can always calm you down with just one touch, one look, a few softly whispered words. If he’s not there, you text him and he calls you right away, talks you through it. If he can’t answer the phone, you climb into bed, wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and wait until he calls. 

But now you’re standing outside of his apartment and you can’t run to him, not when he’s the one causing the anxiety. The only person that’s always able to ease your mind, gone. 

You’ve been with him for a while now, and at first you were afraid to show him this part of yourself. You tried to hide it, but it’s not something that’s easy to hide when someone cares for you. 

He noticed. 

And slowly you started to learn. Learn that when you woke up with a pit in your stomach and you weren’t even really sure how it got there, wasn’t sure even what you were worrying about but unable to put it to rest, he would start talking to you about the mundane things in life and suddenly the knot in your stomach started to disappear. 

And when you couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in the dark night because the thoughts were spinning in your mind at a million miles an hour, he was always there, and as soon as you felt his strong arms around you and he kissed your temple, your mind would start to quiet down. 

The night is silent, dark, except one streetlight illuminating the pavement, glowing from the rain.  

Focus on it, you tell yourself, trying to remember how to breath. In, out. Cold, stone pavement under your feet. Car noises coming from a few streets away. The street is spinning, black spots in your vision. 

Is that the door? 

—

Carter knows he fucked up the second you step outside the door, but he knows he’s too riled up to go after you right now. He’ll just end up saying the wrong things and making it worse. 

So he takes a shower; almost twenty minutes he stands there, warm water hitting his body, as he thinks about what happened.

He knows he’s been pushing you away. He tried to shoulder the pressure himself, didn’t want you to worry. But clearly in an effort to protect you from the stress he was under himself, he just caused you even more stress. 

He needs to fix it. Tomorrow, when you’ve both calmed down. But then he walks into the living room and spots your keys on the coffee table. In the heat of the moment, you’ve forgotten them. 

With no access to your car and your key to his front door inside his apartment, he hopes you just called an Uber or Lyft, but he has a bad feeling all of a sudden, and he grabs the keys and walks fast towards the door, throwing it open. The elevator would take too long so he takes the stairs, two steps at a time, and nearly runs out of the apartment building. 

He spots you right away. You’re sitting on the pavement in front of the building, bend forward, your head in your hands, rain pelting down on you. His throat closes up at the sight of you; he can see your shoulders shake from here, can see your knuckles turning white with how tight you’re balling your hands into fists, fingernails pressing into your palms, and he recognizes it right away. 

He’s been with you during panic attacks before, but he’s never seen you this bad, and his heart breaks knowing he was the cause of it. 

“Y/N?” 

You can hear this voice, can’t seem to focus on it. Is he there? Why would he be? Is your mind playing some dirty trick? 

“Y/N!” He reaches you, dropping down onto the floor next to you. You look up at him but your eyes are empty, almost as if you don’t recognize him. 

The sounds, you know you have to focus on the sounds. The cars, the rain. 

“Baby, please.” A sound that’s calling to you like no others. Carter’s voice. 

You inhale sharply, reach up, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt and clutching at it. Your mind is reeling, going to all these different places, places that it shouldn’t go. You have to speak; he can’t leave you, you need him.  

“Stay.” It comes out raspy and croaky, unsteady and soft. “Please.” He hears you. He hears you because he always does. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he shushes, letting his arms drop around you, cradling your head into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” 

You don’t respond, barely seem to notice, but he can feel your chest moving with every breath you struggle to take in. 

Another word, you need to get it out. 

“Sorry.” 

He’s horrified, to say the least, to know that you’re thinking about him, about how he’s feeling, when you’re clearly barely able to keep yourself afloat. 

“No, baby, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Don’t be sorry, please. It’s okay. We’ll work it out, together, okay?” 

Okay. You want to say it, can’t get it out. You can feel the walls closing in on you, the sounds fading away as if feels like someone is putting earmuffs on you, everything becoming muffled. 

He can see you slipping, can’t let you.  

“You stay with me, then, honey,” he mumbles. “Please. I’m staying, but you have to stay, too.” No response. His voice is shaking, but he knows you need to focus on something, something to reel you back to reality. “I love you.” 

I love you. It rings through your ears, echoes through your head, his voice being the only thing helping you to make sense of the madness in your mind.  

You need to tell him because he needs to know. “I… love you.” It comes out in shaking, forceful breathes, but you get it out. 

He can feel it, the moment you start to come back to him. Your breathing evens out, deepens. Your heartbeat steadies under his hands. Then, finally, you move, your face tilting up slightly, your glossy eyes locking with the deep blue of his.  

“I’m sorry,” you whisper; you’re able to talk again, regaining your senses, and you feel how tight he’s holding you. Every inch of your skin is pressed up against him and his arms are locked around you so tight that you’re not sure he still has blood flow to his hands. 

“Please don’t be,” he tell you, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made this happen. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to stop it.” 

“It’s not your responsibility.” Because it’s not. It’s your burden, your responsibility to deal with your demons and ghosts. 

“But I want to help,” he says softly, “I want to because I love you. Please let me help.” 

And you know you’re gonna let him. Not because he has to but because he can; he’s the only one that can cut through the noises, make sense to you in moments like this. When you can feel your sanity start to unwind, he’s the only one that can ease your mind. 

“Let’s go inside, baby, come on,” Carter whispers, and he pulls you up. You barely have the energy to stand but his arms are tight around your hips, his body steady as you let him drag you back upstairs. 

He helps you take off your wet clothes and then he pulls you into bed with him, naked skin against his warm chest. 

“I love you,” he says again, and slowly, you can feel the knots in your mind starting to unwind, until your eyes close on their own and the only sensation left is peace. 

[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE TIME GONE BY (PART ONE)

SOUND: WIND BLOWING. FOOTSTEPS.

THEIA: Caution: radiation detected at. Fatal levels. Turn back. Turn back.

User safety tip: this is. A very bad idea. Suggestion: activate Theia Global Map. To search for shelter.

Caution: I cannot act without user permissions. User permissions are needed. Awaiting user permissions.

JUNO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: PUNCH.

THEIA: You appear. To be punching your own face. Would you like. Some help with that?

JUNO: Just… shut up… (SIGHS)

SOUND: RUSTLING, THUMP.

THEIA: For your safety. I do not recommend. You lie down. In this location.

THEIA: Reporting potential threats active as of last user scan. Threat one: a massive sandstorm. Threat two: fatal radiation. Threat three: this area of the desert is recognized by the Martian Wildlife Foundation as a protected breeding ground for. Peepers.

JUNO: I said shut up!

SOUND: CHIRPS.

THEIA: Playing previously-downloaded information on peepers.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

THEIA: Native only to the northern deserts of Mars, peepers went uncaptured and unresearched for several centuries after their discovery.

SOUND: MORE CHRIPS.

Above ground, peepers resemble colonies of small, tunneling creatures. Which pop into and out of the ground and make a noise not unlike Earth’s groundhogs or meerkats.

SOUND: MORE CHRIPS.

Researchers assumed these creatures to be individual organisms until three hundred years ago. When the first peeper was successfully brought into captivity. And those small rodent-like structures were discovered to be the sensory organs of a much larger subterranean predator.

SOUND: CRUMBLING, DEEP ROAR.

JUNO: Enh, took you long enough.

SOUND: ROAR, BLASTER SHOT, SQUEAL. QUICK FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING. WIND BLOWING, FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING.

VOICE 1: Hey. Hey, you.

JUNO: Go away, I’m busy.

VOICE 1: Hmph.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING.

JUNO: Hey– hey, what the hell are you doing? Put me down, you– what the hell? I-I know you.

VOICE 1: A correction: I know you. I have been told it is important to speak accurately when beginning a business transaction.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Brown jacket; tough skin, broad shoulders; dark, hard eyes that looked like they’d draw blood if you got too close. This guy had been stalking me since what felt like a lifetime ago, back in Hyperion – and if I’d been scared of him then, seeing him up close only made it clearer how easily those big, scarred hands could snap my neck.

My name’s Juno Steel. And I’m… (SIGHS) just a guy who wanders into near-certain death in the desert and then gives the glad eye to his probable killer.

Y’know, saying that out loud, a lot of criticisms I’ve taken over the years suddenly make a lot more sense.

VOICE 1 [BROWN JACKET]: My hovercycle’s radiation shield is only active when the engine is running. Which means I’m going to go now, and you’re going to come with me.

JUNO: You were watching me… before the museum, and b– and before the subway, you were watch—

No. No, look, I’m done. If you want to spy on me that’s fine, but I don’t care. I’m doin’ this on my own.

JACKET: Dying?

JUNO: That’s… not necessarily the plan, but if that’s the last move I can make solo, then sure, that.

JACKET: (AFTER A PAUSE) He’ll find you, you know.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: The one who gave you that eye. Have you activated it recently?

JUNO: Not for a few hours, but—

JACKET: Then he has your location. He will find you – and whatever’s left of your mind, once the radiation’s done with it.

Unless you come with me.

JUNO: Yeah? Why should I?

JACKET: I know how to remove that cyber-eye from your head. I know how to set you free.

You can get in the sidecar when you’re ready.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

JACKET: Good. Be sure to strap in.

JUNO: Not until you tell me where we’re going.

SOUND: RUSTLING.

Of course! Another man of mystery. Listen, I’ve really had enough of these, so if you can’t even tell me where we’re going I’ll– oof!

SOUND: THUD.

JACKET: I’ll tell you. I was just looking for a helmet in your size.

JUNO: What the… how many helmets do you keep in this bag?

JACKET: Bike safety is important.

SOUND: ZIP.

We’re going to see someone about a job.

JUNO: Very specific, thanks. (HUFFS) Where?

JACKET: Where all of the most important jobs on Mars happen. The Cerberus Province.

SOUND: WHOOSH. ENGINE STARTS.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): To be honest, I still wasn’t convinced my mind hadn’t gotten roasted. They say after one hour uncovered from the radioactive sun you start hallucinating, and after five it’s time to say bye-bye to a good chunk of your brain. I’d been out there… well, somewhere between those two options. My watch said it had only been ninety minutes, but on the other hand I wasn’t wearing a watch.

JACKET: So. Do you have a good reason for walking out in the desert? Besides your death wish.

JUNO: Besides my what?

JACKET: It’s well-documented.

JUNO: Documented where?

How long have you been watching me? Is that how you found me out here?

Hello?

JACKET: Hello.

JUNO: (SLOWLY) How long have you been—

JACKET: We are almost at the Cerberus Province. Buddy will answer your questions when you speak with her. If this job is not to your liking, well… back into the desert with you, and you die a free man.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So it was out of the frying pan, into the biggest hideout of thieves and murderers and outlaws in the solar system, I guess.

(SIGHS) We saw the volcanoes first. A ring of ‘em, dusty and dormant. And then, at the center of that ring…

JACKET: The lighthouse.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: The lighthouse activates at night, to guide ships to the spaceport beneath it. I hear before it was installed more ships landed inside volcanoes than was acceptable.

JUNO: So, like… one ship?

THEIA: Would you like to research the number of ships—

JUNO: (MUTTERING) Shut up.

JACKET: I will not. Are you done throwing up, now? It cannot be helping your radiation sickness to stay out here.

JUNO: I think—

JACKET: And if you vomit on my hovercycle I cannot be held responsible for what happens to you next.

JUNO: (SPITS) I think I’m good.

JACKET: Get on, then.

MUSIC: ENDS.

SOUND: WHOOSH. ENGINE RUMBLES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The lighthouse was huge; an intricate crossing of plates and pipes that looked like somebody had spun a spiderweb from gold, then grabbed its center and pulled it up to scratch the clouds. It was even beautiful, for a minute. Then I wondered if you could see the Piranha���s body from up there, and it just made me feel sick.

The lighthouse wasn’t what I expected from the myths about some ramshackle pirate hideout hidden underneath the desert. According to the stories, the Cerberus Province was more meeting place than city – a non-stop crime convention to trade business cards and thermonuclear weaponry. It didn’t have a Dome, after all. Living there long-term would’ve been suicide.

But the lighthouse didn’t line up with the stories. Neither did the Cerberus Province itself, once we slipped underground to see it.

JUNO: What the hell are all those?

JACKET: Do you mean the buildings, or the tents?

JUNO: I-I don’t know, both?

JACKET: Well. Some are buildings, and some are tents.

JUNO: I-I know that! I mea—

Look, that lady’s drying sheets on a balcony. That’s a grocery stand in a brick house. That guy’s taking his clothes out of a laundromat!

JACKET: It is very dusty on Mars.

JUNO: Wh-why do they live down here? Nobody lives down here. Nobody.

JACKET: Not by choice. When we land it is imperative that you stay close to me and not look too long at anyone else’s property.

SOUND: ENGINE STOPS. CROWD NOISE, MUSIC FADES IN.

JUNO (NARRATOR): When he was done parking we walked out into the street. The buildings and tents I’d seen from above were thick here, people packed elbow to elbow, vendors shouting into the streets.

CROWD VOICES (IN BACKGROUND): Peepers! Getcha pickled peepers over here! Plutonian candy! Delicious Plutonian candy, Plutonium extra!

JUNO (NARRATOR): You get so lost in a place like that you forget you’re part of it, until it reaches out and grabs you.

VOICE 2: Please.

JUNO: Ah!

VOICE 2: Please, you will help me. You will help me. The teecket they give me, the teecket, it is false!

JUNO: Uh-uh, ticket? I-I-I don’t—

VOICE 2: I have moneys. On Susano-o I am doctor, do you know this place? Bank account, years, interest thirty, I have… I have… Please, please, Tammono, you will help me, you will help me!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The woman was wearing a mask, but I’d knocked it crooked in my surprise, and… underneath…

Her skin, it… (SIGHS) God, it looked so painful. Big plates of cracking charcoal crust on a plane of soft, raw, red and gray. She looked burned, or… melting, or both. Long-term radiation damage. The kind of stuff they showed us in old academy videos and promised we’d never actually see. Th-that you’d have to be crazy to stay outside a Dome long enough to get it.

All of a sudden I noticed there were people all over the street wearing masks like that, people by the dozens that must’ve been covered in those burns, and if that many people needed those masks, maybe crazy wasn’t the problem.

Then Brown Jacket grabbed me by the shoulder and kept me moving.

JACKET: Juno. We have to leave now.

VOICE 2: Moneys I have, sir! Please, your vehicle, your vehicle!

JUNO: …What?

JACKET: I told you not to look too long at anyone else’s property.

JUNO: P-property?

JACKET: That bulge beneath that woman’s sleeve? A blood filtration bracelet – what some call a debtor’s tag. She is serving an indentured servitude to pay for her healthcare. If you attempt to do as she says, her treatment will end, and she will die.

JUNO: But… you’re just gonna let that—

JACKET: I have no choice. That woman is finished. She took an illegal ride to the Solar planets, became ill, and sold herself to live a few years longer. It is a common mistake.

JUNO: But her skin… how long has she been paying?

JACKET: I have seen similar surface-level symptoms manifest within two years.

JUNO: Surface-level. Yeah, sure, that sounds great.

JACKET: Not five hours ago getting too involved in a city’s politics nearly killed you. Do you really want to make the same mistake so soon?

JUNO: I…

No. No, I guess not.

JACKET: Good.

Now please. Get in this dumpster.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: I’m afraid I must insist.

JUNO: H-hey, put me down—

SOUND: THUD. PLASTIC RUSTLING, BOTTLES CLINKING.

Ah! What the hell was that for?!

JACKET: Have you used any of your eye’s special functions since we entered the Cerberus Province?

JUNO: What? I ha– I haven’t—

JACKET: In the interest of fairness, I should tell you that if you have, I will be forced to crush your head with this dumpster lid.

JUNO: How is that any fairer— whoa, whoa, whoa, there! No, I-I haven’t used it. You said that’s how Ramses is gonna track me, right?

JACKET: That is good. And yet we are being followed.

JUNO: What?

JACKET: Quiet. Listen. There is a figure behind me, slight, wearing a black hood. Do you see their face?

JUNO: No, it’s… covered by a scarf. They could’ve just come in from outside. They’ve got sand all over—

JACKET: Their clothes have sand – but not their boots. It’s a disguise. We may have to relocate our meeting.

I am going to step into this shop and buy a large decaffeinated Jovian tea with two sugars. You will stay here and watch to see what they do.

JUNO: Wait, is th– is the tea some kind of code? What does it mean?

JACKET: It means I am thirsty. It is large because I am very thirsty, and decaffeinated because I have a predisposition to addictive—

JUNO: Okay, yeah, I get it. Just go get your stupid tea, I’ll watch the road.

JACKET: Thank you.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I had to hand it to Brown Jacket: he was right. As soon as we stopped moving our hooded tagalong stopped, too.

SOUND: BELL JINGLES.

She sat at a roadside stand and looked over the menu, flipping pages too quickly to read ‘em. I knew a tail when I saw one.

Jacket came back out a minute later sucking down something that smelled like gasoline with two sugars.

SOUND: BELL JINGLES. FOOTSTEPS.

JACKET: The deed is done.

JUNO: What deed?

SOUND: SMALL EXPLOSION.

CROWD VOICES: (YELLS) Sintoloo ga voo?! The hell?

VOICE 3: Baweebis! Baweebis!

VOICE 4: What the hell are they trying to say?

VOICE 5: They’re saying hood, hood! I think they saw whoever planted the bomb!

VOICE 3: Gawoosh! Baweebis, baweebis!

VOICE 4: Is that them? Is that the low-life that blew up my store?

VOICE 3: Baweeeeeeeeeeebis!

VOICE 4: Outer Rim bum! Learn to talk right!

Hey, she’s getting away! Get her!

JUNO: …Wow.

Did you pay them to say that?

JACKET: No. I paid the other customer to translate anything they said as ‘hood.’

JUNO: But if this place has so many people from the Outer Rim—

JACKET: There are too many languages spoken on the Outer Rim to keep up with. We have large communities from Balder. Yama.

JUNO: Susano-o.

JACKET: Indeed. And besides: they lost. Now take these.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLING.

JUNO: Keys?

JACKET: When the commotion settles, you will remove yourself from the garbage, go down this alley, and take your second left. You will look for the analog lock that matches this key, and you will wait for me there – at the lighthouse.

JUNO: The lighthouse? Really? You have the key to that big tower—

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

Hey! Hey, where the hell are you goin’?

JACKET: (FADING) To ensure the area is secure. Now be silent. Dumpsters cannot speak in the Cerberus Province.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I did what the big guy told me to do. Waited a few minutes for the dust to settle, and when I was pretty sure nobody was watching me I went down the alley.

The lighthouse was on the edge of town, and the closer I got the more radiation-ravaged the place looked. But there were no warning signs, no public health notices, just an advertisement:

VOICE 6 (FROM SPEAKER): Feeling itchy? Hearing things? Gamma rays got you down? Visit the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts for your Blood Filtration Bracelet today! No down payment required!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The, uh… lighthouse came soon after.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLE. DOOR CREAKS.

The inside was a bar: dark wood, plush cushions. Even the dust looked nice, which was good, because there was a hell of a lot of it. I helped myself to an unmarked, extremely potent-looking bottle behind the bar and took a seat to examine it more closely with my eyes, mouth, and liver.

JUNO: Here’s lookin’ at you, lighthouse. Seems like both of us are back from the grave.

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINK.

VOICE 7: If you keep stealing my wares, darling—

JUNO: (CHOKES)

VOICE 7: —I’ll return you to that grave myself.

SOUND: CLUNK.

That’s ten thousand creds of fine liquor you’ve just spilled. A life like yours, I’d think you’d be a little more careful about putting yourself into debt with a stranger.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: (CHOKING) Who the hell are you?

VOICE 7: The person you’re here to meet. Now go get yourself a drink. I’ll be taking this one.

JUNO: Hey, that was mine—

VOICE 7: And now it isn’t.

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINKING.

It’s nothing personal, darling; I just have a natural tendency towards envy and I’ve always believed in doing what feels natural. Like now, for example: it feels natural for me to say I’ll pay you the ten thousand creds you owe me if you shut up and get yourself a drink.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The woman who’d just taken my drink was a bombshell. By which I mean she looked extremely dangerous and made a hell of an entrance. She had big plumes of flame-red hair trailing over her neck and half her face, and a dress so avant-garde I would’ve believed her if she said she got it next year. The first thing she did when she sat down was put a blaster on the table in front of her and, in the process, reveal she had another one, two knives, and what looked like a grenade strapped to her leg.

She looked ready for a war. Hell, she looked ready to fight on both sides.

SOUND: BOTTLE UNCORKS.

JUNO: So you’re the big guy’s buddy?

SOUND: CLUNK. LIQUID POURING.

VOICE 7: That’s what he called me? His buddy?

JUNO: I’m sure he’ll be disappointed to hear you disagree.

SOUND: CLUNK.

VOICE 7: I don’t. It’s just funny of him. Fine, you can call me the same. Buddy.

JUNO: Seems a little early for that.

VOICE 7 [BUDDY]: I’m friendly.

JUNO: And him?

BUDDY: He’s not interested.

JUNO: No, I mean, what’s his—

BUDDY: Besides, we aren’t here to talk about him; we’re here to talk about you. Juno Steel: ex-cop, ex-patsy for Ramses O’Flaherty, currently extremely unemployed and not taking it very well. You’ve got an eye problem, and I don’t mean like glaucoma. You’ve just spent a few months being someone else’s stooge – or thirty-eight years, depending on how you count it – and you’re just about ready to stooge stag. That’s where we come in.

What’s the matter? Did I get any of that wrong?

JUNO: No. That’s what’s the matter.

BUDDY: Oh, I’m sorry. Why don’t you pour us both a drink and I’ll try not to upset you so much, darling? What’s the danger in just… sitting and listening?

JUNO: No, you know what? I’m tired of listening. It’s someone else’s turn to listen. Got it? The second it looks like you’re trying to get me to do something I don’t like, I’m walking out into the desert with a beach towel and no sunscreen. The second. ‘Cause I am not trading one smooth psychopath for another, you got me, I am not—

BUDDY: I hear you. I’m stubborn, not deaf. Sit.

SOUND: CREAK.

JUNO: Hmph.

BUDDY: There. Doesn’t this feel so much more civilized?

JUNO: Gotta say, Buddy, I kinda walked into the desert to get away from civilized.

BUDDY: I know. And that was a very big move. Made me act faster than I planned to, but… you got lucky, and a position opened up a little earlier than expected.

JUNO: Position? That’s why you’ve been watching me.

BUDDY: Gainful employment. A lot to gain, too.

JUNO: I’m not walkin’ into any more bad contracts or big debts.

BUDDY: And you don’t have to. Like I said, I always keep my business partners happy, Juno. And unlike your two-bit former employer over at the Vixen Valley, I know that doesn’t come by force. Father always said, there are only two ways to keep the chickens in the coop: either build a big wall, or make them never want to leave.

JUNO: Didn’t think there were many farmers on Mars.

BUDDY: He was a prison warden, actually. Incredibly popular with his inmates. A bit less popular with Dark Matters.

JUNO: Rest in peace.

BUDDY: Yes, I would assume the rest of him is in one piece, but we never found it. Regardless, Juno, my point: scouting the talent I want is something I take very seriously, and you are only one name on a very, very long list. If you do not want this job, don’t waste my time. The only reason you’re here now is because I need three people, my third missed his flight to Mars, and you happened to be available.

JUNO: Wow, you sure do know how to make a lady feel special.

BUDDY: I know how to make a special lady feel special. Maybe if you’re very good that’ll be you.

Now, a toast. To a new, and brighter, future—no, no. (CHUCKLES) I’m guessing we’ve both had entirely too much of that. To… letting go. Moving on.

JUNO: Sure. To moving on.

SOUND: GLASS CLINKS.

BUDDY: Hm.

Now.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

The job.

MUSIC: CHANGES.

As I think you’ve already gathered, our work isn’t exactly on the spotless side of the law. My friend and I work in the craft of what we call “relocation services.”

JUNO: Which I’m guessing means you relocate other people’s things to your pockets.

BUDDY: My, you are quick. They aren’t always things, but… spot-on.

JUNO: So is that what you need me for, some kind of heist? ‘Cause I—

BUDDY: No, no, the heist has been finished for weeks. It’s the sale, darling. We need you to help us with the sale.

JUNO: You… want me to work the cash register on your black market deal?

JACKET: The sale is the most dangerous part of any job in the Cerberus Province.

JUNO: Ah! Where the hell did you come from?!

JACKET: The door.

BUDDY: Do try and focus, Juno. Yes, the sale. This town is crawling with undercover law enforcement and people who expect you to do your work for free but don’t feel like telling you ahead of time, and neither sits particularly well with me. So, we’re going to make certain we get paid, or else we're not handing over anything.

JUNO: Yeah, okay. And speaking of which, what are we selling?

BUDDY: The sale’s in three hours, in this bar. We’ve agreed to meet somewhere public, which means within the next three hours we’ll have to make this place public. We’re opening it for business.

JUNO: We’re– wait. You own the lighthouse?

BUDDY: Just the first floor. I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to, honestly; too much radiation leaks in through the roof for anyone to want it. At any rate, once we open, my big friend is going to work the bar; you’re going to play sad drunk at one of those tables by the door.

JACKET: You will be drinking carbonated tea. Focus will be crucial.

JUNO: Sounds like a fun party.

BUDDY: While the buyer and I make the exchange, you will watch the crowd and contact me on covert comms if you notice anyone acting strangely. We take no chances here, do you understand? This is too important.

JUNO: Okay, but what are we sell—

BUDDY: Hopefully it all goes off without a hitch and you get paid for sitting around and enjoying some tea. Then we’ll show you how to remove that eye, and you can decide whether this kind of work interests you.

JUNO: I feel like I could answer that question a lot faster for you if I knew what we were selling.

BUDDY: There’s no need to get snippy, Juno. You only needed to ask. Show him.

SOUND: CLUNK.

We will be selling this briefcase.

JUNO: And… what’s inside the briefcase?

BUDDY: Oh, that’s none of your concern.

JUNO: Well, if I wasn’t concerned before, I sure as hell am now! Listen, I told you, if you make me do anything—

SOUND: THUD. GLASS CLINKS.

JACKET: You listen.

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STOPS.

BUDDY: Thank you. I understand the word of an outlaw probably doesn’t mean much to you, Juno – but it will mean even less if you don’t let me finish a sentence.

JUNO: Hmph.

BUDDY: You can’t have it both ways. You can’t both know everything and live a life just for yourself. You understand that, don’t you?

SOUND: MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STARTS.

If you aren’t sure you want to stay here? Then don’t stay. Don’t get involved. That’s how Hyperion hurt you, isn’t it? I don’t think that’s your fault, of course. That’s just what cities do. Once you get attached to somewhere or someone… you can’t break apart without leaving some of yourself behind.

JUNO: The hell is that sappy music coming from, anyways? It’s driving me nuts.

BUDDY: What mu– oh, that. Darling, would you?

JACKET: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: THUNK. MECHANICAL WHIR.

MUSIC: STOPS.

BUDDY: Thank you. Semi-Autonomous Music Machines. They’re all over the province and they all act like this. You’ll tune them out eventually.

JUNO: A-alright, so. You want me to watch the door while you make your trade-off. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious—

JACKET: Don’t use your eye.

JUNO: Yeah, thanks, I got that. Anything else?

BUDDY: Just one thing. Give him his weapon.

SOUND: CLANK.

JUNO: There’s… no stun on this.

JACKET: Laserproof vests are too common in these jobs. That will punch through them.

JUNO: So you just want me to kill someone? Just ‘cause you say so?

BUDDY: I assure you that if anything goes wrong, he’ll deserve it.

JUNO: But—

BUDDY: Then don’t. Use your last few hours of freedom and walk to an early death in the desert, based on the fear that something might go wrong, you might have to shoot, and the shot you fire might kill them. But those seem like silly odds to throw your life away on.

My business and my past are my concerns, Juno. Just do the job, and don’t get involved. Then, you go and do whatever it is you want to.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Don’t get involved.

I kept repeating that to myself for the next three hours, as we cleaned the place up and opened the doors and let the crowd filter in. The gun was heavy in my pocket. I wished I’d taken my blaster off the Piranha, but it was too late. She was gone. The whole life I’d known her in was gone.

And meanwhile, in this life, the sale was just a few minutes away. I sat at my table by the door and watched the crowd mob the bar, the big guy toss drinks, and Buddy schmooze like she knew everyone here personally.

SOUND: CROWD CHATTER IN BACKGROUND.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’ve just received confirmation that he’ll be here shortly. Anything strange on either of your ends?

JUNO: Uh, yea– yeah, now that you mention it, I’ve been meaning to have a dermatologist take a—

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Do not complete this joke, Juno, or you will regret it.

JUNO: Oookay.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): There is nothing over here.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Juno?

JUNO (NARRATOR): I listened in to the crowd around me, all the faces and costumes of crime, and I didn’t hear anything weird about them – but plenty about Buddy.

CROWD VOICES: (OVERLAPPING) Buddy’s back! Buddy, sha, Buddy! The Lighthouse, open again! Has anyone seen Buddy? She was always the talk of the town, I hear… Buddy Aurinko, after all this time!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Juno?

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Buddy Aurinko…? (NORMAL VOLUME) Hang on, is your name actually Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): That’s what I told you to call me, isn’t it?

JUNO: So, what, is his name actually The Big Guy?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): That would be absurd.

JUNO: Then what is it?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): We are not there yet.

JUNO: We’re not at names?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Quiet, you two! He’s just come in the door! Do you see him, Juno?

JUNO: Uh, little guy, gray monosuit, kinda looks like he’s allergic to light?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): That’s the one.

JUNO: Doesn’t look like a crime boss. Too nervous.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Not a good sign.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Experience suggests that that might just be his face, actually.

VOICE 8 (FROM COMMS): Eh… what was that?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Ah, there you are, Mister Rasbach. It’s been too long.

VOICE 8 [RASBACH] (FROM COMMS): We… spoke yesterday, I think?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Yes, but you are late, and that does mean it’s been too long, doesn’t it?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): (NERVOUS LAUGH) Ah, I- uh, I see. You must excuse me, Miss Buddy, both my tardiness and my uncomprehending. Solar is not my… language initial.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’m only razzing you, Razzy. You manage much better here than I would on Balder, I’m sure. Please, sit. Would you like a drink? Two drinks? You’ll have to forgive me for trying to upsell you, but, a small business owner has to keep her claws sharp.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): It… does not appear you starve of the business. Yesterday this bar was not even in operation, and today—

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I’ve been away a long time, and I’m impatient. Surely you know how that is. I imagine you must miss Balder terribly.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Is so… is so. (NERVOUS LAUGH) And yet, there are the creds to be made in these planets Solar, yes? A business top profitable. Do you know how it is to support a family, Miss Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I pick my own family, Raz, and the first thing I make sure of is that they can support themselves.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Perhaps is so, here, but on the Outer Rim, after the War? This is not always possible. My planetmen, they desperate, eh? They take the first ship from Balder they can find, they swallow the poisoning radiation, they need the healthcare to live. And so we give them this support… for the price. We support them, them support we – is cycle top beautiful, I think.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Do you mind if we get on with this? I have customers to attend to.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Of course.

(CLEARS THROAT) Shall we… ah, show the wares?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): Watch the crowd, Juno. This is the moment.

SOUND: CLICK, HISS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wanted to see what the hell was in that briefcase, but… I tried to remember what Buddy told me. It was none of my business. Don’t get involved.

So instead I scanned the crowd. And that’s when I saw her come in through the back door.

JUNO: Big guy, our friend with the hood from earlier just showed up. Didn’t you say you lost her?

JACKET (FROM COMMS): What is she doing?

JUNO: Nothin’ yet.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): This is really… the Curemother. You have it!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Now. You pay me, you take this, and your group makes just oodles and oodles of money for you to send back to all the little orphans and victims and puppy-dogs on Balder, or whatever your story is today. Do you even have children, Razzy, or is it all just a story?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Does it affect our business, whether or not ‘tis so?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): I suppose not.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Hm. Now, the transaction. We will be using my comms, as agreed.

SOUND: BEEPS.

Security transactional set to the audio, then the fingerprint.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Are we ready?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): You read the bill of sale first, yes? Ensure is no confusion.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Alright…

JUNO: You see her, Buddy?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): (UNDER HER BREATH) Ah, yes. Over by the music machine, not moving.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah, u-uh– what?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Oh, forgive me, Razzy. A Solar colloquialism: if something is ‘by the machine and not moving,’ that means it’s straightforward. The money is to be transferred directly from your account to mine, and the key to the Curemother’s briefcase from my account to yours.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah. I-I have not heard this expression before.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): And you never will again. I, Buddy Aurinko, consent to this transaction. And the fingerprint…

SOUND: BEEP.

Your turn.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): A-ah, thank you.

JUNO: She’s moving. Buddy, you’ve got someone coming right at you!

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I, Rasbach the Eldest, Agent Acquisitional of the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts—

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): What’s your game, Rasbach?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): My name? Miss Buddy, I was just saying…

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Finish it, then. Quickly.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I conzent to this transaction.

SOUND: BEEP.

There. Is done.

JUNO: He did it? Wait, really?

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): It appears so, yes.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Well. The business well done.

JUNO: Buddy, look out! She’s right on top of you!

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Well, Miss Buddy. It has been a plea— (CHOKING)

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Rasbach!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The hooded woman ran up behind Rasbach and without a sound a knife appeared in her hand. Then it disappeared again… into Rasbach’s back.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Who… who?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): (GROWLS)

SOUND: THUNK.

You! Give me the briefcase.

JUNO: Stall her. We’re on our way.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): Stay where you are, the both of you.

You don’t have the key to this. What do you plan to do? Break it open?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): If you’re real, just give it. If not… get out!

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): You could damage what’s inside if you do, and then what use will it be? You– sound familiar. Do I know you?

VOICE 9 (FROM COMMS): I said get out! (GROWLS)

SOUND: METAL CLANGS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Then they were really at it. Hood took quick jabs, lots of ‘em, but Buddy was quick too, working that briefcase like a shield too precious for her attacker to stab. It was a good defense, but Buddy’s back was almost to the wall, and it wasn’t gonna be good much longer.

So Buddy raised her gun to turn the tide, but, with her focus split for just that half-second, Hood slashed at her fingers with the knife. Some people would’ve kept the briefcase instead of their hand, I thought. But Buddy wasn’t one of ‘em. She let go, and Hood had it before it hit the ground.

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): She has the briefcase, but I can’t get a clear shot with all these people!

JACKET (FROM COMMS): She’s running towards you, Juno. You know what to do.

JUNO (NARRATOR): My stomach and shooting-hand hardened. Still the same old Juno Steel, I thought. The Proctor, Swift, Pollock, Pilot, the Piranha – someone says shoot, and I say who’s next?

The thought made me sick. I was tired. I was just so, so tired of making the same old mistakes, again and again.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

VOICE 9: Get out of my way!

JUNO (NARRATOR): So I made a new one instead.

VOICE 9: Move!

JUNO: No!

JUNO & VOICE 9: (GRUNTS)

BUDDY (FROM COMMS): What do you think you’re doing, Juno? Do you want her to stab you?

SOUND: BLADE CLANG.

JUNO: (PAINED) Too late.

VOICE 9: Move or I’ll kill you.

JUNO: Lady, if you knew the kinda week I’ve had you’d understand why that doesn’t scare me much.

SOUND: LOUD BLASTER SHOT. CROWD SCREAMS, RUNS OUT.

JACKET: This is an emergency situation. All customers must leave immediately.

SOUND: CLATTERING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The diversion was just enough to distract her for a second, so I tried to take a swing at her. She was too fast for me and my fingers missed her face but grabbed her scarf, and she… did not like that.

VOICE 9: (HOWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I could see why she’d covered herself, because she had a look too memorable for covert ops: bright green hair and bright, wild eyes. But, I didn’t know her.

Buddy did, though.

BUDDY: Vespa?!

JUNO (NARRATOR): Green hair looked back, panicked, her eyes darting. She pulled so hard her sleeve came up and I saw what was on her wrist.

A debtor’s tag, for indentured servants. Just like that Outer Rim woman in the market. And hers had something written on it: Vespa I., five.

Vespa was in a cold sweat. She looked like she was gonna be sick.

VOICE 9 [VESPA]: Not… real… you’re not… real!

BUDDY: Vespa, it’s you! I thought you were—

VESPA: You’re not real! Get out of my head! (FERAL GROWL)

JUNO: (PAINED GRUNT)

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

BUDDY: Vespa! Come back!

JACKET: Buddy… she’s gone.

BUDDY: She can’t be gone. I saw her, I swear, I saw her!

JUNO: You’re gonna need to slow down a little for the murder victim by the door, Buddy. Who the hell is Vespa?

BUDDY: She’s… a dead woman. I saw her… die. But now she’s—

Vespa! Vespa?!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

JUNO: Should we follow them?

JACKET: That depends. Are you injured enough that running will cause your organs to fall out of your body?

JUNO: Uh, not that bad, but pretty—

JACKET: Then we hide the briefcase and Rasbach’s corpse in the back room first. Then we follow. Quickly.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We searched the streets for an hour, but Vespa was gone.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLE. DOOR CREAKS.

JUNO: Ow, ow… ow, ow.

JACKET: You make that noise a lot, don’t you.

JUNO: Ohhh, sorry, does it bother you? Don’t mind me, I’m just the guy who’s been playing peekaboo with his large intestine for the past hour— OW, ow, ow.

JACKET: You said your organs would not fall out.

JUNO: It was a joke! Do big caveman get joke?

JACKET: I do not know. I have never met one.

BUDDY: Stop it. Immediately.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

Where’s the briefcase?

JACKET: We left it in the back room.

BUDDY: I remember you saying that, but it isn’t here. And neither is Rasbach.

Well. It seems our sale was completed after all.

JACKET: He took the Curemother?

JUNO: He didn’t die?!

JACKET: But more importantly: we have the money?

BUDDY: He couldn’t take it even if he wanted to. Both of us would have to consent to another transaction. All sales final.

JUNO: So it-it’s done. The sale’s done. It sounds like it… worked out, right?

BUDDY: Do business with a glorified slave-trader once, then wash my hands of it for good. That was the plan. So yes, everything went according to plan. But… Vespa.

Karma comes in all shapes, doesn’t it?

JACKET: Buddy…

BUDDY: Her debtor’s tag, Juno. What number was on it?

JUNO: What?

BUDDY: I know she had one. I’ve been thinking about it for an hour and that’s the only option that makes sense. Just… tell me what it said.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: It-it was, uh… five.

BUDDY: Five?

Five years… I can’t…

Thank you for not shooting her, Juno. I’ve already lost her once. Losing her again… I think that would be the end of me.

(DEEP BREATH) The number on the debtor’s tag is the number of years they’ve been… owned. Vespa has been in the Cerberus Province without rest for five years. It’s a miracle that the radiation hasn’t killed her, unless… five years… Vespa, where have you been?

JUNO (NARRATOR): You could tell from the look in Buddy Aurinko’s eyes that the number of years wasn’t what bothered her. It could’ve been five months or five weeks or five minutes, and all it would’ve amounted to is the same thing: she felt hope, and she was terrified of it. The presumed-dead were walking in the Cerberus Province, and that was a nightmare. Because there’s peace when hope finally dies, when it stops moving and you can nail the coffin shut.

Buddy looked like she’d won that peace the hard way.

But there was movement in that coffin now, something pounding the lid from the inside, and if the old hope was so hard to bury the first time… who knew what kind of damage it could do the second.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actors Joshua Ilon, Sarah Gazdowicz, Alexander Stravinski, and co-creator Sophie Kaner:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

SARAH: Um, I would say that I pretty much went as straight as I could with—

SOPHIE: (LAUGHS)

SARAH: —the suggestion– okay. Okay, okay. OKAY.

SOPHIE & JOSHUA: (LAUGH)

SARAH: No, I-I think I was predominantly influenced by the, the note that I was given about the character, which was – oh, like a Katharine Hepburn being, like, a major influence or source for the- how the voice should sound. And then the struggle began with maintaining it, not making…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Regan, Ko, KC, Atha Lang, Vron, Charlie Spiegel, Minchowski, Jaimie Gunter, and the Princess and the Scrivener for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Time Gone By, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Alexander Stravinski as the Man in the Brown Jacket, Sarah Gazdowicz as Buddy Aurinko, William Schuller as Rasbach, and Chloe Cunha as Vespa.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert. If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

[resilientgearloose-a]

❛❛ Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe now. ❜❜ [lunaris]

The rumbling. It had started with just a low rumbling.

Ratchet’s breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide and fearful. His hands grasped at the nearest support he could find– Lunaris’ arms –in a desperate attempt to ground himself. He was safe. He was on the Moon, where their few volcanoes were small, incredibly dormant and rarely stirred, let alone erupted. Yet– Mt. Danan had been small.

No. That wasn’t helping. Don’t think about that.

Lunaris’ voice reached him, and the low tones were enough to begin to ease his trembling. Ratchet drew himself closer, seeking that grounding warmth and solidity of the other. He understood. He could trust him. “I’m sorry–” Ratchet choked out, closing his eyes tight. “I know– I… I shouldn’t be so afraid anymore.”

Still, it was hard to shake old perceptions.

[not-rude-ginger]

Tagging Game

Rules: answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.

I was tagged by the lovely @illegalcerebral​

nickname: A bunch of terms of endearment from my parents, Kir, Pet, McSquirt 

Zodiac : Cancer

height : 5'6″

Last movie I saw: Coco in my aunt’s house (yes I cried!)

last thing I googled: Places to rent

favorite musician: The Rasmus

song stuck in my head: Not really a song but I have the Great British Bake Off Task music beeping along. 

other blogs: 

do I get asks: Very rarely, and I’d love to get more. 

following: 116

amount of sleep: between 7 and 9 on average, but it can vary because of my medications and chronic fatigue. 

lucky number: Don’t think I have one. 

what I’m wearing: Loungewear

dream job: Writer/TV Show Creator

dream trip: Finland, Iceland, Egypt

favorite food: I go through phases these days

play any instruments: I started to learn piano, and I was doing well, but I was struggling with depression and anxiety and having to kill 3 hours between finishing hellish job and class starting on my own in town with no place to sit comfortably and chill. Now I don’t have time, nor the physical capacity because my hands and wrists are prone to terrible pain if I over work them. 

languages: English, tiny bit of Irish and Spanish from school, studied Latin too, but I sucked at it. 

favorite songs: “In the Shadows”, “Guilty” “Justify” “Wonderman” “Don’t Let Go” The Rasmus, “All I Got” Arven, “This Is Me” The Greatest Showman, “Impossible” “How Long is Forever” & “Angels and Demons” Aviators; “Angels” Within Temptation; “Elán” Nightwish; “Lothu” Finnish Live Aid

random fact: I have contact lenses embedded in my eyes, specifically hooked onto my irises, to correct my vision. Any queries on that, send me an ask.  

describe yourself as aesthetic things: Cloudy days, cute puppy, open ocean, reading nook, green grass, soft fabric running through your fingers, rumbling thunder, dormant volcano 

tagging: @gaslightgallows, @eliciaforever @trapped-inadystopianovel @iamanartichoke @grittygambit @lazycatcornernipples @elaynab-writing @sleepy-and-anxious @tinysnapdragon9 @tiny-librarian @unidentified-flying-object-stuff @writebruh @littlejumper01 @addickted-to-speight @philosopherking1887 @minusfractions @iveldi @faireladypenumbra @arimabat @emireviews @ameliarating

[pennywisehatesyoubby]

Back to the Weeds

A/n: I forgot I had this little drabble in the notes on my phone, I figured I’d put it here instead of letting it just sit there. I hope y’all like it, it’s short but I tried >.<

Summary: You and Penny consider your mortality.

Warnings: Angst like a bitch.

You lay under Penny on your couch, his heavy weight pressing you down comfortably, making you feel warm and safe as it always does. His head lay on your chest, tufts of red hair tickling your cheeks like little fires with no heat. Your hand plays in them softly, lulling him into a rumbling purr that resonates through your ribcage. His arms, wrapped under you, pull you as close to him as possible as the two of you watch mindless television and enjoy each other's company.

You're so comfortable you begin to doze. The drone of the TV starts to fade out little by little as your consciousness dances dangerously close to a dark ledge, and your eyelids begin to feel like lead. You've nearly succumbed to your impending slumber when Penny's sudden gravelly murmur coaxes you back into reality. You suck in a breath.

"What, baby?" You mutter, groggy and unsure of what you heard, your mind barely clear enough of sleep to be involved in a conversation.

"I don't want you to die." Penny repeats and it takes a minute for the words to melt into your ears and press like a bee sting into your brain. Suddenly your eyes are wide open. He rests his chin on your sternum.

"What?" You say again, this time prodding. Where did that come from?

"You're mortal, y/n. One day, you'll die, and I'll be left to rot here. Alone. Again."

Big blue eyes never break away from yours. You realize your hand is still buried in his hair, and you begin softly toying with it again, trying to comprehend how emotional Pen is being in this moment, how it's the first time he's ever actually voiced something sweet, if melancholy, and not just done something sweet. After a few moments, you finally find words.

"I don't want to die either. I don't want to leave." You sound more sad than you meant to, and suddenly it's like a switch is flipped.

Suddenly, you see your entire life with Pennywise. You see yourself like this, with him, loving him, and alternately you see yourself patiently waiting for his return through bouts of what he calls his "long rest". You see him protecting you, and always coming back to you. You see yourself spending 27 years alone, waiting just to see him again before you wither away with age, or perhaps not even making it to when he wakes up again at all. You see yourself gone, returned to the dust you're made of, and Pennywise returning balefully, bitterly back into the way he was for all those billions of years before you were even a thought. You see him slinking around sewers with a heavy heart, more dangerous than ever, like a wounded animal trapped in a corner. You see his rage. His hate. His sadness. You see him- and only him- continuing on, long past the decay of humanity into a solitary existence that beckons him back down into the earth. There he will inevitably find himself, and there he will remain. Inactive like a dormant volcano until the universe itself implodes in a flash of power and terrible, final splendor.

Penny shifts and presses his lips against yours, yanking you out of your reverie. His lips are soft, contrasting with the harsh sting of reality. A slender gloved thumb swipes over your cheek and only then do you notice your tears.

Silence falls heavy like a quilt over the two of you. It gnaws at you like a termite, as if you're nothing more than wood set to rot. It's deafening. The only noise you can hear is the ticking of the clock on the wall.

When Pennywise lays his head back down on your chest, he can hear the gush and thump of your heart like a song working towards a sudden end. But the last thing he ever wants is for that beat to stop.

“I love you, y/n.”

It was the first time he said it. It seemed more like an epiphany than a declaration.

“I love you too, Penny.”

[black-wolf066]

Never a Dull Moment [4/?]

Rating: pg-13 to be on the safe side

Summary: In which the land of untold stories should have been a warning that it wasn’t just fairytales that were real. (Killian whump and BAMF Henry)

Words: 3637

[Part 1]  [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [4]  and  [FF.net Link]

((((((A/N: Sorry that this took so long. Between the holidays and my own muse jumping ship to write other things, it’s been difficult to just sit down and flesh the chapter out. There should be one more chapter before I call “Dull Moment” done, but we’ll see how that one goes.)))))))

Tagging @killianmesmalls @theonceoverthinker @killian-whump and @mcbrideannemgt

Chapter 4: Recovery

The distant echo of the falls, filtered in from the open archways of the room and into Henry’s ears as he sat with his thoughts. The repetitive rumble of the water was soothing, but it wasn’t enough to bring total relaxation as he shifted—for what felt like the umpteenth time—in the rough, wooden chair by Killian’s bedside.

It was late in the night, or possibly even early in the morning, but for the most part the metropolis was silent. The whirling of the vehicles and the low din from the markets had long since stopped; the citizens having all mostly gone to bed already. Not everyone was asleep however, for Henry could still hear a few of the healers, tasked with watching Killian’s fragile condition tonight, murmuring lowly in Atlantian in the adjoining room.

He shifted his legs once again on the mattress—being mindful not to knock into Killian’s own—to try and bring a bit of circulation back into them and his sore tailbone. He knew he should be sleeping in the second bed that was provided to him, but his mind was too wired to shut off. Not with the day’s chaotic happenings still running on loop; or the worry for their family in Storybrooke, and for Killian, still gnawing away at his nerves.

Henry would be lucky if sleep found him at all this night.

His bandaged hand gripped the uninjured flesh of Killian’s stump a little tighter; his mind veering off to one of his earlier conversations with Kida after being looked at by a healer, and being given a spare change of clothing.

“Tell me Henry, how is it your realm knows of Atlantis?”

Returning to his seat and flexing his hands against the stiff bindings of the cloth bandages; Henry replied. “Where I come from, it’s mostly myth, but there is one story that I find comes the closest to what I’ve seen here.”

“Really?” she asked with intrigue, silently gesturing for him to continue.

“Yes,” he nodded. “It… roughly chronicles how you and Milo met.” At her startled look, he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; I’m sure they got things wrong. My family isn’t from my realm either, and let me tell you, their stories aren’t depicted any better.”

“You aren’t from their realm?”

“I wasn’t born in the Enchanted Forest.”

She hummed in thought before curiously asking. “Are there any other worlds that have our stories?”

“Honestly?” he began; his mind suddenly wondering if there were any other realities involving his own family (a thought he filed away to think on later when he returned home). “I’m not exactly sure, but it is a high probability. I mean, in the Enchanted Forest, Atlantis was underwater and ruled by Poseidon and the Mer-people. And it my world, it’s nothing more than stories.”

“That’s… remarkable.” She breathed in awe. “I… I guess I should have expected it after meeting your father, but...”

“You never expected your home to exist… or suffer a different fate?” he finished gently for her when she trailed off.

“Yes,”

Wanting his own questions answered, he began by starting off small. “Kida, in the tale from my world, there was a highway that led to your city, is that true?”

“There was,” She nodded. “Before it was destroyed. It was how my husband, and the crew he journeyed with, found Atlantis so long ago.”

“The stories never mentioned a second entrance, though.”

“The entrance you came through was built sometime after.” She explained, as she stood and motioned for him to follow her toward the open archway of the large throne room. “We had always had our presumptions that there was land above us, but it wasn’t until after the volcano had gone dormant again, that we discovered just how large that piece of land was.”

“And you found no one else living on it?”

“No one alive.” she answered solemnly. “The eruption must have wiped them out.” She shook her head as her face tilted upward toward the high cavern ceiling. “We learned of their existence around the same time we learned of the artifact that once belonged to them.”

“What about the crystals?” he prompted hopefully, Killian never straying far from his mind. “From what I remember, it was said that they hold a great power, and they were able to heal most wounds.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands and arms in confusion at that, just now realizing that the crystal hadn’t been used at all during the procedure, and looked up in time to see Kida smiling forlornly at him.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work quite like how you think, young one.” her hand reached up to clutch at her own necklace as she explained. “You are right about one thing, Henry; these crystals do have great power. It’s what protects Atlantis and the people with in it. It’s what has kept us alive for thousands of years, but it does not heal wounds. If it did, my father would still be ruling this kingdom.”

Henry deflated visibly at that. “So, my—”

“That does not mean you should give up hope.” She cut in sternly. “Since my husband’s arrival, we have learned much in the course of four hundred years.” His eyes widened at that, vaguely remembering that Milo’s adventure had taken place in the early nineteen hundreds. Kida smiled gently at him as she broke him out of his thoughts by continuing. “Your father is in good hands, Henry.” Her gentle smile shifted toward the mischievous side then—a trait Hakan must have picked up on from her. “And if memory serves me right, he’s too stubborn to let something like this get to him.”

Henry snorted at the memory and at the surety in which Kida had spoken with. Even now, with Killian’s life still hanging in the balance, he could hear her optimism ringing in his head as his eyes shifted to the prone form on the straw mattress. He may have had the heart of the truest believer, but even Henry had his limits. After all, there were only so many times Killian could cheat death before eventually one of them stuck.

Henry just hoped this wasn’t that time.

There was also the matter of finding a way home.

“Is there anything I could use to get us back?”

“I’m not sure.” She answered and continued before he could allow the remorse to set in. “That does not mean it’s impossible. You have to understand, Henry, that there was a long period of time where our history was buried and forgotten amongst us. It’s through my husband’s knowledge, and my own tenacity, that we managed to get Atlantis back to a semblance of what it used to be.” She gestured to the stone pillars surrounding the throne room, and for the first time since stepping foot into the space, Henry took notice of the dull blue glow of the faces and hieroglyphs craved into them. “There are still things left of our history we have yet to uncover.”

“So, there could be something here?”

“I can’t make any promises, Henry, but if there is, Milo would be the one to find it.”

With a sigh, he squirmed around in his seat; the uncomfortable surface of the chair pulling him from his thoughts once again. Despite the urging from the healers (that he was no good to anyone exhausted, and Killian wouldn’t want him to suffer like this), Henry just couldn’t find it in himself to move away from the bedside. Not after being told there was nothing else they could do; that they would simply have to wait out the raging fever, and hope the tonics would counteract the plants venom. Killian’s scarred skin, even through the layer of bandages around Henry’s hand, felt hot to the touch and he prayed that Zeus wouldn’t claim him this night.

He already had one father up there in Olympus; Henry refused to allow Zeus to claim the other.

Eventually, as the time ticked by, Henry managed to conk out when he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. But it was far from restful; his subconscious hanging on the balance of awareness and sleep as the healers periodically came in through the night to check on Killian.

“Don’t make me forcibly remove you from this room, young man!”

He startled fully awake as he turned to stare at the elderly head healer (her no nonsense attitude reminding him a great deal of Granny, to the point he had a feeling the women would get along just great, if they were ever to meet). His blurry eyes cleared to see her disproving scowl, and he cringed, grinning sheepishly at her as he fidgeted in the seat.

“Sorry Aponi,” was all he could manage as he moved to stand, his stiff back and knees popping after being left in the uncomfortable position for so long.

He didn’t have a single doubt that her threat was a warning; her eyes watching his movements like a hawk as he ventured to the untouched bed on the other side of the room. When he was under the blankets, she nodded once in her satisfaction before moving to check on Killian, and he rolled onto his side and watched her as she worked. His eyes grew heavy again, but they refused to shut until he was sure everything was fine. And at Aponi’s gentle hum and nod, he sagged farther into the soft straw mattress and snorted as he watched her pick up the chair and leave with it with one final glare of warning.

Sleep claimed him not long after.

(***)

A distressed noise penetrated the fog of sleep and startled Henry back into alertness. He blinked his blurry eyes rapidly to clear them, the dull rays of sun beginning to filter in through the sheer curtains covering the archways as he rolled over.

“Dad!” he yelled the moment he heard the noise again. It was a sound caught between a grunt and a whine, and in a blink, he quickly disentangled himself from the sheets and was by Killian’s side in the next. “Dad?!” he hovered helplessly, his hands frozen in fear over Killian’s convulsing form; not knowing if he was having a seizure or battling the demons in his sleep. “Help! I need help!” he yelled out; the faint red color, seeping onto the white sheet, startling him into action as he finally moved to pin Killian down. Only to duck and narrowly avoid getting hit as his left arm unconsciously swung out. “Someone help!”

Within seconds, Aponi and four others—three women and a younger man—were swarming into the room and pulling him up and off.

Henry struggled against the stronger, male healer’s hold; all logical thought leaving as shock and panic found a home instead. He vaguely heard his name being called over the loud din of chaos, his ears ringing and his muscles straining to be freed as he was forcibly dragged from the room. It was only out in the hall, did Henry realize the loud noises were coming mostly from his own mouth. The healer, Paku—or had he introduced himself as Nahko—was saying something, but the words weren’t registering. Every time Henry tried to take a step back into the room, the man was in his way; pushing against his shoulders and uttering words that were probably meant to sooth if Henry were actually paying attention to them. When it became clear he wasn’t allowed back in, his irrational mind did the only other thing it could think of.

He pulled an Emma Swan and ran.

He ran as far and as fast as his feet and the uneven stone terrain would allow; racing down steps, past startled inhabitants and around sharp corners of market streets and buildings. He ran until he was at the outskirts of the city and even then he didn’t stop. The air felt like knives against his lungs with each breathe he took as he pushed forward, hopping from slippery rock to slippery rock to traverse over the water toward a small cluster of ruins.

He slid a few times against the stones as he rushed across, the final time actually landing him into the deep, surprisingly unmoving—considering the surrounding falls—water as he spluttered to the surface and swam the rest of the way. By the time he reached the edge of the island, he was sore and slightly cold; having made the trip with bare feet and nothing but the borrowed cloth pants he slept in. They were nothing more than minor grievances—still too far gone in his shock to care—as he ducked underneath a leaning pillar and sat behind one of the boulders.

What’s going to happen now? He thought dejectedly as he hunched in on himself and rested his cheek against his bent knees.

If Killian didn’t make it, what was he going to tell his mom when he finally saw her again? How was he going to tell her that Killian had sacrificed himself for the fifth time? How could he tell her that he had failed to save him; that he wasn’t cut out to be like the rest of his family?

The excitement he had felt at getting David’s sword—a symbol of courage and of a hero—now felt like a hollow undertaking that he couldn’t even dream of being able to fulfill.

(***)

He didn’t know how long he sat there; just long enough for everything to grow stiff and his pants to dry, but other than that, the passing of time was all but lost to Henry.

The gentle babble of the surrounding water, and the roar of the falls, had done absolutely nothing to sooth him and his inner turmoil. It wasn’t the crashing waves of the ocean. And the ruins he sat in, wasn’t the familiar and comforting wood of the Jolly either. He wanted this to be a dream.

He wanted to go home.

The sudden shadow blocking the light, and the clearing of a throat, brought Henry’s attention to the opening where a very tall man stood. His face was shadowed for only a moment until he ducked and made his way inside. He was pale skinned, solidly built, and looked for all the world like a Viking with his flaming red hair and bushy overgrown beard.

“There you are, we’ve been looking all over for you.” he uttered with a small gentle smile; the timber of his voice, deep and rich as he squeezed to sit in the space across from him. “Just thought you’d like to know that your father is alright; Aponi managed to get him stable again.”

Henry’s shoulders sagged in relief.

He could still die, his traitorous thoughts piped up.

He tensed again.

“I’m Milo.” The man spoke, effectively freeing Henry from the dark thoughts for now, as he shot his hand out for Henry to shake.

Henry simply gawked at him. Sure, he had had his suspicions the moment he saw him, but Milo was nowhere near to his cartoon counterpart; the earlier thought of Viking a far cry from the lanky, shorter scholar he was depicted as. Then his manners finally caught up and he fumbled forward to accept the offered handshake.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Milo.”

That gentle smile, half buried under red, curly whiskers, reappeared. “The pleasure is mine, Henry. I spoke with my wife and son last night, and they told me you seek of a way home?”

“Yes, do you know of anything?”

Milo shook his head. “I haven’t come across anything yet, but we’re still trying to free several stone slabs from the muck underneath the surface. Maybe there’s something there?”

“Maybe,” he trailed off, his thoughts creeping back.

Much like the day Emma stabbed Killian through the chest with Excalibur, the image of Killian convulsing wildly on the bed, would equally haunt his dreams for years to come.

“He’s going to be okay.” Milo urged.

“You don’t know that.” Henry couldn’t help but argue back. “What happened anyway?”

“Aponi believes it was a combination of the venom and a bad reaction to the tonic. He must have been allergic to one of the herbs and his body didn’t respond until after the second dosage.” He explained. “But the situation is under control now. Aponi is giving him a new tonic and they’ll be monitoring him more frequently to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He then stood and extended his arm out once more as he gestured toward the exit of the nook. “Come, and I’ll show you the proof, myself.”

(***)

Henry refused to be removed from his bedside for the entire day and night after that; only straying out of the room when he needed to relieve himself or when Nahko would come in to clean up when Killian did.

Even Aponi knew better than to try; having brought in a comfier chair for him to sit on as he sat vigil by Killian’s side. And with the healers bringing him things to eat and drink every time they came in to check on Killian’s condition, Henry could do nothing more than sit back and wait.

(***)

On the second day, Killian’s fever broke.

There was a little more color to the pale pallor of his skin, and his breathing didn’t seem as strained as it had been from the start.

Aponi had high hopes that he would wake soon enough.

(***)

On the third day, Killian awoke for all of five minutes.

Henry had missed it.

The moment Killian’s fever had broken, and they deemed that the worst of the venom’s affects were over with; Aponi had gone straight back to nagging Henry from here to kingdom-come.

“You’ll hurt your back if you continue to sleep in that chair.”

“You’re too skinny; you need more meat on those bones, young man.”

“Go and stretch your legs a little; your father isn’t going anywhere.”

It was during one such occurrence of nagging—with Henry appeasing her by heading down for the market—that he had managed to miss it. By the time Nahko had arrived, out of breath, to tell him the news and bring him back, Killian had long since succumbed to his exhaustion.

Henry wasn’t willing to move from the room after that, no matter how much Aponi tried.

(***)

The second time came when Henry himself was asleep.

He was stationed back at Killian’s bedside (despite Aponi’s great displeasure against it); with his feet propped up on the straw mattress, and Killian’s stump clutched loosely in his right hand.

The feeling of his arm being moved, had disturbed his sleep enough for him to groan irritably and loudly; thinking it was nothing more than Aponi coming back to forcibly remove him from the chair herself. He was just about to tell her he was fine where he was, at least, until he realized the hand grasping his wasn’t dainty and wrinkled, but large and callused and no longer resting against the sheets of the bed.

His eyes snapped open and he swiveled his head to find Killian staring back; relief overruling the fatigue he could see on his face. There was a small moment where neither of them moved, for Henry couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Then the moment was over as he jumped up and leaned down to hug him; his face burying itself against the crook of Killian’s neck in his own relief.

“You’re an idiot.” Henry finally muttered against his skin as he felt Killian’s left arm shift up to return the hug.

The resulting chuckle ended quickly on a wince as Killian rasped out. “Don’t make me laugh, my boy; that hurt.”

“Yeah,” He snorted. “I stand by what I said.”

Once he retrieved water for Killian’s parched throat, and Nahko for a quick check up and some help with propping him up against the pillows; the questions came after. Henry filled in the gaps as best he could, relaying the parts of the story he felt necessary to tell, and how Milo and the others were working to figure out a way home for them.

“You know,” Killian began, “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe how much you’ve grown. You aren’t the little boy I helped save all those years ago in Neverland.”

“I know; I hear it a lot from both moms…”

“You would hear it from your other father too, lad.” They both smiled sadly at that. “Bae would have been just as proud of you as I am, Henry; don’t ever forget that.”

The silence that fell afterwards was comfortable, until Henry felt the need to break it. Three days surrounded by strangers and his own worry, would do that he supposed. Not to mention the fact that Killian’s timber, no matter how raspy with disuse it was at the moment, always seemed to calm him in the past when Emma or Regina couldn’t.

“So,” he started; shifting in the chair and murmuring an apology as his foot knocked against Killian’s leg. “Atlantis, huh?”

“I’m sorry lad, I—”

“It’s okay, dad. I understand.” he cut him off with a smirk. “It’s just cool to hear you’ve always had the makings of a hero. Even when you were at your darkest.”

Killian shifted his attention uncomfortably away at that, before catching himself and gazing back. “Well… what can I say? I had the right people there to guide me and remind me that I could be a part of something.”

They shared a smile at that as the distant echo of the falls filled the silence once again.

[shalink95]

There once was a dream

Now, im sure some of you have herd the song in ripping the title off of, but for the sake of the story I will use it anyway. You see, this dream was a very important dream, for it was what set everything in motion for the island known as YOUNG TOWN. Before I start this story, let me give you a little background information on the town. Young town is a place for children who have been discarded by the world, ether tossed out or forgotten by the cruelties of humanity, but this story takes place before the island was even known as Young town in a time when it was known as the peaceful island, a place full of artists and bards and merchants from all over the world, where writers and singers and actors could all have a place to live out their dreams of a happy…peaceful life.

The dream came to a very small child known as Carrot, Carrot was an odd over eccentric happy child who had lived her entire life on an island with only a single friend. She was happy there though, she had everything she needed and was never spoiled with what she wanted. Her father was a wrighter and her mother was beautiful. She dressed in a plain blue shirt, had a hood around her neck wore plain old blue jeans and a tutu over that, she had mismatching socks and no matter how many pairs of shoes her parents got for her, she would only ever were sandals. She had short brown hair and Carrot orange eyes but the strangest thing about her was that she had a pair of black cat ears and a long black cat tail. You see, she took after her mother in that way, for her mother was a charrictor pulled straight out of a book, one that her father had written with such passion and such strong emotion that she had simply come to life! Her mother was originally just a simple cat who had been blessed by a goddess to become half human so that she could fight agenst an evil demon king. She lived a happy life now, she had a daughter that she loved very much and a kind and thoughtful husband, but this story is not about her…this story is about little carrot and her dream.

The dream was a very strange dream, she was surrounded by people..but..these people were a greenish blue color, their skin was neon and she could see enteni and beetle like wings on their backs, though the wings seemed to vary from person to person. They were all standing there, staring, they had wide eyes and huge grins…this made Carrot slightly scared. Carrot tried to open her mouth to speak, to ask what was going on, but nothing came out. It was as if her voice had been stolen from her and she started to panic, she backed away from those beings who became enraged that she seemed able to move at all. She struggled fiercely agenst those that tried to restrain her…and then she bolted upright, sitting in her bed, shaking at the memory of the quickly fading dream.

Normally, she wouldhave crawled out of bed and padded down the hall to her parents room to curl up with them before they could notice…but she was alone in her house that night, her parents had gone to the mainland to try and sell some of her fathers books, so she simply reached over to her night stand and grabbed the rectangle form of her walkie talkie. She clicked the button once and it made a beeping sound on her end, letting her know that it had beeped on the other end as well. After a moment and a couple more clicks of the button, a tired voice awnsered from the other end. It was a small, gentle voice that belonged to yet another child on the island. Her name was Iku, she was a little girl who was the same age as Carrot though I little shorter than the part cat child, she had wispy curly hair that was the shade of a light sea green color and her face was dotted all over her face. She normally wore a green and purple striped shirt with overalls and boots, sturdy cloths for rough playing that Carrot alwase seemed to provide.

“Carrot, do you even know what time it is?”

Iku asked in a slightly annoyed tone, to which Carrot awnsered quickly.

“I know, I know! But listen to me real quick! I saw aliens! They were green with enteni and big bug wings, and they had me in some strange place and I was really scared!”

The voice on the other side let out a grone of dispare as she reolized her sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare.

“Carrot, you’ve been watching way too many si-fi movies….it was just a nightmare, go back to bed…zzzzzz”

For such a quiet child, Iku snored rather loudly, though she still seemed to have her finger on the button so Carrot couldn’t wake her, Carrot’s ears drooped as she let out a sigh and turned the device off, setting it back on the night stand before wrapping herself in her blanket entirely and trying her hardest to get back to sleep…..

When Carrot work up the next day, she could only bairly remember the details of her dream, but she brushed it off to jump up and go to her window. Carrot flung open her curtains and blinked in the warm feeling of the sun rays on her face. She quickly got dressed and hurried downstairs, she had been hoping that her parents might be there to greet her when she woke up…but she had no such luck. The liveingroom, the kitchen, their bedroom, both bathrooms and even the spooky basement that Carrot refused to enter…were all empty. Carrot would sigh, tail and ears drooping with disappointment as she slunk to the kitchen to have yet another bowl of cereal for the third day in a row…Carrot was getting a little worried because she was running out of food and soon enough, she would need to go over to her friends house to eat all her meals until her parents returned and gave whatever excuse it was this time for why they had been gone for so long. Carrot was an understanding child, she knew that it was hard to sell a book, and she didn’t blame them at all.

Carrot had finished her breakfast and hurried off to the town at the edge of the island, under the shadow of a long dormant volcano. Carrot and Iku alwase had a fun game, they would pretend that the volcano was going off and then they would climb the tallest building they could find, which usually got them into plenty of trouble with the adults. Carrot hurried best the big marble covered building that had served as the town hall since before anyone could remember and she ran straight to the house of her friend, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth in excitement as she knocked rapidly on the front door. A woman with waves of long blond curly hair awnsered the door as she knew exactly what to expect.

“Hello Carrot”

The woman spoke with a smile.

“Hello! Can Iku play?!”

Carrot was practically bouncing up and down at this point, the grinning orange eyed child looked so young and so full of hope, how could the woman say no to that?

“Yes of course Carrot, she’s just finishing up her breakfast so why don’t you wait outside and she will be out.”

The blond woman said with a smile, Carrot grinned and saluted the woman as she sat down on the front steps of her best friends house. Carrot and Iku had been friends since they were babies, they were practically sisters and Carrot would do just about anything for Iku, even travel down into the dark and spooky basement that Carrot absolutely refused to enter, and if that wasn’t sisterly love, than I don’t know what is. Carrot waited somewhat impatiently on that porch for her friend to come out and when Iku finally stepped out of that door, Carrot hugged her rather tightly. You see, Carrot had this rather huge anxiety that everything would be taken away from her…everything…and everyone…and for such a small child that Carrot was, she needed some reassurance every once in a while, and a tight hug from Iku alwase seemed to do the trick.

“Im so so so so so sorry for waking you up last night! I just got really scared because the dream felt so real and I didn’t want it to be! They told me things that I didn’t want to do a..and im sorry!”

Carrot hugged the green haired girl a little tighter…and Iku didn’t mind one bit, she simply smiled and gently pat Carrot on the back.

“Carrot, im not mad, I was just a little annoyed but that’s long gone now, so don’t you worry, ok?”

Iku gently pried Carrot’s iron grip, off of her as she pet carrots ears and giggled at the purr that rumbled out of Carrots chest. When the petting stopped, Carrot remembered something important, and she grinned in a mischivious way.

“I have a super fun way to spend today!~”

Iku, who looked so innocent that most people couldn’t bring themself to blame her for most anything, grinned in a mischivious way as well.

“Well common! Out with it!”

Carrot chuckled and told her best friend in a whisper what the plan was, both of the mischivious, naughty little children, giggled and ran to Iku’s garden shed.

The two children had really done it this time, they looked at their masterpiece painted on the side of the town hall that was almost compmeetly obscured by bushes and trees. On the side, in as many colors that they could get their hands on, was a huge banner that said ‘Freedom to be yourself’. It had taken them a bit of time to come up with this banner and by the time they were finished and watching the paint dry, the sun was already high in the sky and they stomachs of the two children were rumbling loudly.

“Hey Iku?”

Carrot asked, being quiet all of the sudden, which made Iku look at her in confusion.

“Yea Carrot?”

Iku replied, wondering what her friend had to say.

“Will you alwase remember me? And how much fun we had together here? Even when were old and wrinkly?”

Iku grinned widely, for she knew the answer to this already.

“Of course I will, because you’ll be right there beside me to remind me, every step of the way, right?”

It was Carrots turn to grin widely, orange eyes sparking in excitement.

“Right!”

After that, the two headed to Carrot’s house to wash up so that they weren’t caught with paint on their…well..everything, Carrot alwase seemed to find strange ways to clean herself, just by putting any kind of liquid over the paint, she was able to take out the stains in bother her and her friends, cloths. You see, Carrot had a knack for making absurd, odd, things happen, for she had a great and terrible ability to bend reality its self. Of course, her mother and father had told her that using this power too much was dangerous and if she only used it for very small things…well then that should be fine. Once the two were cleaned up, they were about to head out to get some food when Carrots home phone rang loudly through the house. Carrot never liked the one phone but put her hands over her ears and went to retrieve it of only to make that infernal tingling sound, stop.

“Hello?”

She awnsered, her ears still ringing with the noise of the phone.

“Carrot sweety, its your mother.”

Carrot immedeatly perked up, her ears standing at attention and the tip of her tail flicking back and forth in an excited manor.

“Oh hi mama! Shows your trip? Did you sell any books? Oh I bet papa sold tons of books because his an amazing wrighter!”

There was a happy chuckle from the other side of the phone.

“Yes dear, we sold quite a few books this time around, we will be back later tonight but I have some exciting news for you! Were moveing to the mainland! Isint that wonderful?”

It took Carrot a moment…and a few blinks, but ever so slowly, her tail drooped, her ears folded back, her eyes grew wide, her hand started trembling slightly in the shock. In this moment Iku had decided to walk in, to check if everything was alright, Carrot looked over at Iku, it was as if the ringing in her ears was getting louder, and soon, her shock turned into white hot rage as she gritted her teeth and looked at the phone in anger.

“DID YOU EVER ASK ME IF I WANTED TO MOVE MOM!?”

Carrot was speaking at a higher volume than Iku had ever herd before, the pore curly haired girl was rather shocked as she stumbled backwards.

“Young lady, don’t you dare raise your voice at me. We have thought long and hard about this and both your father and I have the opertunity to get a job on the mainland.”

There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the phone.

“We will discuss this when we get home, but tomorrow we will be moveing to our new home…I promise sweety…you’ll love this place, its big with lots off places to explore…”

Carrot was no longer listening though, she slammed the phone down onto the receiver and huffed and puffed and pulled at her hair, her ears, her tail. Carrot want one to throw a temper tantrum very often, she had done so on one other occasion when her parents had told her that they would not be able to make it back to the island for her birthday….but this…she was furious…she didn’t even have much time to spend with Iku and…oh…oh no…Carrot looked over at Iku who was curled up into a ball, she covered her ears and rocked back and forth. Carrot had yelled…and yelling was one thing Iku couldn’t handle…slowly, gently, Carrot hugged her friend and they sat there until Carrot had finally gotten Iku to calm down.

“Im sorry for yelling….”

Carrot whispered softly.

“Its ok….I forgive you…”

Iku would whisper softly back, the two would sit like this until Carrots parents got home, while Carrots father took Iku home, Carrot had an argument like you wouldn’t bealive. Both sides had good reason for what they were saying but nether side wavered until finally….

“Your going to be that way hu!? You are grounded! Go to your room and if you do not have a bag packed by tomorrow, I will have the movers throw out anything that Isint nessisary from your room!”

Carrot was shocked, why was her mother suddenly acting so cruelly to Carrot? The small orange eyed child, hednt the slightest clue….so in defeat, she spun around, running up the stairs to her room. She reluctantly packed be bag and held on tightly to her walkie talkie as she ended up crying herself to sleep…..

That night…she opened her eyes into the dream again, the alien-like people standing around her, but before she could start to panic, one seemed to come forward.

“No no, sweetheart, don’t be frightened, we wont hurt you darling.”

The alien said, she had a strange high pitched voice that sounded like a mix between a buzzing bee and someone trying to talk with their nose held. Carrot tried to speak but nothing seemed to come out.

“We just want to help you little one…you see…we know your struggles and your anger…your parents are being so unfair arnt they? Well…we can help you…if you let us~”

Well…now Carrot was interested…she leaned forded as if to tell the alien figure to continue and they smiled a thin mischivious smile.

“You see…we have a way of whipping peoples memories of specific events…we could…make your parents forget that they ever got a job offer in the first place~…..but”

Yes…there was that dreaded catch that Carrot was afraid of….

“You must do something for us~ tomorrow night, exactly when the sun sets…you must go to the top of your volcaino, and you must create a portal, not a small one ether, something almost as big as the island itself….if you do this….you can live out the rest of your life on the island…your parents will never have gotten that job offer..you and your friend can keep your promise to eacother and all will be well.”

These words dripped like honey out of the alien’s mouth, the young child looked up at them..full of hope…for she did not know deceit yet…and she did not know what a terrible mistake she was making….by saying…

“Yes”

When carrot woke up that morning, she hatched a plan, Carrot snuck to the kitchen and grabbed all the snacks she could carry before making a hasty exit, there was a spot on the island where only the kids could go, it was a tunnel into the mountain with a very old staircase that lead straight to the top, but the entrance and exit were both so small, that only small children could fit into it and get out of it safely….and that’s where Carrot hid…

As the day went on, surch parties were sent all over the island to find the small child, every once in a while, Carrot would stick their head out to check the position of the sun. Back at Iku’s home, the adults were drilling the pore girl with question after question, trying to see if she knew where Carrot was, they had to stop when Iku broke out into tears and ran to hide in her room. The sun was finally about to set…and Carrot made her way up the stairs…Carrot had never dome anything so big before so she had been mentally preparing herself for this…remembering fond times with her dear friend…and even with her parents…she looked at the sky above the volcaino and held up her arms, the sky instantly turned gray, snuffing out whatever was left of the setting sun, electricity crackled in these clouds, as they pulled energy from the young Carrot. Slowly, ominously, the clouds started to split and rip as the sky opened up for all to see…Carrot had done it… She had opened a rift across the entirety of space to some unknown distant place where these aliens were. Carrot looked up in hope as the alien who had convinced her to open up the portal, stepped out, Carrot felt so week at the moment, she could bairly stand, the alien grinned.

“Pore pathetic child….you have just doomed your entire race….for your service…ill let you live to see the end of your pathetic planet…”

And just like that, swarms of aliens with their beetle like wings and their terquise skin and their enteni, holding guns and bladed wepions and even some air ships, came out of the portal and ran for the town. Carrot was in shock once more, she tried to turn and reach out, but when she turned to face the town at the bottom of the village, she simply fell over. Her voice would not come to her and simply came out as a soft squeak of defiance. After a moment or so, she managed to stumble into the secrete entrance that even the aliens couldn’t get into, she clumsily tripped and wobbled and sometimes even tumbled, down the mighty staircase as she made it to the town below. Everything was in chaos, there were people running to put out fires while others tried and failed to fight the aliens, only to get cut down. Carrot looked through the panicked crowd, her mother was fighting like the force warrior she was, her father was trying to organize those who were putting out the fires…but it was not enough…the boat man was a distance away and heading towards the island as fast as he could but even on that small little boat, only a handful of people would be able to make it to safety…of the aliens didn’t kill the old boat driver as well. Once more Carrot looked out over the crowd…she spotted the sea green hair of her friend Iku and when Carrot was about to rush to the others side…she saw her friend cut down before her…there was a dull throb in Carrots heart…as is she too had just been cut away from her short life. Through all the fighting and commotion that was still going on around Carrot…the orange eyed little girl walked over to her friend….that friend who had been hugging her just the day before, that friend who she spent all her time with and grew up with, who she told her deepest, darkest secretes to, that friend who would cause mischif with her and even take the blame with her…that friend…was now dead. Something broke inside of Carrot that night…something that she would not be able to mend for a long…long time….

In one last act of defiance, Carrot watched as some of the people were already rushing to the faerie….and walked towards the mountain…it was almost as if Carrots eyes had become as red as flames instead of that tame orange color. She lifted her arms to the mountain and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“IF WE HAVE TO DIE, I AM TAKING YOU WITH ME!!!”

The earth began to shake, first slowly, but then violently, people started to trip over themselves as they attempted to get to the faerie first, there was an enormous CRACK as the mountain split at the top and immedeatly started to spew lava, it pored over the alien soldures and into the portal where the aliens came from, burning them into an instant red hot death, Carrot urged the volcaino to explode higher and at an even more ferocious rate…until she fell over next to the body of her dead friend….she looked over at Iku with a soft smile, finally allowing the tears to pore down her face in streaks.

“Im sorry….I couldn’t keep my promise…but at least I didn’t let them hurt anyone else…”

She blacked out….that was the last time she saw the island…she had, of course, woken up briefly to find that she was on the boat with a crowd of people…the only survivors…her parents were among them…but why was she there? How was she not dead? She didn’t have much time to think about it before she blacked out again…

Carrots tragic past didn’t end there…over the course of three years…Carrot found that everyone who escaped that island, had forgotten it completely. In those same three years…Carrots mother died…and her father spiraled into despair…in those three years, Carrots father had started to forget that she even existed. But two years after all that…Carrot finally found hope…for there was a rumor floating around…that if you asked the very old sailor known as the ooooold man, to take you to the island…that you would find a ghost there…the ghost was of a teenager girl, she had flowing, curly hair, the color of sea green, she would walk longingly on the beaches as if to call out to someone. Carrot thought….with maybe a small light of hope…maybe it was her…

Carrot asked the old sailor that she had known for a very long time, to take her to the island after 6 long years of being away from it. And at last…as she stepped off the boat, she looked across the tattered and roughly repaired dock, and she saw what she could only assume to be.

“Iku”

Carrot said breathlessly. The girl tilted her head with a slight confused look on her face but smiled anyway, she cleared her throat and began to speak.

“My name is Spirit, I am the protector of this island.”

She smiled brightly and held open her arms.

“Welcome to Young Town”

And just like that…everything was ok again…all the pain had fallen away and Carrot was a young…nieave child again…it would take time…but that was ok…because Carrot had everything she needed now…and she would do everything within her power to make sure that she would never loose it to anyone ever again.

[ja-jimenez]

The Fishing Trip - ‘04 (For my abuelo)

The rain stopped and the thunder finished its mournful roll through the countryside.  There, on a large oval rock which resembled a turtle's shell sat my abuelo.  His old, weathered khaki pants which had seen many fishing trips clung to his aged, but still strong legs.  He looked skyward seeking out the rejuvenating rays of the warm, wonderful sun, hoping to dry out from the early morning diluvio.  Lake Amatitlan, which I'm sure stands for something or another in the old Mayan dialect, always seemed at its most serene after the rainstorms.  To look out into the lake and see the hundreds if not thousands of colors dancing on its many ripples was always a sight to behold.  Imagine, a lake carved from the basement of time, surrounded by dormant volcanoes on its four sides.  It seemed like the volcanoes themselves reached the very peaks of heaven and somehow disappeared into nothingness.  I always felt tiny and insignificant when I beheld those sites, but being with my abuelo always made me feel safe.  He always made me feel like somehow, he and I belonged among those volcanoes, standing daring at their base.  My abuelo, many years before when he was but a young man, had found this beautiful little spot.  Hidden among the enclaves and vines of the forest he found what came to be - nuestro escondite, our hiding place.  There among the scattered volcanic rubble we would sit and fish together.

Today was no exception; we both had been eagerly anticipating this trip.  It would be the first of the summer season and I being but a child of five or six could hardly contain my youthful anticipation.  This would be the second season in which I was finally old enough to take the long ride on the back of my abuelo's motorcycle.  The ride on the back of his bike and the roar of the small engine was half the thrill of going on those fishing trips.  I remember there was nothing like the feeling of the rushing air running through my hair or the way the engine made my legs jiggle.  We would leave the house before sun up, to the good-byes of my abuela.  She would get up early in the morning and fix us some mixtas to take on our trip.  Of course there was the hot thermos filled with café con leche that was always at my abuelo's side.

He would wake me up in the early morning, letting me sleep as much as possible before heading out.  He would always make sure everything was ready for our trip.  Abuelo would tie the bamboo fishing rods to the side of his motorcycle and get the hooks and lines ready.  One part of the preparations that I never missed out on, even when I was still too small to go, was the previous evening's worm hunt.  Two weeks before the first fishing trip Abuelo would pour some fresh black earth into the garden.  Religiously he would water it twice a day.  The night before the big event he would take two large empty coffee cans and make tiny holes on their sides and removable tops.  Abuelo would fill them with a little fresh dirt and we would go digging for the worms that would catch our bounty the next day.  That was our routine, our ritual and there was no straying from it.

The trip itself was always a treat and it never in my youth seemed to be very long at all.  We would ride the early morning thoroughfares avoiding the traffic which was customary on Saturday mornings.  Everyone was either coming into the city for shopping or heading out for a bit of relaxation.  We would ride across Belize bridge out into the countryside.  I would cling tight to my abuelo, digging my face into the small of his back to give it a little protection from the cold wind.  Winter was over and with spring came the rainy season.  My abuelo always said that was the time when the pescados would fatten up for us.  Still, spring was not yet in full bloom and the early morning wind was still cool enough to make my face red and my eyes water.  In the span of what seemed like minutes the sun would awaken gloriously and its rays would fill every inch of space around us.  The birds, awakened by the sun, would sing their early morning lullabies and somewhere in the nearby milpas, I could hear the cackling of a rooster.  I would look down at the road and see the blur of speeding white lines being left behind by the steady pace of our journey.  In a matter of minutes, or so it would seem, we would pull off the road and unto an unmarked dirt trail.  Abuelo and I would travel up a ways and the dirt trail would start to make a steady climb.  The little motorcycle engine would whine as it struggled to carry its load up the trail.  Eventually the road would even back out, and coming to a jocotal Abuelo would bring the little motorcycle to a halt.

Excitedly I would undo the belt which held me secure to my abuelo's back.  Jumping off the motorcycle I would begin undoing the ties which held the bamboo rods secure.  The rods being easily three or four times bigger than I would make me lose my balance.  My abuelo, as always, would reach out with his large hands and grab hold of one end.  He would take hold of the bamboo rods and actually carry them, but he always made me feel as if I was the one doing the chore.  We would walk down the footpath worn by the many previous trips he had made.  We would follow the trail past the tall trees, until the vegetation would grow less dense and the lake would finally come into view.  I could always tell when we were getting close to our escondite.  There were violetas growing wild all around our little hiding place.  The fragrance of the violetas would be the telltale sign of our approach and it would let loose the  months of anxious anticipation.  I can still close my eyes and to this day my mind's eye can conjure the images of our little Eden.  The wild violetas growing all around the neatly matted grass, the mango tree that always provided us with a mid-day snack was always there.  At this time of year there would be an assortment of mangos at different stages of development.  There were the small green ones; you know, the kind that when you split them in half, the pit would still be white and soft.  Those were my favorite; a little salt and it was a child's delicacy.  My abuelo preferred the big red and yellow mangos, the kind that all you had to do was bite a little hole on the tip and literally squeeze the fruit without breaking the skin.  Those seemed to be his favorite.  We would get to our escondite with our simple fishing gear.  No rod and reel, just simple bamboo canes with fishing line strung along the length of the rod and secured at the tip.  A quick inspection of our equipment and it was fishing time.

Abuelo would always make for the big oval rock, the one that resembled a turtle's shell.  At first we would start fishing together.  He would string my line and get my hook in place.  I had my little silver coffee can full with my worms and sometimes, if I was lucky, grasshoppers.  Grasshoppers seemed to be the pescado's favorite.  I would hook my worm and together, Abuelo and I would fish endlessly.  We would stop only to eat Abuela's mixtas and drink our café con leche.

The diluvio had come suddenly and without warning.  It drove down sheets of rain and up in the volcanic heights there was the rumbling of thunder.  I had run off under the mango tree to avoid getting wet.  Abuelo on the other hand just sat there, line in hand, not a care in the world.  The rain ended as suddenly as it came, in those days it was not uncommon for it to rain hard and steady for ten or fifteen minutes and be gone as quickly as it had come about.  Once the rain stopped and the sun made its triumphant return, I came out from my place under the mango tree.  I was a little wet, but not nearly as wet as my abuelo was.  He looked at me with those weathered eyes and smiled in his complacent manner.  Going about the business of fishing he would dive into stories from his youth.  The way he left home when he was only twelve to make a life for himself.  How he joined the police force when he was nineteen years old.  He would tell me about his hunting and fishing stories throughout the day.  I would sit there, spell bound, hooked by his every word, mesmerized by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  Together we would spend hours fishing and telling stories.

Many seasons came and went.  Many fishing trips were enjoyed between Abuelo and myself.  Those were the best days of my childhood, the days spent fishing with my abuelo.  I look back now at those times and I remember all the wise tales that unavoidably came with all those fishing trips.  I remember the many lessons he taught me under the mango tree.  There were many lessons learned, not only about fishing, but about life itself.  My abuelo, with his sun beaten face and his worn khaki fishing pants was always eager to pass down something more valuable than money, than gold... memories.  Memories of a time long since passed.  He gift wrapped memories of a time when I and the world seemed somehow more innocent.  Sometimes, if I concentrate hard and long enough I can still feel the pull of a fish as it strikes the line, I can still smell the violetas in the air.