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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years ago

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Crimson Curls

Summary: A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: Solace

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 4,281

A/N: Final chapter! Hope you like it :) Thank you so much for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out. “It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic—I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well—but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a perfect night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a thing in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. I draw people when I’m bored. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. Just ignore them. Just ignore them.

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

Famous people.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for her.

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to actual letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her life, and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood exactly what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always felt like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there were others.

So many others.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had fired Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this one thing for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was the last thing she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“What were you thinking Kristine?”

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael might’ve done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he did do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he stabbed her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on Earth had they chosen that one?

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained just out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

So much security. Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so regal, lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she had promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she did decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she knew he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

#loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #avengers fanfic #crimson curls #cozy writes

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furryarbiterangel · 4 years ago

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Meili chapter 2 finally finished!

I think I finally have a draft of chapter 3 that I like! It took a long ass time but hey, it was worth it. Snippet below the read more! @lilpendee

The center of Sakinkes was bustling with early morning trade. The crowded stalls mashed together until it seemed as though it was one long line of wares. Merchants stood protectively in front of their stalls eyeing everyone they thought was suspicious and shooing away lowbies. The trade center was a known haven for lower caste pickpockets helping themselves to a highbies purses or the unwatched goods. Through the chaos Meili strode confidently through the ebb and flow of the people, somehow always managing to be where the next open space was just as the previous space closed behind her.

The merchants had a very different reaction upon seeing her, calling out to her or waving sample items at her.

It helped that she was dressed as an uppercaste lady of the court.

While purposely drawing attention to herself still made her uncomfortable her goal for today was to be as memorable as possible though her instincts screamed to her to blend into the crowds, not stand out from them,. Distracting the people around her would help draw some of the Volgel’s powers away from it and every thought focused on her would help Aurora during her fight. So she sauntered along, casually dismissive of the sales around her, tapping out an impatient rhythm on her thigh.

Of course, it was only a casual rhythm to those who didn’t know what they were looking at.

Davu found her first. He made a brief sign with his left hand, three fingers extended and little finger tucked under his thumb, a sign that meant he had important information for her. Because Meili’s second goal was to gather information from the locals and this symbol meant that Davu had a message from Aurora for her.

She kept walking with a second glance in his direction as he vanished into a narrow alley between two stalls. Continuing towards the section of the market catering towards the highbie Meili slowed her pace and began to examine items around her before coming to a stop at a dressmakers stall. Carefully selecting two dresses she held them up to the light. Both were crafted in the highest fashion of Sakinkes, a smooth cloth, one blue the other a light green, that would cover the arms and legs but left a significant amount of back exposed and trimmed in circles of silver thread.

Meili discarded one in a carefully calculated move that would appear dismissive to anyone watching but without ruining it by dragging it in the dirt or tearing. Aurora might kill me for spending money. Too bad. I want it. And I can always steal more. Bracelets on her wrists jangled as she reached for her purse.

“Excellent choice Ma’am!” the merchant stuttered unsure of how to address a lady of her stature. “The blue will be gorgeous against your dark skin! You’ll be stunning!”

“Obviously. How much for it?”

His reply was to soft for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“12 blussels for you Ma’am. A special price for someone so beautiful giving me the honor of wearing my fashion.” He stumbled over the words, refusing to meet her gaze but rather sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Rolling her eyes at his flattery Meili flashed him a smile, dropped the money on the table and sauntered off, dress draped over her arm.

It was time for her to meet with Davu. She casually glanced behind her checking for any tails. Sure enough there were two of them, struggling to blend in with the highbies who flocked to this part of the market. Waiting until they briefly lost sight of her in the crowds, she darted into an alleyway. As the bystanders glanced around, more than a few of them wondered what happened to the red-haired woman with the sun-colored outfit who had been standing the street.

A sun-portion later, a ragged lowbie girl scuttled through the stalls. Her faded brown clothing wasn’t torn but was clearly often worn and reused. A deep hood covered her hair and threw her face into shadow. She ignored the dirty looks she was getting for daring to be in the main market of Sakinkes, often diving into nearby gaps between vendors to avoid be trampled by those that thought they were more important.

Meili skulked back to the covered stall where she had just bought a dress, paused and glanced down at the goods.

“Hey!” the merchant was glaring at her, “Get out of here!” He shooed her off, and Meili smiled again. As she walked away people surrounded her, pushing and laughing, ignoring the low born girl who walked among them, the dress she had just bought tucking into her pack, covered by layers of thick fabric. Hidden as one of the crowd she squeezed her way through the streets.

She passed the two men who had marked her for an easy target. They were frantically looking around the crowded marketplace, trying to figure out how they had lost such a noticeable figure. She smirked. Amateurs like that had never stood a chance against her.

Convinced that she was in no danger of being spotted, Meili let herself be pushed to the edge of the market, slipping into a narrow space between two stalls.

The sweet smells of baked goods and perfumes of the market faded quickly here. Sweat and the smell of death hoovered in the air although merely steps away from the mail streets. This area did not belong to the upper or middle castes, this was the final stopping place for the lowest of the low.

The roads were made of trampled dirt rather than stone. Houses stood leaning slightly against each other as if drunk. People stood or sat in the entryways to their homes watching each other closely busy monitoring the comings and goings of others. Everyone was always alert for sudden changes in behavior or daily patterns. You never knew where a Volgel might be hiding. They had no way of knowing that Volgels would never bother lives like this for anything other than food. Volgels preferred the comfort of castles and churches over crumbling homes.

A few scattered bodies lay motionless in the street. Many of them were drunk, although some were probably dead with no one who would notice until they didn’t come home sun-portions from now. Meili whispered a soft prayer to Tierra, it would be unlikely that others would mourn for them.

Though only steps away the bustling joy of the city center suddenly seemed very far away.

This was the reality of the city, a far cry from the wealth and prestige the market proclaimed.

We’re doing all we can for these people, Meili reminded herself, looking around at the despair that surrounded her. Once the Volgel here is dead, the city will come back to life. They can stop living in fear. I’m doing all I can. We’re doing all we can.

Davu stood on the steps of a small home. The stone was cracked in several places and the door appeared one hard knock away from falling off. Without any acknowledgment he took off down the street, vanishing into the dust of the unkept streets.

There was a small piece of paper on the ground where he had stood.

“There are two of them. Use upmost caution but continue as planned” It read.

Meili frowned. Two? Two Volgels? Volgels never work in pairs. But… ‘continue as planned’, I’ll have to trust her. She glanced up towards the sun calculating the time. Time to go.

She turned away from the broken house and began to walk towards the edge of the city, towards freedom from this place of fear and death.

Meili ducked through the alleys, careful to avoid the main roads. Even the lowest servant girl could draw attention to herself if she wasn’t careful and it wouldn’t do to be caught by the city guards now. Her role was to gather information and draw the Volgels control away from them by distracting crowds in important areas of the city, not end up in a jail cell for the night for observation and her distinctive southern coloring would mark her as an outsider among the lowbies.

Sudden shouting broke out from the higher grounds of the city center. Meili picked up her skirts and dashed towards the river, no longer caring who was watching. They wouldn’t truly remember who she was, only the person she pretended to be. There would be questions about the high caste woman with fire red hair and an unfamiliar dark skinned lowbie girl, but it didn’t matter. That woman would never return to Sakinkes.

“Hey lady!” Someone shouted behind her. “Wait! Come back!” She broke into a sprint as she approached the docks and jumped into her boat.

Meili pulled the cord to release the sails ready to push off as soon as Aurora joined. The sails snapped as they unfurled. The boat strained against its tether to the dock, the rapid current calling to it. They would make good time to put this city behind them.

“How’d it go?” Aurora’s lilting voice came from directly behind her.

Meili jumped. “Sweet Moon!”

Aurora’s laughter belted up across the water. Meili could hide in crowds when she wanted to, but Aurora could fade into the background anywhere, and she often used it to her advantage for playing tricks on her friend. Meili never understood how you could overlook her. Aurora’s golden eyes were so unique that they were impossible to ignore. Once you knew she was there, Meili thought. She’s spent far too much time fading out of sight you never see her if she doesn’t want you to. I’d almost think it was magic.

#ftts #chapter 3 #draft 3 finally in action #it took 8 years to finally get this right #but that's the point of drafting and rewriting

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my-brothers-corrupted · 5 years ago

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My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter 1 : Section 4 : Pharmacy Break-In

Trick, Dok, and Dapper were let out of the house with money and a modicum of freedom for once. Now well-supplied – except for one vital need – they returned home only to find that, during their day of happiness, Jackie and Marvin have been “reset” by Anti. Their memories gone and their attachment strengthened, the oldest twins struggle to come to terms with themselves, their brothers, and their master, but they’ll have to do it quick – another day, another crisis on the horizon, and Dok is in danger.

Trigger warnings: hypnotism, major abuse, torture, trauma reactions, breaking and entering, and mentions of psychosis.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

Part Four of Chapter One: Pharmacy Break-In

musical-in-theory asked: Mar- *sigh* Blue? Can you hear us?

Blue peers over Red’s shoulder, blinking. His face has begun to go more yellow than white and he holds himself like he’s in pain, sheltered behind Red’s body. “I can hear you,” he says. “Who’s talking?”

“I think they just talk,” mumbles Red.

They give you twin looks of distrust.

Anonymous asked: Trick, Dok, Dapper? You boys might want to hurry on home...

“We should have,” mumbles Doktor, backing slightly towards the door. “We should have, we should have.”

“Dok,” whispers Trick, gripping at his shoulder. “Let’s stay calm, man, let’s stay calm. No close-offs tonight.”

Doktor wrings his hands together, cursing the tears in his eyes. “Red?” he calls, shakily. “Do you know who I am?”

He already knows the answer.

Red stares at him skeptically. “Anti said Doktor,” he answers.

“But don’t you know - ” Doktor chokes on a sob, refusing to let Trick draw him towards the nest. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Red opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“Sorry,” he manages finally.

Doktor screams, slamming his fist against the door. Trick begs him to be quiet, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him close. “It’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, don’t bother Anti, please don’t bother Anti, we’re okay, we’re okay…”

Anonymous asked: Is blue gonna be okay? Poor boy doesn't look like he's feeling too good

Blue’s swaying slightly in place, pressed against Red’s shoulder. “You know,” he mumbles, swallowing back nausea. “I think I want to sit down.”

Red turns to hold him.

“Your bed is over there,” mumbles Trick, avoiding their eyes. “You should probably… take it easy.”

He half expects Red to snap at him for suggesting anything at all to him, but Red seems to have lost his interest in him along with his memory. Trick doesn’t know why this puts a hard lump in his throat. It’s better if Red ignores him. It’s better if Red doesn’t remember him. Isn’t it?

That’s my brother, says some part of his mind, with grief. That was my brother.

And Trick, turning away, tells that part of his brain to shut the fuck up.

Anonymous asked: Hoodie? How're you feeling?

Red leads Blue around the island to their sleeping bags - there are two of them now, not that Red sees the difference - and they crash to the ground side by side, sitting with their hands close together on the floor, trying to process.

“I feel pretty sick,” he mumbles, staring down at his hands. “My head really, really hurts. And my wrists…”

You see that they are rubbed raw. He must have been chained up. “I don’t remember… anything,” he whispers. “Just Anti… and Blue. And - and - and nothing, just… fragments… dreams… I don’t know how this could have happened… I think we need to go to the hospital…”

He touches his head, groaning.

Anonymous asked: Red, your heads unwrapped. Did your injury reopen? Where does the dye end and the blood begin?

“Oh, fuck, his head’s open?” Trick stares over at the island. “Dok, you gotta go check on him.”

Doktor is biting back bitter tears, hidden against Trick’s shoulder, clinging to his jacket. “I don’t want to see him like this,” he sobs. “I don’t want him to have forgotten me.”

“Fuck, buddy, he just - he just - he won’t be so different, okay? Anti must have just - Anti must have had his reasons.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” sobs Deutsch. “What if he didn’t, what if he just did that to him? What if he just does that to us, someday? What if we all forget each other? What if we already have forgotten, forgotten important things, forgotten who we were?”

“Dok,” snarls Trick. He grabs his shoulders tightly, fear lacing his trembling voice. “Don’t you say shit like that. Don’t you dare say shit like that. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Doktor whimpers, tears cascading down his cheeks. “I don’t - I don’t want to be - I don’t want to be mindless - I don’t want to forget - ”

“Enough,” Trick demands, shaking him. He knows he’s being harsh and it doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is getting him to stop fucking talking. Because if he doesn’t, they’re going to get beat to shit. And Trick isn’t watching him go through that again. Not a chance in hell. He’s seen Doktor dying too many times in his life. He’s seen Doktor weak and suffering too many times. And he’s learned his lesson - you shut the fuck up, you shut your twin up, and you don’t get hurt.

No matter what else you have to sacrifice.

“Enough, no more. Stop crying. Now, Dok. Go, go over there and look at Red and Blue.”

“Trickshot - ”

“Don’t argue with me. What’s the rule? When one of us is upset, the other one…”

“Does what he’s told,” chokes Dok, trying to swallow back tears.

“Right. Right.” Trick wipes at his nose and sniffs, trying to stay calm himself. “Good man. Go on, then. Go patch them up before Anti gets mad. Now, Dok.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue... Are you bleeding? Two other anons had similar questions added.

They’re injured.

They’re bleeding.

Doktor sees it as soon as he rounds the corner, finding the two of them sitting on either side of the island, but no longer looking at each other like they did the day before - looking now with a strange sort of intensity, a confused tension hovering in the air between them. He sees, vividly, an early memory of him and Trick - sitting across from each other in a jail cell, trying not to stare at each other, wondering, Who the hell are you and why do I feel like I love you so much?

Anti never resets without leaving something behind. And sometimes, when your brain is blank and you’re exhausted, he leaves behind things that weren’t there before.

Doktor doesn’t remember much of the person he used to be.

But he knows that that person is different from who he is now.

He’s fairly sure that person was… kinder than who he is now.

Pain burns in his chest. He swallows it back like a pill. Take twice a day without food. Without water. Just take it. You don’t have any other choice. Swallow the pill or choke on it.

“You look like you need a doctor,” he manages, trying not to look as miserable as he feels.

Red turns to look at him, paranoia written all over his angry face. Always so angry. The memory of pain can be washed away, but it still leaves its scar behind, and Red has always met blood with fury. The reset is like pulling pushpins out of a bulletin boards. The markers are all gone now, but the marks remain.

“Are you one?” Red asks, a little sharply.

Doktor sighs. He’s about to reach the end of his rope. “Asshole, did you miss the part where Anti told you my goddamn name?”

“Fine, fuck!” snaps Red, unloosening a little. “Pretty sarcastic for someone who’s supposed to do what I say.”

“Tell me to shut the fuck up,” says Doktor coolly. “And I will.”

Red lapses into silence.

Doktor begins by examining him, running his hands carefully through his hair while Red squirms uncomfortably. “Why was it dyed today?” he asks.

Dok tries to be sensitive of just how agonizingly lost he must feel. “I don’t know,” he says softly.

“It just doesn’t make sense. I hit my head and decide to dye my hair?”

He doesn’t like it when Anti lies, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

He wraps Red’s head back up carefully, washing clean the little stripe of dye above his fracture, which must be stinging awfully. He hopes he isn’t punished for washing it out.

Blue scoots steadily closer to them the whole time he is working.

“Anywhere else you have pain?” asks Dok softly, drawing away from Red.

“My head hurts,” he admits. The admission itself may as well be a cry of agony from Red.

“I’ll give you both something for that,” says Dok.

He’s just going to knock them the fuck out with some sleeping stuff. They don’t deserve to live through a night of exhausted confusion.

“How you are feeling, Blue?” he asks, turning to the other twin.

Not well.

Blue has gone very, very pale, the area around his eyes mostly yellow. He breathes a little too fast, reacts a little too slowly. His cuts are open. His cuts are weeping, weeping, weeping.

“Can I please have something for the pain?” he whispers, sinking down against the cupboards.

Red reaches out to grab him as he collapses, startled by the ferocity of protectiveness that rises inside him like magma. He barely remembers who this person is, but he must have fucking adored him. Oh, the poor cuts covering his aching body, the poor blood and bruises…

He gives up on trying to look tough and buries his face against Blue’s chest, sobbing.

Doktor cleans them up in silence. Restitches cuts from being tortured. Splints the aching bones from being thrown down the stairs. Washes everything clean.

They don’t even remember how they were injured.

But Doktor does.

Doktor remembers.

Doktor is angry.

He watches them swallow their pills.

He decides to take one himself, too, and returns to his nest, to his little corner of his safety, to his little brother, the only thing that ever seems to stay the same.

“Are you okay?” asks Trick, without words.

And Doktor, turning away, does not answer.

spicydanhowell asked: dok he's not gonna do it again. all five of you are here now, no more changes, he just wanted red to have a clean slate with his twin so theyd be close like you and trick. i promise he'll remember you, please go take care of him

“Thanks,” mumbles Doktor, flat-voiced, staring straight ahead out the window. Trick’s hand rubs the low of his back, a warm, reassuring weight on his spine. “I hope you’re right.”

Anonymous asked: blue... are you okay? is red ok?

Blue and Red lie beside each other in the darkness.

“Are you?” murmurs Red. “Okay?”

“Are we?” asks Blue, his voice faint.

Red stares at him like he can’t take his eyes away.

He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t remember who he is or who this person is - all he knows is that he loves him, and he loves Anti, and they’re together.

So that… that will have to be enough right now. He’s too tired for anything else.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” he whispers.

Blue stares back at him. His eyes are oceans.

“Then I’m okay,” he says.

And tonight, when he reaches out, just gentle, and grips Red’s hand -

Red squeezes his hand back, and smiles very softly at him.

At his twin. At his brother. At his friend. At his Blue.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers.

Blue is already there.

Anonymous asked: Anti, I don’t think erasing Red’s memory was such a smart plan. Why take that kind of risk?

“What risk?” yawns Anti, pulling Dapper’s coat off him and pushing him towards the bed. “Here’s the wonderful thing about my brand of hypnotism, darling - it sticks. I’m very careful with my power. Very careful with my resets. Wash this away, leave this behind, take that out, put this in… The surface is gone, but the substance remains. He’s still my Red.”

He pauses beside the bed, staring out the window for a second.

“And I’ll have to be careful,” he murmurs, anger making his mouth curl. “That there is nothing left of your Marvin.”

Anonymous asked: You’re actually wrong. No matter how many ‘resets’ you do, their love for one another still seems to hold strong.

“Only when I want it to,” answers Anti. He is shaking slightly and he hides his trembling hands from you. “Or haven’t you noticed that there is no love at all left between anyone but my twins? Trickshot and Red hate Dapper, Dapper wants no one but me, Red slaps Doktor and Trick around more than I do, Blue will learn to do the same soon enough - no, all’s well. All’s well. I’m in control. I’m the one in control now. I’m the one who makes the characters. They’re mine, they’re mine.”

He hisses and turns away from you, his face glitching.

Anonymous asked: That’s it Anti I think I have enough spite in me to astral project through the screen and at least get one good hit on you. I’m not strong but MAN AM I MAD

Anti laughs, shaking slightly as he crawls into bed beside Dapper. “That’s how I know it was a good day’s work!

“Not strong but mad,” he giggles. “You’re like this kid here, huh?”

He pinches Dapper’s cheek hard. Dapper flinches but doesn’t respond, staring dully up at the ceiling. Anti kisses his cheek. Anti kisses his throat. Anti bites his ear. Dapper whimpers and covers his face with his hands. Anti bursts into laughter, drawing him to his chest. “Give me a kiss!” he laughs. “Give me a kiss, come on.”

Dapper turns on his side and kisses his brother’s cheek without emotion on his face. It stings his mouth.

“Good boy,” purrs Anti, wrapping his arms around him. His face is sallow with exhaustion, he leans his head down heavily on Dapper’s shoulder. Safe on Dapper’s shoulder. Nothing can hurt me, nothing can hurt me, nothing can hurt me.

“You are okay?” asks Dapper, with a slight flicker of concern. “Anti?”

But Anti is already unconscious.

Most of Dapper’s discomfort washes away. He whimpers and snuggles closer to his brother, hugging him in return, rubbing his back, even if it does hurt to touch him. He presses the reassuring weight of his clock against Anti’s chest, readjusting his brother on the pillows, and curls against his body, letting out a deep sigh.

It was a good day. But it’s time to put it behind him and go back to the way he always lives. There’s no point in anything but duty, after all. There’s no point in the past or the future. All he knows is that he is on the night watch now, and nothing - nothing, nothing - will harm his brother as he sleeps.

cest-mellow asked: hey dapper? are you feeling alright up there?

Dapper stares at you, wrapped up in Anti’s arms. He looks exhausted, but he’s a patient kid.

“Doing okay,” he signs slowly, refusing to disturb his brother. “Should stop expecting anything. Should have known he only let me go so he could reset M… Blue.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, do you know exactly what Anti may have done to Red and Blue? What they went through, I mean?

“Happens often,” says Dapper, his eyes darkening wearily. “Reset. Some things go, some things stay. First day is worst.”

He stares down at Anti for a moment, ensuring that he is asleep, and then up at you.

“Don’t tell Anti,” whispers his hands. “But sometimes, in the days that follow the reset… some things can be recovered, before they are lost forever.”

cest-mellow asked: do you know how we would recover them? just.. hypothetically?

Dapper stares at the floor.

“No,” he says. “Someone tried, once… but it wasn’t enough to save me.”

Anonymous asked: that’s good news!! but how can we get those memories back without anti knowing?

“I think it’s more about the substance of a man,” says Dapper vaguely. He’s untangling himself from Anti a little, setting his brother gently back against the pillows, stroking his fingers through his short green hair. “I wouldn’t know. I can never even find myself, these days. As far as ‘day’ has any meaning. As far as anything has any meaning.”

Anonymous asked: Regardless of memory or time or blood or how it all comes together or crashes down around you... It all has meaning, Jameson. YOU have meaning. I promise you that.

Carver starts and looks up at you, mouth slightly open. He tries to find a response, but his hands are empty and his chest is full.

Until anger comes crashing down on him.

“You’re wrong,” he signs bitterly, drawing his knees to his chest. “I give meaning to other people, but me? No. No. Just… a clock, wound up and changed to fit the time someone else asks for.

“Crashes down around me, crashes down around me… the world crashed down on me a long time ago, or maybe it was only yesterday, and I am the last working piece of the rubble.”

He scratches dully at his wounded head, rocking himself gently, gently.

“And barely working, at that.”

Anonymous asked: Maybe this is convoluted and unfair to ask of you considering that you're the one that CAN answer but... between resetting someone's mind and resetting a time frame, which strikes you as worse?

Dapper pales in the evening light, his hands stammering slightly as he tries to find the right words to answer you. “Well - well - no harm to a time reset,” he cries, distraught. “Is there? I didn’t do anything bad, did I? No harm, no harm - I can know what comes but - I wouldn’t take your autonomy. It’s just - a day! Just an hour! Just…”

He sits back against the headboard, chewing on the nail of his thumb, distressed.

“Then again, there are nice parts to resetting your head… to make the pain fade away into the background…”

He breathes out deep.

“To free the person you were from the sin of the man you’ve become… To be Carver, not… J… to forget what used to make you happy, so you can stop hoping for it, and live misery more peacefully…”

Dapper stares out the window. The northern lights are breathing through the sky, and he quiets, watching them, forgetting what he was talking about.

“And then Anti loves you better,” he adds softly, his hand on his brother’s head. “So… what else matters?”

florenceisfalling asked: is anti still asleep? dapper, do you think you could help... salvage?

Dapper grins a little strangely and points at the rope still lying on the floor, a snake sleeping but not dead. He is unlikely to venture downstairs without permission. He winces slightly and closes his eyes, rubbing at his throat.

cest-mellow asked: is it real love though, jamie? why would someone hurt you if they love you, even if you did something bad, or if you simply didn’t do a thing. why would somebody who loves you hurt you the way anti does? i’m not trying to make you upset. maybe this is something someone else needs to hear, downstairs. but i think you need to hear it too.

“What would you have me do?” asks Dapper distantly. “Even if I left Anti, could I flee my own violence? There’s nothing left for me without him.”

A sudden energy rises in him, powerful enough that you hear him choke, once, twice, as he rides it through, and then he sits up, and his eyes are not silver but blue, blue, blue.

“Do you see that who I was is destroyed and who I am is Anti’s, and if I am not Anti’s then I am no one’s and nothing, and would swiftly kill myself in his absence, as he has always told me I should do if he were to die? Do you understand that I cannot without justification bear the weight of the things I have done? Is it real love? Broken things can love truly! But not well, not well, badly, even - yet a second broken thing expects nothing better than a shattered handful of affection to keep him alive every other night. Where would you have me go? What would you have me do? I can’t pull myself out of these chains. I can’t remember except on the nights when I can and I can’t bring the people I’ve forgotten to remember along with me. Do you understand that only my family could save me, and my family is fucking dead and gone?”

He slumps down beside Anti, covering his face with his hands.

“No, you don’t understand… neither do I… I don’t understand anything anymore… please, tonight is not a confused night, though I wish it were not, as these are the most painful nights to survive, because I am more aware than ever of just how much goddamn pain I’m in - and just how truly I can never, ever be free of it. Just how truly I can never, ever, be Jameson Jackson again.”

There is a long pause. He breathes harshly in the darkness, hiding beside his brother’s body.

Until, finally:

“Anti is someone I could run from,” he admits, very softly.

“But Carver?”

He breathes. The sky breathes. Time breathes in and through and with him. And none of it, none of it, none of it - none of it means anything to him anymore.

“Carver I will never be free of.”

He wishes Anti had reset his memory again. Perhaps the fifth time would work better than the first four.

“Carver I will never, ever, ever be free of.”

Anonymous asked: You have meaning. You're more than a clock. You CREATE, J. You make ART. Those are your thoughts and feelings brought to life. And even if your artwork never makes it it of that room, it's still there and it's yours. You don't need to make them and yet you do. That's a choice and you make it for yourself and that means everything.

Dapper bites down hard at his lip, teary-eyed, a protest rising and dying on his hands, and then something different registers with him, and he blinks, and sits up straight, his eyes widening -

“I,” he stammers, his face losing all color.

He clutches at his heart, trying to breathe, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“I forgot to grab my art things… I forgot to grab my chalk and paper.”

cest-mellow asked: can i ask you.. was carver someone in you before anti made you dapper? or did he only become someone after all this?

Dapper gives a soft, breathy moan, clutching at his heart. “Don’t remember… just remember… knife, blood, crying, asleep. Stolen, killed. Red.”

Anonymous asked: I imagine you don't mean red the color. Y'know. All things considered.

Dapper stares at the floor. “The color was the only thing it meant, back then… we never - ”

A hand jolts up to grab him by the throat.

Carver slams his skull back against the headboard, giving a desperate gasping scream. His hands fly up to scrabble at the fingers around his neck, but Anti is holding him tight, glaring up at him, bored and irritated, from the mattress of their bed.

“Anti,” Carver begs, writhing. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up - didn’t mean to be loud, move too much - didn’t - please, please, please - ”

Picking at the nails of his free hand, Anti gives no answer but a low, impatient sigh, waiting til Carver’s spasms are reduced to desperate gasping, and then to a slight tremble, and then, at last, an unconscious body in his hand, sinking down into the mattress, its owner’s mouth slightly blue…

Anti drops Carver onto the bed, shoving him onto his back. With all the air of an artist re-arranging a sketch figure, he pushes Carver into a position that’s comfortable for him and lies back down on the boy’s warm chest, wrapping his arms around his waist and falling back into a deep, cozy, and undisturbed sleep.

nikkilbook asked: Red’s wrists are raw? But... didn’t he have a dog bite wound there? And... what do Blue’s wrists look like?

Red stares sleepily up at you, morning light casting gold over his red and brown hair. He reaches up stiffly to stare at his wrist, licking his dry mouth.

“Dog bite, is that what that is?” he mumbles, looking at the bandages. He turns to Blue and picks up his hands as he sleeps, examining the splint on his brother’s wrist. “His is broken… and both of us have these… chain burns…”

He shakes his head, confused. “I don’t remember how we got them…”

Anonymous asked: Why do you feel the need to constantly remind yourself that they’re all ‘yours?’ Dont you understand that the hatred they feel is only making them more miserable? Your so called ‘characters’ are feeling nothing but pain, and misery. Characters are meant to grow and learn and be satisfied in the end. Any good ‘creator/writer’ should know that, but I guess you really aren’t one after all

Anti filters dully through messages, dozing against Dapper’s arm, but at this he jerks up, venomous, glaring at the camera.

“Shut the hell up,” he snarls, dragging Dapper closer to him. “You think I care about any of them? You think I care about anyone? I don’t need anyone. I don’t need anything! Shut the hell up! Maybe they could find some satisfaction if they would goddamn do what they’re told! Useless little things, useless, useless, useless…”

He snarls and shakes, sinking suddenly back down towards the bed, a low gasp falling from his mouth. His skin is translucent and his hand grips Dapper’s shirt tightly.

Dapper whines in his sleep and turns over, cuddling up closer to Anti’s chest. Anti softens, humming, playing with his hair. “Mostly, anyway…”

cest-mellow asked: anti, do you actually love your brothers? part of me feels like you do but the other part... i don’t know.

Anti looks up, eyes narrowed.

Eventually he turns back to Dapper.

“What does it matter?” he says finally, without emotion.

“No one knows what I am,” he adds a moment later. “No one… no one knows what I am. Do natureless things have a telos? Can an endless thing have a need for love? Is there love without a telos?”

He sighs and puts his head back down on his pillow, looking sick and human.

“I need to stop downloading philosophy right before bed.”

Anonymous asked: Functionality, uselessness, so many different standards... that is one frankly unhealthy fixation of yours, and it makes me wonder if you’re projecting just a little of your own fear onto them. Because being useless is being weak, right? And you can’t have that from yourself. Anybody else but you.

Anti jumps out of bed, heading for the camera, but before he gets there you see him stagger back, falling against the mattress again. “Everyone is weak compared to me!” he shrieks.

Dapper groans, panting through a nightmare on the bed, his hands covering his ears.

“Everyone is weak and stupid and fleshy and pointless! Shut the fuck up! A fixation, what am I supposed to do, don’t you know I was born full of hatred, it’s his fault, it’s his fault! And he was weak and he was useless and he’s gone now, he’s gone!”

He drags himself back to his feet and throws the camera across the room, hard. Your screen cracks down the middle, giving you a shaky, glitching image as it tumbles to the ground to lay on its back.

“Projecting… I’ll show them motherfucking fear… I don’t have to be afraid of anything.”

skyewardlight asked: Ooooo looks like we hit a soft spot huh? :3c

“Shut your goddamn mouth.”

immabethehero asked: Anti, how are you not questioning the talking cameras?

“They’re not fucking talking, they’re just goddamn messages. And they do whatever I want them to, they’re my cameras. Everything with electricity for lifeblood is me, is mine. Talking cameras…”

Anonymous asked: fuck... anti... i respect you. pleeease don't hurt the boys because one of us said something cruel to you. we know you're very powerful. we don't doubt you. i'm sorry.

Anti’s rage simmers a little lower and he shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, a little thickly, rubbing at his face. “Nothing you can do to me. As if it matters… doesn’t matter…”

He sighs, stretching out his arms and tired, aching neck, looking calmer.

Anonymous asked: You know what would give everyone in this house some life blood? A space heater, Anti. Everyone's cold.

“Space heater,” he repeats. “No, we won’t be in this part of the world long enough to need that. Besides, have they really done anything to earn a space heater?”

spicydanhowell asked: yknow what i think though... and let me phrase this delicately because carver was so well behaved all day but... he and dok and even trick... they all still love each other, or at least care for each other

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” hisses Anti. “Can’t be, can’t be, can’t be. Only on my orders. Stupid little brats. What reason would they have to still care about each other? I reset them and pitted them against each other like dogs in a ring. No, no, don’t be silly, pet.”

He staggers back to his bed, waving a hand, trying to get the camera to turn off.

“That’s enough out of you,” he growls, sinking back onto his blankets, his arms trembling as they lower his weight down again. “I brought you here for one reason and this is not it. I’m the one in control… I’m the one in control…”

The camera blinks off.

cest-mellow asked: hey red, you feeling any better? do you remember anything? even little things like smells, sounds, the way something felt or looked like. anything at all?

Red sits back, smiling slightly at the question as something warm flickers through his mind, a memory so distant it can barely be seen.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

He looks around. Golden light drifts over his body. He soaks in it, staring out at the forest.

“I think there was… a house,” he says softly. “And it was… warm.”

He looks down at his hands, considering.

“But this isn’t that house.”

nikkilbook asked: How’s my boy doing? He’s gotta be overwhelmed. On like. Every metric.

Red stares at you, his mouth beginning to tremble.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps, and breaks into sobs, gripping the soft fabric of his hoodie in his hands. “Oh, fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t handle - ”

His twin stirs beside him, rubbing at his eyes. A brief moment of utmost confusion covers his face, but after a moment, it changes to only “mostly confused” and he reaches out to touch Red’s sleeve, avoiding skin, mumbling his name.

“What’s going on?” he asks, soft.

“Don’t remember anything,” chokes Red, rocking himself gently back and forth. “Don’t feel good, hurt, hurt.”

His brother sits up, murmuring reassurances. He’s there to put a warm, steady pressure on his arm. No matter what happens, at least he gets to be there beside his friend, and make sure he’s okay, or, if not okay, still with him, at least.

Still with him, no matter who he is.

Anonymous asked: anti how exactly did it go reseting marvin? i guess red probably took it okay, but, like, what did you actually do to them to make them forget? how did you manage to get marvin to cooperate?

It’s evening and Anti’s only now bothering to rise from bed. His face is still starkly white, though he occasionally glitches back to green, rubbing wearily, angrily, at his face. Dapper’s not currently in the room, but shuffling nearby assures Anti that his pet has not gone too far. In fact, you can hear a sort of clapping coming from the hall.

“It went well enough,” murmurs Anti, satisfaction ghosting over his face. “Yes, you have to be rough to get them to cooperate. I came to grab him while he was sleeping, but then even Red got so upset - went into one of his little fucking freak-outs and wouldn’t come down into the basement with me. So I had to tie him up too. And then it’s just - power like an ocean, and the sound of them crying as they feel themselves drift away.

Like sand from the beach.”

He pauses, rubbing his thumb against his fingers.

“I love when they’re so dopey and confused,” he hums. “Love, love, love them looking up at me like that, waiting for me to tell me who they are… just like Jack must have felt, don’t you think? Just empty slates, waiting to be formed. I love that… but I almost hope there’s a little of the cat left… I want to see him…”

Anti pauses and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“I want to see him humiliated by what I’ve turned him into.”

Anonymous asked: (Answer whenever)Why can’t you see that weakness doesn’t make you useless and uselessness doesn’t make you weak. You’re blinded by your constant crave for control, and anger that you don’t see that you yourself are being puppeted around by your own emotions. You can’t make a family forget their love for one another no matter how hard you try, and it pains you. Denial will not get you anywhere. It may be his fault that you’re like this but that doesn’t mean you should enable it for the worse.

Anti is up on his feet, searching through the drawers of the bedside table. Your words draw a low, dangerous hiss out of him, and he turns to you with mismatched eyes, lips drawn back.

“You’re a fool if you think I’m not in control of everything here,” he growls, turning back to the drawer. “I know everything they do, everything they think, everything - goddammit!”

He holds up a little orange prescription bottle. Four tiny white pills rattle around the bottom.

“Okay, you know what,” he says, as horns curl out of the back of his head and the scraping of dog’s claws echo through the air around you, accompanied by the soft snarling of something that you have never heard before. “Maybe there is one thing I can’t control.”

He sets the pill bottle in his hoodie pockets, his face cold as he turns to the light.

“Chase Brody’s unbelievable stupidity.”

He looks back towards his door.

“Red!” he calls. “Go tell Doktor and Trick to wait for me in the basement!”

Anonymous asked: The question is, why exactly did Anti allow us to observe and communicate in the first place? We may taunt him and try to get through to the egos but we're not really a threat while he maintains control.

“You want to know why I allow you to use my cameras? To watch, to see, to speak?”

Anti picks the camera up and holds it in his hands as he stalks out into the hall and back towards his room. Downstairs, you can hear frantic argument. Dapper scoots back against the wall of the hallway as you pass him, clutching something to his chest.

“It’s because I think it’s funny.”

He opens his closet door and pulls out a small wooden box, opening it to reveal a set of gorgeous silver knives, tipped with a different color each. Gently, he pulls out the orange-tipped one, gripping it warmly in his hands, holding it up to the twilight.

“I think it’s funny that you’re still here even after he is gone. I think it’s funny that you sit here and watch as I fucking torture them. I think it’s funny that you lost and you’re still here trying to win, I think it’s funny that my boys find any comfort at all in the things you say, and I think it’s the most ridiculously hilarious thing I’ve ever fucking heard that you still think you can save them.”

The cool blade of the knife glimmers and the light dances at his behest.

“You can watch all you want. Because I hated Jack, yes.” He turns to you.

His teeth are gritted. His eyes are black. The strength of the anger radiating off of him is powerful enough that you can feel it like a physical force, taste it in your mouth, sense it on the ends of your fingers, like when you hear the rattling of a snake but cannot see it yet.

Not yet.

“But some days,” he whispers, teeth bared. “I hated you more.”

There are birds crying in the trees. There are birds fleeing from the trees. The sky is rapid darkening.

“This is my victory. Drown in it.”

And he turns to head downstairs.

skyewardlight asked: Looks like someone's overcompensating about his control. You constantly mentioning that you're in control doesn't convince us Anti. You sound like a child constantly stating they're an adult and throwing a tantrum when someone else says that they aren't. Heh.

“I’m about to show you control,” he says.

The sound of his boots coming down the stairs silences the whole house. Red and Blue cower as he passes, hiding behind their island, not yet sure what’s going to happen, though memories both dull and sharp are rising harshly in their heads, memories of blood and agony.

“Overcompensating… he belongs to me. He’d be nothing without me. And he’s still foolish enough to fail to look after my little one, well.”

He flips the knife around and around in his hand.

“He won’t forget my puppy’s medicine again.”

Anonymous asked: Will hurting him make you feel better? Will hurting him make him love you more? It won’t. He is human, he forgets. You should not punish him for being the way they he is. Brothers are supposed to love one another. Not make the other feel miserable, and helpless. Why can’t you understand that it’s okay not to be in control?

Anti pauses on the stairs towards the basement, panting harshly.

“He shouldn’t forget,” he snarls, scraping his knife against the wall. “He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he should know better, I taught him better! He’s not human, he’s less than that, he’s just - ”

Anti screams and gnashes his teeth, throwing his head. “He’s just a piece of him! And I’ll fucking show him what happens when he doesn’t do what he’s supposed to! He belongs to me, to me, to me! No one else, no one else, no one else!”

Anonymous asked: anti, please, you didn't even tell him to get it. carver didn't even mention it. trick didn't do anything wrong

“Red said it, that Dapper was near to out. He should listen better to his big brother. He never does. Always the littler dog snapping back when he should just roll over. Doktor and I are the only ones he listens to, and sometimes not even then. Besides, he should know what the little one needs. What, he expects Dapper to remember? No. Trick has to change.”

Anonymous asked: Aaaaghhh there was a pharmacy! It was right in front of them and we didn't realize, nooooo! I thought they got everything at the store why!! I feel so deceived!

It was a very small detail!! Red only mentioned it off-handedly and the pharmacy was thrown in among a lot of other details. I think you guys still did a good job checking. Anti’s standards, as you can see, are near impossible to meet.

cest-mellow asked: anti, anti, take a second. everything is okay, red or you can just go out and grab the medicine, right? trick forgot, but he didn’t mean to! he got everything else you asked him to get, didnt he? and i can guarantee he feels absolutely awful about forgetting once he realizes, not because of you but because of dapper! you’re such a good brother, you know that? don’t you think you should be a little more gentle to them so they can be better to you as well?

At the top of the stairs, Anti hears Trick and Dok stop in their panicked discussion with each other, still panting through the darkness. He grits his teeth, growling softly, and a sob echoes off the walls.

Anti rolls his eyes, thinking.

“They would be relieved if I didn’t punish them,” he admits. “But he should… know better, he should… I can take it a little easy on Doktor, maybe. But he should learn, don’t you understand I have standards? No, no, no, there’s no excuses for his bad behavior. What would you have me do if not torment his Doktor? That’s always the best way to teach him.”

Anonymous asked: This is not right. You shouldn’t be doing this to your little brother. He loves you, and would do anything for you. You already make him do so much, and now you’re going to hurt him for accidentally forgetting. What kind of brother tortures the other? They may love you but they do not believe that you love them, and I’m starting to think that, they are right.

Anti bristles with a nasty sneer, stalking down the stairs again. “Oh, you don’t think they love me?”

The boys jolt as he appears before them, backing closer to each other. Doktor tries to keep Trick behind him, Trick does the same with Doktor, and they end up pressed side to side, almost gripping each other’s hands.

“Trick,” he says, snatching him by the throat. Trick screams, lifted into the air - Doktor, at his side and to his credit, does not flinch away. “Do you love me?”

“Yes, yes!” screams Trick, gagging, clutching at his brother’s hands. “Yes, so much, please!”

Anti drops him on the ground.

“Please,” wails Trick. “What did we do?”

“Where’s Dapper’s refill?”

“R-refill?”

“For his medicine, Trick! The shit that keeps him from tearing his fucking face off because he sees dogs eating him alive!”

Trick can’t breathe. His mouth hangs open as he stammers too much to speak.

“We’ll go back and get it,” whispers Doktor, stepping slightly over his brother’s body. “We promise. No harm done, master.”

“‘We,’ no, no, your stupid twin is on his own. If he wanted your help, he should have remembered.”

“D-didn’t - mean to - Anti,” gasps Trick. “D-didn’t - ”

“No, you shut up! Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re lucky your little audience is less bloodthirsty than usual. For once, no one seems to want to see your brother tortured.”

Trick sobs dryly, reaching out to grab Doktor’s pant leg. Anti reaches down to grab him by the hair and yank him to his knees.

“Dapper has two days worth of refills left.” He holds up the little orange bottle and rattles the pills. “So you have two hours, Trickshot. Come back with his medicine. If you make it in time, I won’t touch your twin. If not, we’ll be having fun without you.”

Anti drops Trick again and turns to you, shoving the camera back onto the table by the door. “And if you want to see him safe so badly, then why don’t you save him? Take your camera, Trick.”

For a second, a smile plays across Anti’s mouth like the wriggling of an entrail.

“Your little friends are going to help you on your way.”

Anonymous asked: Money! He needs money!

Trick glances up at Anti for a second, panting.

“I gave you your money,” says Anti coolly, pulling Doktor away from his twin, who gives him one last desperate glance and manages to sign “H-A-L-D - ” before he is yanked to Anti’s chest. Trick hesitates again, trying to think, and a second later the back of Anti’s hand collides with his face, striking him hard enough to make his head spin. Choking, Trick dashes up the stairs, trying to hold back tears, always, always, always trying to hold back tears.

“Trick? What’s going on?” asks Blue, his voice haggard. In a blind panic, Trick considers just dashing away from him. It takes more than half an hour just to run to town, let alone to get the medicine and return, and he already feels so weak and shaky with terror that he can barely stand.

Anonymous asked: Im trying to see the good in your Anti, but sometimes its hard to admit that you’re not a straight up dickwad. He admitted he loved you out of fear and nothing more. They only love you so they can survive another day. Why can’t you get that through your thick fucking skull? You need help and actual love, and so do they. I know you want that. You’re just afraid that they’ll leave you alone, or that you’ve broken them past the point of no return

Anti screams, a horrible sound, enraged and exhausted, low on power and lower still on patience. “Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Shut up, shut up!”

He turns his head towards you with a horrible burst of light from his eyes and the camera shorts out entirely with a painful screech, leaving you with no eyes in the basement and a last memory of the sight of Doktor’s face, blank and yet terrified as he sinks, helpless, to the ground.

Anonymous asked: H-A-L-D. Does that mean anything to you, Trick? Can you make anything out?

“I - I don’t know, no, I don’t know anything! I don’t know where the pharmacy is, I don’t know what his prescription is or what fake name he goes by, how much it costs, I don’t have any money, but it doesn’t matter because it’s night and I think the pharmacy is closed and I - ”

He has to heave in a desperate breath, gripping frantically at his hair, tearing, tearing, tearing -

“Trick,” cries Blue, getting painfully to his feet and coming to his brother’s aid. He tries to grab Trick’s hand, but he draws away, frantic, eyes wide.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Blue demands.

“No, no, no, no, Anti said alone - ”

Blue grabs his hands again, successfully this time. Trick stops, gasping, and turns to meet his brother’s eyes, bluer than denim dye. “Trick,” says Blue, softly.

And there is a moment where the name that Trick was told to forget rises to his brain like a sedative, warm and reassuring and tired, and the man looking at him is not just Anti’s, but his own, is someone he remembers, very distantly, very softly, very warmly…

“Marvin,” whimpers Trick. “I don’t know what to do.”

Blue blinks, drawing slightly away.

“I forgot to get Dapper’s medicine and now Anti is angry and he’ll hurt Doktor if I don’t bring it back in two hours but I don’t have anything I need and I don’t know - I don’t know - I don’t - ”

“Amata,” whispers Marvin, touching his cheek. “Breathe. Breathe. What do you need?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re hurt, you’d slow me down. And I can’t ask you for much,” whimpers Trick. “Anti could get mad if he realizes you helped me.”

Marvin’s eyes flash. Red is watching from behind the island, shaking.

“Is there anything I can do?” asks Marvin.

Trick stammers, shaking his head uncertainly, turning to you with eyes wide. “I don’t know, is there?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, has Anti ever accidentally killed anyone downstairs and had you go back to fix it? I was going to ask him this directly but I realized if this has happened, he wouldn't know...

Dapper is sitting in his room, happily drawing with his chalks, which have apparently been returned to him. “Look what someone left on the stairs!” he crows cheerfully, holding up his sketchbook and chalks. “Trick or Doktor, I guess. They must have sneaked up the stairs and everything, just for me, just for me!” His cheeks are flushed with delight. For a second, he just sits drawing, processing your message slowly, slowly, until his chalk has come to a standstill in his hands.

He pauses, staring at his paper, his mouth falling sorrowful again.

“I’ve undone a lot of bad things,” he says. “They blur together. You don’t know how many times I watched Doktor rise up out of that body bag… In the end, I couldn’t even prevent the bullet from striking him, but he did not die. And some days, Trick or Red have not returned home, and I have redone the day again and again. But Anti, killing someone downstairs? Not one of my brothers, maybe enemies.”

He curves the beak of a crow, thinking, his mouth taut.

“Once,” he says, slowly. “Anti told me that he had broken someone, and so I had to undo it… he was very gentle with Trick for some days after… he let him sleep and sleep and sleep…”

Dapper sighs and readjusts, pulling his sketchbook close. “But I’m just glad those things didn’t end up happening!”

Anonymous asked: This is all dappers fault.

The smile dies on Dapper’s lips. “What’s my fault?” he asks shakily, dropping his chalk to the ground. “What did I…”

Paranoid, he rubs at his throat, glancing around, frantic. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked something up and then forgotten about it, only to be punished minutes later. Tears pool in his silvery eyes.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Trick, Dok!! Please be brave for each other. Remember today and how happy you felt!

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” chokes Trick, biting on his lip til it breathes. “I have to be - I have to be brave for Doktor. I have to be brave. I have to be brave.”

He tries to take deep breaths, working hard to calm down. He can do this. He can do this.

Anonymous asked: dapper, im sure you won't be able to but - do you think you could fix today? is that even possible?

“Fix today? I could go back before it. But only if Anti told me to. Otherwise I wouldn’t know the password and then he would be angry when he saw my silver eyes. Why, something’s wrong?”

Anonymous asked: Dapper, you've done nothing wrong. You're medication was forgotten and Anti is pissed but that's just him being... himself, I guess. It's nothing that can't be fixed though okay? What are you drawing?

“Oh.”

Dapper stares down at his paper. After a moment, he sets it unhappily down to the side and gets to his feet, rising to stare out the window. His face is quiet and tired. There are blue bruises all around his throat.

“I hope it can be fixed. He gets so angry…”

He rubs his face, stressed.

“I was just drawing Poe,” he sighs. “But I don’t think she’s coming back anyway. Will Anti hurt the other boys, for forgetting? I should have… I should have remembered.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dappper, it might be in Trick's best interest for you to redo the day. He and Doktor are in serious trouble!

Dapper chews on his nail. “I’d like to help, but it’s not a quick decision, you understand. First of all, there’s no point to a redo unless there’s something I can do to change it. Otherwise we’re just looping. I’m the only one who will remember the change, but Anti will see that I am tired and silver and then he will ask me for the password or a good explanation, and I won’t have it. Then I’ll be in a great deal of trouble, and things still may not be fixed. I need to be able to interfere. Usually, that means I tell Anti something went wrong and he changes his approach or comes to the aid of the brother in trouble.”

Anonymous asked: I don't know what Marvin can help you with, but Red has picked up Dapper's medication before! He should know the medication and the other details. (PS, pharmacy is near the store you had been shopping at for the other supplies)

Marvin whirls on his twin. “Red, tell him what you know.”

Red stares between the two of them, making calculations in his head. Doktor will be hurt if Trick doesn’t come back fast enough. That’s guaranteed. Red himself may be hurt if he helps Trick, but the likelihood is lower, and it could save Doktor. If that were all there was to it, he would take the burden of responsibility without hesitation. Anti said he was the leader, so it’s his job to protect the others. However, things have changed from – oh, he doesn’t even remember, he just knows things have changed. He has a twin now. Like Doktor punished for Trick’s mistake, Blue could be the one punished for Red’s decision.

“You understand,” says Red. “That if I tell him, you could be hurt.”

“Yes,” snaps Marvin, without hesitation. “Stop being a little bitch and tell him.”

Red laughs aloud. If he could remember, he would know it has been a very long time since he laughed like that. He’s starting to see why Anti picked this one for him.

“Fuck,” he laughs, a little hysterically. “Trick, come here.”

Trick, anxious but relieved, hurries to his side and kneels down beside the cupboards with him.

“I was rummaging through the cupboards this morning,” says Red. “Trying to figure out who I was.”

Trick winces at the sadness of it.

“I found all these IDs. They’re for different countries, different names, different ages, different everything. There’s about twenty-five of them and the pictures could work for any one of us. I don’t remember which one I used to pick up Dapper’s medicine.”

“Fuck,” gasps Trick, taking the box of IDs from him. “Fuck, okay, we can do this. There’s Irish, Norweigan, American, French, German, and Dutch IDs.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty white,” says Red.

Trick startles. “Did you just make a joke? I’ve never heard you make a joke.”

“Um - ”

“Never mind. Which should I take?”

Anonymous asked: You use krone as currency, you're in Norway!

“Are we?” asks Red. “I could have fucking sworn we were Irish.”

“We are,” says Marvin, and then pauses, confusion clouding over his eyes. “Are we?”

“It doesn’t matter,” snaps Trick, sorting out the IDs. “There’s five Norweigan IDs. Which should I take? None of these look like Dapper!”

“What sort of differences would Anti use to distinguish Dapper’s ID from everyone else’s?” asks Red. “Or should you just take all five?”

The boys stare between each other, trying to think.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: I mean, Dapper is his favourite. Is there any extra care taken on any of the ID's? There has to be something!

“Some of them look newer than others… the birth dates are different…”

cest-mellow asked: red, blue? can you tell me any information about dap’s medicine? what name he uses, what kind, how much it costs? everything you say? this is important, anti is involved. trick is also into town to grab some stuff so if you have some change to spare for him..? thank you boys!

“I’m trying to remember,” sighs Red, sitting back on his heels. “I wish I could just go for him, I might remember something if I could see it. Medicine, medicine, medicine… I feel like the name of the prescription is on the tip of my tongue. Maybe it started with an H?”

“How about money?” asks Marv, coming up beside his brothers to help sort through the IDs. “You got anything stored?”

Red sighs. “Doesn’t matter. Store’s closed by now, I guarantee it. We’re getting close to nine at night and this is a small town, they don’t do twenty-four hours. You’re going to have to break in. You need the name Dapper uses or the name of the prescription, and preferably both.”

Trick jolts. “No, no - stealing shit is your job, I’ve only done that once and we were desperate!”

“Oh, you’re not desperate now?”

Trick whimpers, clutching at his hair. Marvin grabs his wrist and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Red, don’t you have anything that could help him?”

Red turns back to the cupboards, searching again. “There’s nothing tech-related down here. I’m assuming Anti keeps everything in his room. We could go up there and - ”

“No!” cries Trick. “No, no! Anti might let you off just for giving me advice, but if you go upstairs he will beat you into a fucking pulp, guaranteed. Dapper’s the only one upstairs and I’m not sure I want him involved.”

He pauses, biting his nails.

“I’ll… bring Doktor’s gun. And a hood and a mask, and try to break in on my own. The things upstairs would be nice, but it’s not like I can talk to Dap anyway.”

“What are you talking about, breaking in someplace?” protests Marvin, alarmed. “Is that something we do often?”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” frowns Red. “But maybe I’m wrong.”

“Fucking goddamn,” hisses Trick, exasperated. “I think I prefer no-memory Red, but he sure is useless.”

“Hey!” snaps Red, punching his shoulder. For once, Trick isn’t afraid that there are more blows coming, and he can’t help but laugh, wiping at tears in his eyes and shaking like a leaf caught beneath a door.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Is there one that looks the closest to Dapper?? You're running out of time...

“No.” Trick’s voice is teary, he knows you’re right. “No, maybe I should just take them all and go.”

Anonymous asked: Does anyone know how many different countries you've been through before this place?

“Oh, I do.” Dapper’s picking anxiously at a splinter on the sill of his window. “Anti tells me and Red, says someone should know. Not that he’ll remember now, poor bloke. The three of us were in good old England for a while, then Ireland, Sweden, the Netherlands. Stopped once in Italy, then back to the Netherlands. I liked the Netherlands the most, we lived right by this great river, and Trick and Doktor were in the next room over, and I would listen to them talking and pretend I was talking to them too. And there were cats that would come up to the window and meow for fish. I loved it there. But we’re here now. I have a very nice view and I like the lights at night.” He sets his head in his hands, his mouth sad. “But I don’t expect we’ll stay long. We never do.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Dapper, do you mind showing us your bottle of medicine? That way we can tell Trick what kind to get for you

“Sorry, I don’t see it in my drawer. I think Anti took it with him downstairs.” Dapper rubs his hands together, looking stressed. “I can’t help with anything. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so useless.”

Anonymous asked: Well, if you're breaking in, you probably won't need the right ID, right? You just need to find meds that match one of the names on the IDs. Bring all of them! And remember that it starts with H, Doktor was saying something like Hald?

“That’s a good point.” Trick looks relieved. “Okay. Let me grab the mask and the gun. Anything else I should bring?”

Anonymous asked: Which one has the youngest birthdate?

“Oh!”

Trick sorts excitedly through the IDs. “This one, um - born October 31, 1993 - Kayden James? Does that sound right?”

Anonymous asked: Haldol? It's an anti psychotic!

“Haldol.” Red snaps his fingers, delighted. “That’s it, I’m sure that’s right.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Anti, I hope you realize that there is more at risk if Trick goes and gets the medication. What if he gets the wrong prescription? Or what if he's caught doing something he shouldn't?

The camera upstairs fizzles and glitches, casting Dapper momentarily in red light.

“Fixes all their mistakes,” plays across the screen in glitching green words.

For a second, Dapper gives the camera a disparaging look, as if he knows what’s being said.

“He’s getting overconfident,” he signs darkly, looking suddenly angry. Then he draws his arms around his chest and sits down on his bed, rocking himself gently, glancing over at the wall that separates his room and Anti’s office.

Anonymous asked: Do you have something you could use as a crow bar maybe?

“All the good stuff is upstairs or downstairs,” whimpers Trick, nevertheless sorting through the cupboards. “I wish I had some of the tech Anti usually gives Red. It’s - oh, fuck, what the hell is this?”

The boys pause to stare at it. It’s a short and very sturdy… stick?

“There’s a button on it,” says Marvin.

Trick presses it. They all jump hard as the stick expands into a full-length staff, Trick tumbling back onto his ass.

“Goddamn!” he snaps. “This is yours, Red.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a fighting staff.”

“You might be able to smash some shit with that. I’m more worried about locks.”

“Well, what’s that if not a lock picking kit?” Marvin points down at a little wrapped up pouch, inside which Trick finds a row of picks.

“Thank God,” he breathes, shoving them in his pocket.

“You know how to use those?”

“Yeah, actually. Fuck, well…” He glances longingly up the stairs at Anti’s room. “I guess that’s it.”

Anonymous asked: Let's see, mask so no one can see your face, gun to threaten people or break windows or something, ID to know which meds to get... unless you have a way to get you there and back faster, you might just want to go now, if no one can think of something else you might need. Time is of the essence.

“Right, right.”

Trick breathes out slowly, trying to steady himself. Fuck, he wishes he could do this with Doktor.

But he can’t. It’s up to him. He has to save his brother. Nothing else matters.

He turns back to the twins and jumps as Marvin presses the mask to his face and tugs the strap down over the back of his head. “Steal more than the Haldol, so the cops don’t trace it back to us. Narcotics or something. They won’t realize you’re anything more than a junkie. Take your brother’s big coat too,” he advises. “Keep the hood up and zip it all the way up, to hide your mouth.”

“Why are you helping me at all?” mumbles Trick, savoring the feeling of Marvin’s hands carding through his hair, just once. “We’re strangers. You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”

Marvin pauses. Trick stares up into his eyes. Soft hands, wrapped in warm gauze, descend to cup his face.

“I don’t remember much,” says Marvin, very quietly, so only Trick can hear, and the sheer tenderness of it is enough to bring tears to his eyes. For so long, Dok has been the only one who has cared about him. “But I do remember, little brother, that I love you very much.”

Trick snuffles, trying to hide his teary face as he swallows back the sudden pang of a very warm memory - someone holding him in a hotel room, promising him that everything will be okay, that he’ll be looked after, magic swimming quietly around their heads. He doesn’t want Red to mock him - but to his surprise, his oldest brother comes over too, and sets a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I can’t go in your stead,” says Red, and he sounds it. “Come back to us in one piece.”

Commanding but not cold. Not cold.

“That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” manages Trick.

He packs up his things as fast as ever he’s prepared for anything, snatching Dok’s coat from their nest and tugging the hood over his head, zipping it up from his mouth. Panting hard already, he takes off at a sprint down the steep path from the mountain to the village.

One hour and thirty minutes remain.

They watch him go, tortured twins wrapped in bandages.

“Can I ask you something?” asks Marvin.

“Yeah, course.”

“Why’s your hair red?”

“Fuck if I know. Yours is blue, after all.”

“Mine is what?”

Anonymous asked: Guys, you could just break down in front of the owners and say Dapper's very sick and you have no money....

By the time Trick makes it to the pharmacy, night has fallen dark about him and he is panting hard after the long run down the mountainside toward the sea. He slows as he reaches the village, tugging his hood lower over his eyes, darting behind buildings on his way to the store. There are people out and about, unfortunately, just across the street at the bar and restaurant where he and his brothers got fish just yesterday.

He almost chokes on the memory. He’d give anything to go back to that moment right now, watching Doktor eating fried food until his stomach was full and his mouth was smiling. He wonders if he’s afraid right now. He wonders if he’s in pain. He doesn’t know if Anti will keep his two-hour promise.

“Break down in front of the owners,” repeats Trick, panting as he makes his way to the back of the pharmacy. “I don’t know who the owners are - the shop is closed for the night and there’s no one home. I don’t speak Norwegian and don’t know if they speak English. I don’t know that they would give it to me, and if they did, I’d already have drawn too much attention to myself. But by all means, if you find a solution to all those problems, let’s fucking go for it.”

He rubs anxiously at his face, tears pricking in his eyes. “I don’t mean to snap,” he croaks. “I’m just stressed and - goddamn, no!”

He recoils from the door at the back of the pharmacy as though it’s stung him.

“I was hoping it would just be locked!” he cries, staring in dismay.

The door is locked with a digital number key pad, listing 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9, and * all in a mockery of him. Trick grips at his hair. “This is a tiny town, why does it have any tech security at all!”

If he shoots it or tries to break it, he expects an alarm to go off. He needs to know the pass-code or risk breaking in while the cops respond.

Trick groans, turning his face away from the security cameras that watch from the door above, hoping he’s staying covered enough to hide. “Don’t suppose you would know the code? Please? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, please.”

juju-on-that-yeet asked: Look at the pad and see which numbers are the most worn down/faded. That'll give you a place to start, at least.

“M-maybe the 7?”

Anonymous asked: Do you know the address of the pharmacy, where it is on the street? Maybe the code is something like that, easy for employees to remember.

“No, I’m not sure… I’m scared to go around front and look. Or maybe if I could find their phone number online… but I don’t have any way to look that up.”

spicydanhowell asked: TRICK THE CODE IS 3677* (This was a number hidden in the tags of other posts)

Trick stares at you, panting hard. For a second, a million doubts run through his head - they could lie to me, they could make it up so I go to jail, they could be trying to get me away from Anti, they could be Anti trying to trick me and punish me, they could just be messing with me, I don’t even know who they are, how they’re talking to me, why they’re here, what they’d know -

But Dok is waiting for him. Dok is waiting for him and he doesn’t have any other choice and maybe there are some things that are worth putting a little faith in anyway, so he turns and presses his palm to the sensor, plugging in 3677*.

The handle turns in his hand and he gasps aloud, nearly collapsing from the relief. But time is of the essence, as you told him, and he needs to keep going, to be brave for his twin’s sake.

“Thank you,” he signs, tears in his eyes, and he shoves into the store, where bright lights flicker on in response to his movement.

“Okay, okay,” he chokes. “Now I just need Haldol, under the name Kayden James, and to steal something controlled so they don’t track it back to us and it just looks like I’m an addict looking for a fix. What did Blue say? Narcotics or something?”

spicydanhowell asked: a bunch of different stuff, trick, it hardly matters what, just get in and out. Two anons had similar advice added.

“Okay, you got it.”

Trick busts open the master-locked cupboards in the back, using Red’s fighting staff to smash through the wood - to his credit, he’s right that a small town pharmacy lacks good security for the most part, and no alarms go off inside, though he’s certainly been spotted by the security cameras staring down at him from all sides. He finds the prepared prescriptions arranged by last name and grabs at the J’s, finding the orange bottle marked “Haloperidol - James, Kayden” almost immediately, chock-full of the tiny white pills that help his little brother function. Nearly crying, he kisses the bottle and shoves it into his pocket, glancing back at the cold white clock on the back of the pharmacy.

He’s got fifty minutes to get home. He’ll have to run, but he can make it.

Just grab something. Just grab something.

But he doesn’t want people to not get their medicine. He’ll go for the unprepared stuff, the full boxes of medicine.

He turns to the shelves full of boxes and starts rummaging, looking for anything you listed, but nothing here is controlled, nothing addictive or used to make addictive shit, not that he can see, anyway. He glances toward an ancient safe with rusty hinges set on the table in the back and grins.

The hinges break after five furious strikes. There’s a crash as the door tumbles to the ground and he winces, his heart rate picking up. Someone on the street might have heard that. He needs to go.

He grabs two boxes of Percocet and three orange pain killer bottles. He turns back to the prepared prescriptions and scatters them across the floor. They won’t notice one missing in the middle of that, or they’ll assume it was just lost somehow.

“Alright,” he breathes. “Time to fucking go.”

He takes off, pressing back through the door again, staggering into the alley -

Where a small child is standing, staring curiously at the open door.

Trick freezes still, gasping, his hand clutched around Doktor’s gun.

It’s the boy from the shop, the one sitting on the counter while his grandmother checked them out. Trick realizes, distantly, that he was there when he bought this green coat.

The boy is staring at the gun at Trick’s side, fear making his eyes widen.

Trick tries to speak but can only stammer, his brain giving him no words at all. He doesn’t know what to do, and he is afraid.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Run, Trick. Just Run! The longer you stay, the worse things will get. You have everything you need! Four other asks, from florence-is-falling and three anons, gave Trick conflicting advice and were added.

Trick starts and then stops again, staggering slightly. Too many options - he’s not used to having any options at all, Anti or Red is supposed to be with him on missions, telling him what to do, making sure everything goes smoothly - this shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t be happening at all, he wants to go home, he wants Doktor to hold onto him and rock him through this nightmare, until he falls asleep, and wakes up in the morning knowing it is far away -

Oh, fuck, he has to focus, he has to be brave, has to get this medicine home for Doktor, has to, has to!

“H-hi,” he manages finally, remembering your order to change his voice and quickly adopting the accent he always imagines Dapper’s signs in, clear and English. “Hi, there, love, it’s okay.”

The boy stares up at him, his little hands shaking, wrapped around a stuffed dolphin toy. He’s not well bundled up, only wearing a little coat, unzipped, for warmth. He’s perhaps seven years old. A kid this age shouldn’t be out on his own after light’s fallen, should he? And before Trick can think, the words are out of his mouth:

“Why are you out so late? Where’s Mum and Dad?”

A blush rushes up his little cold cheeks. He looks down at his dolphin, picking at its fin, mouth trembling.

“Oh,” says Trick, a little teasing now. “Snuck out, now, did we?”

“No,” squeaks the boy.

At least he speaks English.

“You’re sure?” asks Trick, slowly tucking the gun away in the hopes that the boy didn’t see it at all.

“Why were you inside the store so late?”

“Um,” stammers Trick, swallowing, trying to assert himself. “Um, well - because - because I thought someone had broken in. See how the door’s left open?”

The kid nods slowly, his face twisted up in thought.

“I was worried there was a bad guy inside,” adds Trick, nodding sharply. Okay, he can go with this. It’s a small kid. They’ve both caught each other. It’s okay. It has to be okay. This has to work. “So I went to try and stop him.”

“Ohhh,” says the boy, relaxing. “That’s why you have a gun.”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“The police don’t have guns, though…”

Goddamn Europe and their safety laws. “Well,” he bullshits, his eyes flickering around desperately as he hears people walking down the streets. “I’m not a cop. I’m a - a superhero.”

The boy’s eyes widen. Excited. Wasn’t he drawing storm troopers yesterday?

“Like a Jedi,” adds Trick, nodding. “I have to use the gun because my lightsaber’s not working right now. Want to see?”

“Yeah!”

He grabs Red’s staff and pulls it out, extending it in one press of the button. He’s beginning to sweat - do you think the clock is ticking as fast as his heart beats?

“Wow,” breathes the child. “How are you going to fix it?”

“I’m sorry, buddy, I can’t talk right now. I’m in a rush. My - my brother’s in trouble. So I have to go. Okay? You need to go home to your parents, right? Shouldn’t have been sneaking out, should you? So tell you what - I won’t tell anybody that you snuck out, and then you don’t tell anybody you saw me here. Okay? Cause you know superheroes get in trouble with the police sometimes.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Please, bud,” gasps Trick. “Please, um - what’s your name, love?”

“Hunter.”

Trick stops breathing entirely.

Hunter, Hunter, Hunter.

Why does he know that name - a little boy - mousy dark hair, big brown eyes, freckles and a smile on his mouth, crinkle paper and stuffed toys in baby hands, his baby, his baby, his baby -

He should have just run, or knocked him out, or threatened him, like you told him to. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He’s just a little boy. He’s just like his little boy.

He turns away from Hunter and takes off at a sprint, tearing along behind houses and buildings, back into the forest, sprinting, the stitch in his side gone, the pain in his chest gone, nothing remaining at all but the desperation to get home to his brother, and the memory that haunts him, the memory of a little boy all alone.

He moves faster than he’s ever moved up the pathway, branches striking across his brother’s coat. Behind him, he could swear he hears the snapping of dog’s teeth at his heel, the harsh breath of hounds hunting him down, teeth, teeth, teeth always waiting to devour, and he runs, runs, runs, even though he is beginning to lose hope that safety awaits him at the end of the road.

cest-mellow asked: dok? are you doing alright downstairs?

The camera is barely working, but someone must have restarted it. It flickers to life in shaking hands, and you see Doktor’s face.

Anti’s given him new glasses, unshattered, a bizarre show of affection preceding a torture session if Trick doesn’t hurry. He’s alone as far as you can tell, wiping slowly at his eyes as he cries steadily, breathing painfully thin.

“Can you please - ”

He pauses, swallows, restarts, water cascading down his cheeks.

“Can you please tell me if Trick is okay?”

He rubs at his cheeks. Everything he does is strangely slow - you’re pretty sure he’s too clammed up to move any faster. His voice sounds like it’s been put through a straining record player and his chest trembles with the effort of continuing to draw air.

“Anti… hasn’t… hurt me,” he wheezes. “But I think - I think I’d like - I want to go upstairs now, p-please…”

Anonymous asked: So, Marvin, hey, good to see you!! What do you remember? How do you feel?

Marvin’s sitting on top of the island, staring blankly at his hands. You’ve caught him and Red in the middle of a conversation, and his twin looks up at him with worry in his eyes from the floor.

“Umm.” Marvin is looking himself over, tugging down a strand of blue hair to see its color, opening his coat and examining his shirt and pants and jewelry. He doesn’t recognize any of it.

“I’m not even sure this is my body,” he mumbles. His hands shake minutely. Pulling back his sleeves, even Jack’s old tattoo fails to comfort him. They all have one of those. Running his hands through his hair does not give him the correct sensation - he has forgotten the tug of his long hair, but still he can feel that it is missing - he knows that the weight on his fingers is not the one he is used to, that these are not the shoes he is used to watching as he walked, that nothing is - nothing is right, nothing is - all of this - wrong, wrong, wrong -

Oh. On his wrist, there is a small flower, inked into his skin.

“Blue,” murmurs Red. “Doing okay?”

“I don’t remember anything,” whispers Marvin. “Do you?”

“I think there are flashes coming back to me… but not much.”

Marvin swallows, staring down at the flower. “Do you feel like… the person who you see in the mirror… is the wrong person?”

Red stares up at him, wearily. “Only a little,” he answers. “But the sensation is familiar.”

Marvin’s head snaps up. He stares directly at you.

“Is this how Anti always treats them?” he asks. “Sending them into terrors, threatening them for small mistakes, cutting up our hair and changing us without permission? Keeping the other boy in the attic? How long have I been here? Have I always been like this? Please tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“Blue,” warns Red, staring frantically down at the basement. “Blue, careful what you say.”

“Because this person,” continues Marvin, ignoring him. “This person who Anti tells me I am - this is not the right person. I don’t think this is right. I don’t think Anti is right.”

“Blue,” hisses Red. “Blue, shut the fuck up. Do you want to get killed?”

But, though his memory is gone, his courage is not. And he needs to know. He has to know.

“This is not who I am.”

Anonymous asked: Trick is coming back, he's a little shaken but he's fine!

“Oh, he’s coming back, he’s coming back…”

Doktor hides his face against his knees, breathing harshly.

“Always comes back for me… H-hurry, Trick…”

just-a-youtubers-blog asked: Blue!! BLUE!!??! NO! YOUR NAME IS MARVIN! MARVIN!! WE CAN'T LOSE YOU, TOO! NO! WHY... why... I - we can't... lose you, too... not you... WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!! IS THIS SOME SICK WAY OF RUBBING IT IN OUR FACE!!?! I SWEAR, I WOULD MAIM YOU IF I COULD, AND I'M PRETTY SURE MARVIN FEELS THE SAME WAY! NOT BLUE, MARVIN! YOU SICK, DEMENTED PHYCOPATH!! (dapper, we might need a time rewindal...) (you did say that you would relive this day right?)

Red winces every time you say the name, covering up his ears and hissing out a warning, but Marvin only smiles, nodding slow.

“Yeah, that sounded more right than Blue when Trickshot said it… but that’s not his name either, now is it?”

oasisofgalaxies asked: I wont say your name right now if it hurts you. Blue, you were someone great, magnificent. a magician, a sorcerer with great power. You cam here because of your heart, your heart always filled with love for your brothers. You came because your brothers were in danger. You came here because Anti stole your brothers from you and turned them into people they aren't. You came here and were captured. You fought so hard, but you fell into the role Anti laid out for you. A role of shackles and chains.

Marvin stares down at his hands, thinking. “You were calling out to me days ago,” he guesses. “But I couldn’t hear you.

“A sorcerer, huh?”

Blue light flickers through his eyes. Red is beginning to look afraid. Your camera screen glitches.

“My brothers in danger…”

Anonymous asked: Marvin, you're a good person. You're a magician without his mask, but remember that underneath whatever clothes anti makes you wear or whatever name he calls you, you are Marvin and you are good.

“Good,” mumbles Marvin, thoughtful. “Strange, I… I’m not sure about that one… there’s this great self-hatred inside of my chest… But I guess goodness is a choice… and I think I’d like to choose it, if I could sort all this out… I have to sort all this out.”

nikkilbook asked: You’re a wonderful man who loves his brothers very much. And by brothers, I mean Red, Trick, Doctor, and Dapper. All of them. Not just your twin. You want to keep them safe and together. You sacrificed a lot to try and keep them safe.

“Did I? Sacrifice for them, try to keep them safe? Looks like I did a pretty fucking awful job.”

Tears spark in his eyes. He closes his eyes and his fist, grimacing as cold washes of memories return to him in blurs barely meaningful - Chase and Henrik hiding behind him, Jackie’s empty bedroom that terrible morning, Jameson dragged away from him, all his power come to nothing -

“But you’re right about one thing - all of them are my brothers. Not just Red. This is my family.”

musical-in-theory asked: You are a magnificent man who loves his brothers, all 4 of them. You are a magic man who does tricks for the delight of others. A kind man. A beautiful person who doesn’t belong in this terrible place

“Tricks?”

This brings a small smile back to Marvin’s face. “Really, like a performer? That’s wonderful. Ha, tricks… and you’re right, I am quite beautiful.”

Laughing, he tries to throw his hair, teasing, only to find it cut short again. “Ah, right… I’m Blue now…”

Anonymous asked: Dap, are you around? Are you okay? Do you know where Anti is?

Dapper’s laid out on his floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“Anti’s everywhere,” he signs dully. “I can feel him summoning up his strength. He feels… angry. You should warn my brothers to be careful. Whatever they’re doing, he doesn’t seem to like.”

just-a-youtubers-blog asked: You asked us to remember your name when you forgot it. And that's what we'll do, Marvin. Marvin, the Magnificent. The man who had a deeper understanding of things we'll miss you, Marv. Can I at least say goodbye? Please? Before he is truly gone forever? Bye, Marv. We'll miss you... sorry... this... is all our fault. Sorry.

Marvin stares at the ground. Red has come to stand beside him, gripping his shoulders, trying to keep him quiet.

“Maybe you should say goodbye,” he calls gently. “Give up the old name, please. I’m afraid Anti can hear you. Just - just say goodbye. Anti would like that. Yeah? You don’t want to get hurt. I don’t want - I can’t bear to see you hurt, please, please be quiet,” begs Red, shaking his shoulders. “Say goodbye, Blue, come on.”

His twin closes his eyes, trying to think.

oasisofgalaxies asked: You heard me!! You’re ok! I’m so happy, but now you have to be careful. Anti knows what you’re your up to, or at least he can sense it. Be careful Marvin. I’m worried that if he gets even more mad he’ll do something worse.

“Right, right,” murmurs Marvin. “I need to be quiet - these are his cameras - if he hears me, he could hurt Red to punish me.”

Anonymous asked: I'm with Red on this, Marvin, be very careful what you say and ask. There are eyes and ears everywhere. But no, Blue is not who you are. Anti is lying to you. You might recognize some names - cover your ears if it helps, Red - Jackie, Henrik, Chase, or Jameson? Jack?

Marvin looks up, his eyes full of light.

He wants to say the names out loud, so much it’s almost painful to hold them back, but another look at Red, distressed at his side, stops him short. Squeezing his twin’s hand, he quiets, thoughtful.

“We should change the subject,” he murmurs.

He looks up at Red. “Enough about me,” he says. “Tell me something about you.”

Red pauses, his eyes flickering around anxiously.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he says. “I’m just… Red.”

Anonymous asked: Blue, just take everything as it comes okay? I'm saying this for your sake and your family's. We want to about a family field trip to the basement. Your name is Blue and what's important is what's here now. We can't worry about what's past.

Marvin swallows, clinging to Red’s sweatshirt. “Right, right… okay, yeah. I’m - I’m Blue now.”

He closes his eyes as though in pain, but only for a moment, because Red’s relief is enough to reassure him.

“There you go,” cries Red, pulling him into a crushing hug, which makes Blue laugh. “Fuck, now stop saying stupid things!”

Blue tries to shove him away, laughing hard. “Hey, fine, fine! Asshole, get off me!”

“I will not, you’re too stupid to be left alone - ”

Blue hugs him back, chuckling.

With his arms wrapped around his neck, Red thinks he remembers something, vaguely - a younger man in a cat mask, clutched tight to his chest, warm days at home, just the two of them, and then their joy, later, as their little house filled up…

He closes his eyes, pushing away its comfort. The past does not matter and to rejoice in it is dangerous. What matters is here and now. And what he has, here and now, is a family all its own. He can’t let the past matter. He can’t let himself remember. Blue’s hands are warm on his neck.

Your screen glitches.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey guys? Not to cut the sweetness sesh short or anything, but I'd be on your guard. Dapper is worried for you guys. Can you sense anything down there?

Blue and Red glance around, concerned, still holding each other’s arms.

But nothing seems to move.

Everything is quiet.

Still, they both get the sense that something has changed.

Footsteps in the hallway above them.

They exchange glances, confused.

Anonymous asked: Yeah, everything's okay here! Just Blue and Red, hanging out, being goofs. Nothing to see! Maybe you guys can go to the window and watch for Trick for a bit, since he's on an errand and not on watch?

“Sure,” says Blue, swallowing. “Um, yeah. Inconspicuous, right?”

He ends up too tired to get up the three little stairs to the nest, his stitches aching painfully, but Red manages to get up and sit beside the window, watching for his brother.

Anonymous asked: Can you guys be ready for Trick when he comes home? I don't want the door being locked or something stupid like that tripping him up...

“Okay,” agrees Blue, limping to the door and pulling it open. He sits down on the porch and waits, hopeful.

“I don’t expect he’s got much time left.”

Anonymous asked: Trick: *steals child* this is mine now

“I wish I could tell you,” pants Trick, drawing near to home. “That I wasn’t fucking tempted.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Marv, Blue if it keeps you safe, you should keep an eye on Trick when he gets back. He met a boy called Hunter. Not /Hunter/ Hunter obviously (I assume he's safe with his mum and sister) but it almost stirred a memory in Trick. If anything happens and he begins to properly remember, I'm sure he'd appreciate his brother trying to be there for him as best he can. I mean, I'm saying all this and I'm not even sure you remember who Hunter is.

“Oh, no… I don’t remember who Hunter is, but I think I get the gist. I’ll keep an eye on him… that’s all I can do, right? I’ll ask him how he is, keep an eye on him.”

Anonymous asked: Trick are you running? How close are you? Similar asks from florenceisfalling and cest-mellow were added.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Do I still have time?”

He’s panting hard, but there, in the distance, he sees Blue, sitting on the stairs. His brother rises as he approaches, calling for him.

“Yeah, I got it!” he cries, rocketing up the porch and practically leaping into the house, brushing past Blue. “I got it, I got it! Where’s master?”

“I don’t know, we haven’t seen him - ”

Trick yanks open the door to the basement and sprints down the stairs, sliding slightly on old blood. He finds Doktor curled up against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest, shaking hard, but he doesn’t see Anti. He pauses to give his twin a quick kiss, promising him, “I got it, I got it, he won’t hurt you now!” before dashing back up the stairs.

“Where is he, where is he?” he cries, staring frantically around. “Anti, Anti, I got the - ”

Blue grabs his shoulders tightly, silencing him by his intensity. His vivid ocean eyes are fixed on the staircase.

Trick turns his eyes to look too.

Steps come down the stairs. Red, Blue, and Trick watch uncertainly as the silhouette appears.

“Dapper?” asks Trick softly.

Dapper’s body is at the bottom step.

Anti shakes his head no, slowly.

“Oh,” stammers Trick, backing up slightly against Blue’s chest. “Okay, um…”

Anti wears Dapper looser than he did Red. There is no stiffness, no scars, no pain. Dapper’s body fits him well. He tugs up the sleeves of a crisp white dress shirt, complete with a bowtie, and reaches out an empty hand.

Panting roughly, Trick holds out the Haloperidol. The pills tremble in his fingers and steady in Dapper’s.

Anti regards them coolly, his head tilted. Curls of light brown hair tumble into ink and pitch eyes.

He turns to go, waving a disinterested hand at the basement. Trick, nearly wheezing, sorts his priorities out and decides not to question, darting back down the stairs to get his twin.

“Anti?” asks Red, summoning his courage.

Anti pauses, turning to look at him.

“Not questioning, sir,” says Red softly. “But is there a reason I should know about that made you decide to, um… wear… Dap?”

Fear and rage burn in Blue’s throat like vodka as he stares at the monster wearing his baby brother. A recollection awakens in his chest - Jameson, less haggard but no younger, curled up against his chest, teaching him sign language with careful, patient movements of his hands, laughing sweetly every time Marvin messed up. He swallows hard, squeezing tight his trembling hands, feeling magic curl like dragon-fire against his palms.

Anti turns and looks directly at him.

Looks directly at Marvin.

And then he turns around, in silence, and heads back up the stairs.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: I hope one day you realize, Anti, that this isn't how you show love. There is a HUGE difference between love and control.

Anti is shadowed in darkness. He moves up the stairs, looking up at you.

“Maybe,” he signs. “But the difference no longer matters.”

End Section Four of Chapter One.

Find this chapter’s masterlist here.

#abuse tw #torture tw #pharmacy break-in #chapter 1

26 notes · View notes

seeaddywrite · 5 years ago

Text

overcome by shame, can i ever change?

part 3/6: five times Alex stopped Michael from doing something stupid, & one time Michael returned the favor.

warnings: for this part – grief, allusions to depression, alcohol abuse, self-loathing, abuse of a police officer’s position, the usual.

you can also read/follow on AO3, if you prefer. (the formatting is 110x better & includes italics where they are supposed to be!) i’m not making any promises about having the next part up tomorrow because this work week may kill me, but i’ll get it up asap.

Less than a month later, Michael’s slumped against the wall in the Chaves County Sheriff’s station. The view from the cell hasn’t changed since the day Michael and Isobel gave Max hell for healing Liz Ortecho in front of it, and the sight gives Michael a painful expectation of seeing his brother walking through the door at any moment, uniform and disappointed scowl in place, self-righteous lecture at the ready. But that’s not going to happen, so Michael’s swollen eyes are closed. The feeling of loss eases, if only a little, and keeping his eyelids shut helps against the steady throb in his cheek and ribs, too.

It also allows him to ignore the look burning into him from the desk across the room, where his arresting officer sits. The young man is new, desperate to prove himself -- fuck, it actually looks like he’s shined the badge on the front of his uniform. He’s wet behind the ears, too goddamned eager to show how much better he is than guys like Michael.

Michael knows that’s why he’s still sitting here. Sheriff Valenti would’ve let him go by now, shaking her head at him in wordless disappointment, just as she had the last few times he’d found himself in here after Max’s death. This guy doesn’t give a shit about Michael’s grief, though. Doesn’t even know about it, since only a few have been told the truth. Kyle’d insisted on bringing his mom into the loop after Caulfield and discovering his father’s role in it, and Michael and Isobel had been too numb to argue for more than a few minutes.

The sense of those eyes on him starts to chafe, and Michael forces his eyes open to meet the Deputy stare-for-stare. He knows the picture he paints: the black cowboy hat perched haphazardly on his head, the insolent tilt of of his chin and shoulders, the sprawling pose he’d adopted against the wall with his legs crossed in front of him. It’s an image he’s cultivated for the last decade of his life. The rebel. The drunk. The outcast, challenging anyone who dares to get too close.

Most people never bother to look beyond the facade, and Michael usually prefers it that way. Today, though, it rubs him the wrong way. He’s used to Max being the one to pull him out of the drunk tank in the morning, accustomed to the lectures and the insistence that Michael is worth more than this, more than the booze and the fights and the disappointment in everyone’s gazes when they looked at him. Those damned speeches had always made Michael homicidal; Max never seemed to understand that what they’d done to Rosa had killed any chance of a future for him just as surely as it had killed the girl herself. To Michael, Max had always seemed unaffected, infuriatingly numb to the truth of the crime they committed and immune to the consequences, and his insistence that Michael deserved to move forward, simply because he had, only ever made Michael resent his brother.

Finally, the Deputy seems to have enough of their staring contest. Michael’s eyes flicker open at the scraping of a chair leg on the floor, and he watches with a blank expression as the man strides across the floor with the sort of bow-legged strut used men with more ego than common sense. He tips his chin back to meet the man’s gaze, squinting through the swelling around his eyes, but doesn’t move otherwise, letting the man come at him first, instead.

“So,” he says, and Michael’s eyes dart to the too-shiny badge on his chest. Simmons. The name is vaguely familiar, like all names in a town this small, but Michael doesn’t care enough to try to figure out where he’s heard it before. It’s not like it actually matters. “Your third bar brawl in two weeks. I’d be impressed, except that’s nothing for you, is it?”

The sneer in his words is expected, and Michael only rolls his eyes. “Slow week,” he drawls in reply, ignoring the shooting pain caused by moving his jaw. “I’ll make sure to throw a few more punches next week just for you.”

Simmons huffs a disdainful laugh, and reaches back to take a stack of paperwork from his desk. “Unlikely,” he says, flipping a page in a file. “I know that you’re used to special treatment, Guerin, but I’m not Valenti. I don’t have a soft-touch for hopeless cases.”

Michael snorts. “Yeah? You want to go tell her she’s a soft-touch to her face?” He doesn’t think much of the law, never has, but he knows that Michele Valenti is far from gentle. She’s fair, and usually pretty by-the-book, if Max is to be believed, but she’s as tough as nails when needed, and if Simmons hasn’t learned that yet -- well, Michael’s pretty sure the Sheriff will enjoy showing him how wrong he is. Michael can only hope he’s around to see it.

Apparently, Simmons doesn’t like Michael’s flippancy. His brows draw downward into a pinched, angry expression, and he leans in close, close enough that Michael can see every carefully steamed inch of his impeccable uniform. The image jolts something loose in Michael’s mind, dragging unwanted memories of Max’s first days on the force to the front.

Isobel had insisted on re-ironing Max’s slacks so they wouldn’t be wrinkled for his first shift. Michael’d been at Max’s for god-knew what reason, since he hadn’t even been able to look at his brother that soon after Rosa’s death -- but Michael had been there as Max put that uniform on for the first time, watched as determination filled his expression and inflated his chest and shoulders. Determination to make up for the wrongs he’d done, to atone for the sins he’d committed by helping others, as if he could somehow undo the horrible thing they’d done with good intentions.

Michael had burned with fury at Max’s naivete, with jealousy, for his ability to move forward when Michael himself was stuck, suspended in that moment, day after day.

It’s funny. Michael had always thought that the year after Rosa’s death was rock bottom -- yet here he is, still trapped, still furious and heartbroken, with no one to blame but himself.

“You’re going down this time, Guerin. Assault, at the very least. That guy you were beating on had broken ribs, and there’s no way he’s going to drop the charges -- and I will personally see to it that someone claps you in cuffs and throws you in a cell to rot.” Simmons slams his hand against the bars, hard enough to make the entire cell rattle, and Michael blinks away the remnants of the memory to look back at Max’s replacement, lips curled in a sneer. Blood trickles from a split that hadn’t quite closed, yet and down his chin, but Michael doesn’t move to wipe it away.

“That what gets you off? Guys in handcuffs?” he drawls. “I’m flattered, officer, but you’re not really my type.” And that is an understatement. In fact, comparing Simmons to Alex is an actual insult, as far as Michael is concerned -- not that he should be thinking of Alex right now. Or ever.

Simmons’ face flushes with anger, and Michael allows himself a small, triumphant smirk. He knows he’s signing his own arrest warrant with his behavior, but he’s known that for weeks. Eventually, all of his sins would catch up with him, and he’s done trying to outrun them.

Much to Michael’s regret, Simmons gets ahold of his temper quickly; his hands clench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing visibly beneath his carefully tousled blond bangs, but his voice is calm, almost cloying pleasant, when he speaks again. “Ah, well that explains things, doesn’t it?” he muses, and the knowing tone in his voice makes Michael wants to punch him hard enough to break that Colgate smile. “I knew Evans was disappearing your paperwork - every time someone tried to prosecute you, it would all just vanish, or the plaintiff would just suddenly withdraw all charges. It was obviously Evans -- I just hadn’t been able to figure out why he’d risk his career like that on a nobody like you.”

Michael struggles to make sense of that information, tries to fumble it into the schema of his and Max’s relationship for the last decade, but the pieces don’t fit. Max had always been the goody-two shoes, so by-the-book in dealing with Michael’s indiscretions that it is impossible to believe that he’d literally been tampering with the paperwork to keep him out of jail. Michael had always just thought Max had pulled in favors with Valenti, or used the ‘old friend’ card over and over -- but this? Had Max really gone to such extreme lengths to keep Michael out of jail?

“But if you two were fucking before he skipped town, well. That makes a hell of a lot more sense, doesn’t it?”

White-hot rage greys out Michael’s vision, and he’s on his feet against the bars before his mind catches up with the instinct. The feeling is senseless; the insane assumption should be something he laughs at, uses to deride Simmons’ detective work, but Michael can’t summon any humor or snark to throw at him. Hearing Max’s name from his asshole replacement is too much, and Michael’s had all he can take. Power builds in his hands where they’re pressed against the cold metal of the bars, humming through him and causing a ringing, metallic buzz to echo through the small room.

He can’t do this. He has to stop, needs to push the power down and keep it hidden, but Michael’s so removed from his own body in that moment that he can practically look down at himself and see the tension turning into a wavering aura of power in the small cell.

“That’s enough,” a harsh voice snaps, and both Michael and Simmons’ attention shifts immediately to Alex Manes. He’s looming in the open doorway, blocking all view to the administrative section of the office, an air of authority around his camo-covered shoulders that makes Michael’s breath catch in his throat.

In some ways, Alex is as familiar to him as the parts of his truck, or the smooth surface of the ship fragments he spends his nights with, but while he wears that uniform and that particular expression -- the one that not only demands instant obedience but expects it -- Michael can’t help but feel like he’s staring at a stranger. And after years of limited contact and heartbreak, that’s likely how it should be. Michael almost wishes it could be that simple. Instead, he’s fairly certain that despite everything, he could still pick Alex out of a crowd of millions from miles away. Something in his chest always thrills to Alex’s presence, drawing Michael’s gaze to him even when Alex is the last person he wants to see.

“What the hell are you doing back here, Manes?” Simmons demands, crossing his hands over his chest and straightening his shoulders in an obvious effort to look intimidating. He’s got an inch and several pounds of muscle on Alex, so it should work, but in comparison to Alex’s hard expression and relaxed but ready body language, Simmons is nothing. Alex certainly doesn’t think so; he stares fearlessly back at the Deputy and raises an eyebrow, a challenge inherent in the minuscule movement.

“That’s Captain Manes, actually,” Alex corrects definitively. “And I’m here because the guy he hit—” Alex nods toward Michael. “— is Air Force. He’s being reassigned effective Monday morning with a black mark for excessive drinking and brawling in public, so he won’t be pressing charges.”

Alex presents a set of papers to the Deputy with a flourish, a hint of the attitude Michael had fallen in love with a decade ago shining through in the movement. Simmons gives him a long, hard look, then snatches the papers from his hands, all but tearing them with unnecessary force. While he reads, Alex looks around him to Michael, a silent query on his face.

Michael blinks slowly, taking stock of his body and the energy that has receded somewhat at the sight of Alex. He’s sober enough to wonder, this time, if he’ll always have this reaction to the other man -- if he’s doomed to only ever feel calm and safe around someone who’s so tangled up in some of the most negative, traumatic experiences of his life that Michael doesn’t know how to separate Alex’s comforting grip with the vice around his heart when he thinks of Caulfield. Of his mother.

Right now, he can almost convince himself it doesn’t matter. Michael’s too relieved to see Alex, too grateful for his intervention, to feel anything else.Taking a long, slow breath, Michael peels his fingers away from the bars of the cell and takes a step back. The metallic hum in the room stops completely, and as long as Alex gets him out of there without Simmons making any more comments about the kind of man Max was, Michael thinks he can avoid this situation turning into more of a disaster.

“The military doesn’t have any jurisdiction in Roswell,” Simmons says a moment later, his chest once again puffing out in righteous indignation. “Guerin’s been picked up three times in the last two weeks for the same offense. We don’t need your guy to press charges; I’ve got plenty of evidence to keep him in lock-up.”

Alex’s eyes narrow, and Michael almost feels sorry for Simmons. Almost.

“Really.” The word is flat, loaded with insinuation. “So this has nothing to do with the fact that you lost out on the position at this station to Max Evans? And then lost out on the last open position for Evans’ partner because he said he didn’t want to work with you?” Alex’s expression is carefully blank, but Michael can read him well enough to know that he’s ready to go for the throat.

It shouldn’t surprise Michael that there are large chunks of Max’s life he knows nothing about. The two of them hadn’t been able to get past what happened to Rosa and the way it was handled, and that crack had led to nearly complete fragmentation in the intervening years. There’s no chance of fixing it, now, no way of knowing if they could have regained the closeness they’d shared for so long, because Max is dead -- but somehow, Michael is still learning things about his brother that make him want to put his fist through a wall. How many times had Max risked his career for Michael by destroying documents and evidence? How many people had he run off from the position as his partner to protect Michael? And why had he done it? Protecting their secret is one thing, but fuck, how is Michael supposed to take that information in stride?

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons blusters, but Michael can tell the Deputy knows that he’s been beaten. Alex doesn’t go to battle without all of the facts on his side, without an ironclad plan, and Simmons had lost before they’d even begun.

Alex snorts. “Sure I don’t,” he says amicably. “Why don’t we ask Sheriff Valenti, then? If all of your evidence on Guerin is by the book? I’m sure she’d be happy to back up one of her deputies and kick me out, if that’s the case.”

Michael doesn’t know if Alex is bluffing, which almost certainly means Simmons can’t tell, either. He waits, aware that he should be more concerned about the outcome of this grudge match than he is, until Simmons growls, “Fine. Get him out of here. But the next time --”

“You’ll throw him in cuffs and leave him to rot, yeah, I got it,” Alex interrupts, his tone suggesting that if he weren’t in uniform, he’d be rolling his eyes. “Keys.”

Simmons slaps the keys to the cell into Alex’s extended palm and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Michael watches, silent, as Alex allows his airman persona to fade back into the gentler, less composed version of himself. “I hacked the cameras before I came in, just in case,” he says, and gestures at the lock on the cell. “You still need me to let you out?”

A moment later, Michael has released the latch on the cell with a tendril of thought and stands in front of Alex, chin raised daringly as dark eyes take in his injuries. “We should go before that guy comes back,” is all he says, and Michael trails him out of the precinct and into the cool night air. Michael takes a deep breath and slouches back against the wall, eying Alex. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say or what’s expected of him now; hell, he doesn’t know how to interact with Alex on a good day, anymore.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Michael says after a moment, the words stiff. Anger would have been better, but Michael can’t seem to summon it back now that it’s gone. “It would’ve been fine.”

Alex shoots him a skeptical glance, but doesn’t argue. “I’m going to take that as Guerin speak for, ‘thanks for getting me out of jail,’” he snipes, and hits a button on his keychain, making his SUV blink its lights from a block down. “Come on. Your truck is still at the Pony, I’m guessing? I’ll give you a ride and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

There isn’t much chance to argue, or Michael’s too tired to try. He trails Alex into the SUV, grateful despite himself for the unwavering presence at his side. His brain is still trying to process the fact that Max, despite ten years of distance and resentment, had still been protecting him. It’s a bizarre juxtaposition with the assumption that Max had only ever done anything to protect him in order to protect their secret. Max had fucked up so many times over the years: he’d left Michael alone and scared in foster care, had only listened as Michael whispered confessions of pain and fear of the families he lived with as a child, had pushed him into taking the blame for Isobel’s crimes and allowed him to give up on the one chance at a future he had --

Michael hates looking backward, and hates the fact that he understands Max so much better now that he’s gone. His brother had never been human, but he was as flawed as any of them, and yes, he had made mistakes. But how many of those mistakes had seemed unforgivable because of Michael’s own unhappiness? How much of his resentment toward Max had sprung from Max falling from the pedestal Michael had put him on?

The hand that had, until recently, been numb and scarred, flexes against his thigh. Michael will never know what Max was thinking, that night. He’ll never be able to ask questions, or try to mend the rift that he’d helped created between them.

Michael will never have a brother again, and the loss feels fresh, now, as if the experience with Simmons had ripped a new wound over the infected one still oozing in his chest.

“Michael,” Alex says quietly, catching his attention more effectively than if he’d stood up and yelled. It’s rare to hear his first name from Alex, rarer still to hear it in a tone that borders on affection. They’ve avoided that sort of relationship for years, both aware that they’re in the middle of a balancing act, and one wrong move could send them careening over the edge into a world of hurt. “You’ve got to stop doing this. I’m not going to be able to use the same tricks next time, and . . .” he trails off, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he psyches himself up for whatever else he has to say. “And Max isn’t here to stop them from making sure you end up in prison.”

The words emerge in a rush, so quick that Michael has to let them process before he understands why Alex is so nervous. No one who mentioned his brother had walked away unscathed, lately; it was a surefire way to send Michael spiralling.

But it hurts less, somehow, hearing the truth from Alex. Maybe because he knows that Alex understands grief, understands the feeling of anger that follows in the wake of abandonment, or because he knows Alex isn’t throwing words around to hurt him. So Michael doesn’t react; he simply turns his head to look out the window and watches the New Mexican desert fly by.

It’s clear that Alex doesn’t know how to read Michael’s silence. He rushes on, obviously determined to get the words out before Michael loses his temper. “Think about it, Michael. If they get you in a jail cell, how long is it going to take before your cellmates, or a guard, or someone realizes that there’s something different about you? What if you get hurt and sent to medical? Who’s going to stop them from doing tests and figuring out that you’re not human? My father would love that kind of opportunity, Guerin. Please, for the love of god, don’t give it to him.”

Michael swallows, an old fear rising in his gut as he considers the scenario Alex spins for him. Jesse Manes. Experimentation. Tortured, like his mother and the rest of those poor souls hidden away at Caulfield prison. He shudders, hands digging into his jeans hard enough that his nails score the tender skin beneath.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Alex’s hand is resting over the back of his left one, a gentle slide of skin that makes it easier for Michael to breathe. He almost misses the tremble in Alex’s fingers, caught up in his own emotions, but it’s there, and impossible to ignore. Michael glances up at Alex, surprised to see an anxiety nearly matching his own on his face, and wonders how often he’s ignored the way the people around him are feeling in favor of drowning in his own feelings.

Michael flips his hand and squeezes Alex’s back, and triumph sparks in his chest when he catches the barest hint of a smile flash across full lips.

“I know you don’t want to talk, okay, I get it. Believe me, I get it.” Alex’s words, when he speaks again, are full of rueful self-recrimination, and again Michael is struck by his own selfishness. He’s not the only one mired in trauma and hurt. But despite his own pain, despite the way Michael has treated him, Alex has been there when MIchael needs him. Every damn time.

“But the way you’ve been acting lately -- shit, Guerin, it’s fucking terrifying. The drinking is one thing, but the fighting? The total disregard for your own health and well-being? That’s not what Max would’ve wanted for you. Do you think he spent the last decade of his life bailing you out of jail because he wanted you to rot there? Do you think your mother died convincing you to run because she wanted you to die out here instead?”

Michael’s fists clench in his lap, but his powers don’t react. This is Alex, after all, the calm in the middle of his storm, and something in Michael refuses to allow anything that might bring him harm. He grits his teeth against the spiral of guilt and shame that threatens at Alex’s words, and reaches for the door handle, ignoring the fact that the car is still moving. Alex shouts and slams on the breaks, leaving them both startled and staring at each other across the console between their seats.

“I just want to help, Guerin,” Alex says, obviously biting back a furious comment at Michael’s stupidity. “I’m not asking you to love me, or date me, or whatever it is you’re so set against. I just want to make sure you don’t end up dissected or left to rot in one of my father’s torture chambers. Can’t you just let me?”

The fight rushes out of Michael with a long breath, and he slumps back in the car seat. His head tips to one side, and he looks straight at Alex with a resigned, wary expression. “That’s the problem, Alex,” he says dully. “I do love you.” As much as he could love anyone at the moment. “But I can’t do anything about it. Not right now.” Maybe not ever.

Alex’s face is washed pale yellow in the headlights of an oncoming car, and Michael doesn’t miss the hurt etched into the lines of his face, though it’s gone in a moment.

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Alex says quietly. “I’m asking you to come back to my place tonight, get some sleep, and eat an actual meal in the morning. We can figure out where to go from there.” One large hand rests on the gear shift lever, waiting for Michael’s go-ahead before he puts it into drive.

Michael hesitates, part of him determined to climb out the door and trudge back to the Airstream to suffer through another night alone. But fighting Alex never gets him anywhere, and Michael’s tired of trying to stand on his own. If Max’s loss has taught him anything, aside from the fact that he does care about the self-sacrificing dumbass, it’s that Alex meant it, when he called Michael his family. And maybe, on a night like tonight, it’s not so wrong to want that support, no matter how selfish it feels.

So instead of following his instincts to run, Michael catches Alex’s eye and nods.

#overcome by shame can i ever change #my fic #oh good this one is EVEN LONGER #why am i like this

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snickerl · 6 years ago

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The Performance of His Life

Set in season 9. What is going on in Mulder’s mind when Scully and Skinner find him in his prison cell and he plays the role of a brainwashed inmate?

Tagging @today-in-fic and @fictober

He doesn't need to turn around to know it's her.

When they brought him into this cell, he wasn't sure whether this was good or bad. Believing that something good will happen in his life had become a very difficult task. Almost impossible even, yet essential to his survival. The hope of being able to see them again, Scully and William, if only for one last short moment, was all that kept him going these past lonely months. Only since he has been incarcerated in this black, moldy hole of a jail, has he almost lost all hope. Almost.

He couldn't count on her finding him this time. They had brought him to some kind of military facility, if they wanted his residence to remain secret, it definitely would be impossible to locate his whereabouts, even for a special agent of the FBI. A very good special agent. The best he can think of. But she found him even so. Of course, she did.

Now he's not so sure anymore if it's really so good she's here. For his sanity, yes, it's the best that could happen to him. The very idea of seeing her beautiful face, cerulean eyes, and perfectly shaped lips pumps zest for life back into his system, a vitality he already thought lost. He feels stronger and more powerful, almost reinvigorated enough to withstand the torture techniques they have applied and will most likely continue to apply to him.

What will they do to him when they realize their brainwashing hasn't broken him yet? That his compliance has been nothing but a charade to make them stop torturing him? And what will they do to her when they learn how much she means to him? That she is everything to him? He can't let them have the upper hand. Allowing them to know how much he loves her, that she is the only thing preserving his will to live, to fight them, would be like serving his head on a silver platter, and hers along with it. He can't let them know, under any circumstances. He has to give another performance and stay in the role of the brainwashed inmate, of the man who has surrendered and accepted his guilt. For his sake, but more importantly, for Scully's.

"Mulder," he hears her whisper, his back still turned to her. Her sweet voice has always had the capability to soothe him but it is his undoing now, because although being only a whisper it's crying out to him. 'Mulder, I'm so glad I found you,' it says. 'Mulder, I missed you. I needed you, where have you been?' He even makes out a faint, 'Mulder, I love you.' As an afterthought, as if she was uncertain, fearful, that it would be like the last time he returned to her when he had come back a different man, unable to fit himself back into her life. Although he hates doing this to her he turns around, the line he wants to deliver already on his lips, and finds himself totally unprepared for what the sight of her does to him.

God, what happened to her? Where is the bliss she radiated when he last saw her? Despite the grief of having to let him part from her and their newborn son, there was a felicitousness and confidence bouncing off of her which almost swept him off his feet. "We're going to get through this, Mulder," she assured him, kissing the peachy head of their (hers and his!) baby boy sleeping peacefully in her arms. "We will be waiting for you as long as it takes," she said, adding, "I have faith in us as a family, Mulder. When it's safe for you to return to us, we will leave it all behind us for good and it will be just the three of us. And we will be happy."

Where did her faith go? Her belief that everything would turn out well for them after all? That they would finally get the piece of happiness they deserve? There is none of it when he looks at her now. He sees a woman on edge, struggling to keep it together, to not crumble into pieces right in front of him. She wants to be strong for him, he reckons, and it makes him hate himself even more for what he is going to do. But he doesn't have a choice.

"Dana," he says, knowing full well that the use of her first name must feel like a punch to the gut, and he actually sees the impact of his verbal fist: her eyes widen a little more, her shoulders droop a little more, and she exchanges a worried look with Skinner who is, as was expected, at her side. She brushes her misgivings away, locks them up inside, approaches him and envelopes herself around him, squeezing and rocking him gently.

Oh, the feel of it! He tries to distance himself, needing to shield himself from her affection to be able to stay in his role, but he doesn't know how. It simply feels too good after so many months of separation to have her wrapped around him, holding him as if she never wants to let him go. He felt so lonely without her. How many nights did he crave her being in his arms just like this when he was lying on his back on an uncomfortable bunk bed in a beat-up trailer somewhere in New Mexico staring at the ceiling? His hands make contact with her shoulder blades because he cannot not touch her. He wants to touch her hips, squeeze her waist, stroke through her hair so much more, but he can't. If he feels a little more of her, he will be tempted to go further, and he mustn't.

He's actually a little proud of his ability to keep his act together so stoically, that he has himself under control. His hands aren't traveling on their own Accord, and he remains a pillar of salt in her embrace but then she kisses his cheek, and the softness of her lips and her sweet breath tickle his skin so beguilingly, his body starts melting into hers. He knows all too well he has to pull back, away from her, quickly, otherwise, he will lose control and kiss her, exposing himself in front of the guard who is watching them like a hawk. So he gathers all his strength to look right through her beautiful eyes that are begging for some kind of sign from him. He draws from the power her love is giving him and eliminates from his voice the myriad of emotions he is feeling to make it sound uninvolved, cold even. He asks her if she is okay, and the way her soft facial features harden tells him he's done pretty well.

How he hates himself, despises himself utterly, loathes himself for hurting her over and over and over again. This gorgeous woman who would have been so much better off without him, whom he should have let go of years ago, but wasn't able to. Being the selfish coward he is he held on to her, allowed for them to become even closer. Intimate. They had been intimate emotionally for years but their physical intimacy was a whole new thing. It was like standing in front of heaven's gate when she came in his arms for the first time with him inside her. From then on, they had been one, literally. Indivisibly welded together. They made a baby together, created life, it can't get any closer between two people.

Eventually, by getting her pregnant he had given her something instead of being the reason things were taken from her. He had been able to give her what she wanted the most: a child, beautiful William. It had filled him with so much joy and gratitude that these feelings deluded him into thinking that parting from them to keep them safe would work. He believed her when she said it would only be a short time until they reunited.

How stupid he was. He should have known better. She should have known better. Known that they would never be allowed to be happy and carefree. That there was some force out there - human or alien, divine or devilish, or maybe all of it - that begrudged them even the most humble happiness. During his isolation, he has lost hope, has accepted his fate, and willingly succumbed to the loneliness and the pain in its tow. He has lost his optimism, his faith, and his ability to believe that somewhere along the road there had to be an exit for him, a refuge to escape to, a place where she was waiting for him, his son in her arms, where he could let himself fall and where he would be loved and cared for.

He has lost all his vigor, but not she. She is still not willing to give up on them, he can read it in her determined eyes. What has he done to deserve this unbelievably strong woman and her stamina?

"Mulder, I haven't seen you in such a long time. I was so worried," she says, her soft palm lingering on his cheek and her eyes scanning his face for a reaction he can't give her. Back in the day, they often communicated just by looking into each other's eyes. They put on poker faces to leave their opponents in the dark, exchanging a secret plan and arranging their next moves non-verbally. They are both masters of the skill, and he knows he could do the very same right now, could tell her he isn't okay at all, that he needs her to get him out of here, that he can't do it alone.

But he doesn't. He mustn't. Under no circumstance. "It's okay. I'm alright. They're treating me really well in here," he replies instead, drawing from the last bit of resolve he has left as her fingertips graze gently along his jaw. Her caress travels from his face to his chest, where her hand comes to a rest. Does she feel his heart hammering in his ribcage? She's silent for a moment, searching his face for answers.

Does she believe him? No, she doesn't. Of course not. The happiness to see him might have clouded her initial judgment but she finally gets the sense that something is wrong. The fine line between her eyebrows and the shade of gray darkening her blue irises tell him. Maybe he isn't the actor he thinks he is. "What's happened to you?" she asks, her eyes pleading with him. She's in tune with him now, in full non-verbal mode, sending him signals that have to be ignored and cruelly whipped back toward her. There is no other option. "Nothing," he replies, trying to sound as if he means it. "I'm squared away."

He almost has to laugh at how ridiculous it sounds being dressed in prison orange and showing cuts and bruises speaking of mistreatment. Her eyes tell him she's not buying a single word he's saying. 'Mulder, it's me,' they shout at him, 'confide in me!' Her worried look gnaws at his resolve. He's responsible yet again for making her miserable. How come the person he wants to make happy the most ends up suffering because of him again and again? He would give his right arm if it was necessary to make her happy even if only for a day. Jeez, he would give his life.

Will. He will give his life. For her. Them.

William and Scully will be much better off without him. Scully will mourn him, yes, will feel like a widow probably, although they had never been legally married. And William will probably ask about his father when he gets older. Maybe. Hopefully. But all in all, they will be better off when he's gone.

And he will be. Gone. That's as sure as night follows day. They will prosecute him for murder in a ridiculously fake trial and the verdict is already clear. He will be found guilty, and they will impose the death penalty. This time, they will get rid of him for good. And with him not being a pain in their asses anymore, they will leave her alone. Them. Scully and William, mother and son, the love of his life and their miracle baby boy. He can do that for them, can't he? He owes them a life devoid of threat and fear, a life in the light instead of the darkness.

He just wishes he could have his share. It's hard to be as altruistic as he wants to be. Her proximity makes him want his share. She's pushing aside the good intentions he so rationally developed with her compassion and her warmth and her loveliness and her beauty and the million other wonderful traits she has. He feels his determination weaken, it's what makes him tear his gaze away from her and turn to the other person in the room. He has to mislead another true friend and ally with his acting talent, has to deceive Skinner likewise to protect him from the toxic consequences of being acquainted with Fox Spooky Mulder, but most of all, he counts on him to convince Scully to let go of him. If Skinner believes he's a lost cause, he might be able to make Scully believe it too.

"Hey, Walter! Good to see you, man!" he cheers as if he ran into him in a bar. Like Scully, Skinner is disturbed by his unemotional bearing. His former boss explains the precarious situation to him, how severe it is and what his rights are as a defendant. "Whatever you were doing, you have the right to a lawyer," he says, "to an inquiry and process of law."

The words lead Mulder to the thought that Scully probably didn't find him here but that it is more likely Skinner was informed of the misconduct his subordinate agent had committed. The realization stings initially, sending a sentiment of having been forgotten and given up on through his body, but only for a moment. He then understands that he is being unfair. Of course, she wasn't looking for him, it had been their agreement that he would decide when the time was right for him to return. He would only come back when he wouldn't compromise Scully and William anymore, when it would be safe for all three of them.

Skinner's explanations are unnecessary, he knows darn well how serious his situation is. It's hopeless, to be precise. He doesn't need a lawyer. He can't be helped, defended, bailed out of jail. His fate is sealed and he's already accepted it. He's embracing the opportunity actually, he just needs to make them let go of him. One last effort and they will hopefully understand that they have to move forward without him.

Fortunately, the guard's sharp command to end the conversation helps him out although it's most certainly not the soldier's intention to be of service to him. The man must have sensed Scully's determination to get to the bottom of things, to reach out to his true soul through the brainwashed shell of a person he tries to convince everyone he is. She's not to be intimidated, though. No, this woman never gives up. This woman is an infinite source of strength.

"We're gonna get you outta here," she assures him and her facial expression tells him she means it. She'd probably even help him break out in a cloak-and-dagger operation, risking her own life holding the guards at gunpoint if need be. He can't let that happen. He can't let her be accused of aiding and abetting, but the resolution to do whatever is needed is ingrained in every fiber of her being, and it frightens him. He has to put an end to her fighting for him. Once and for all. Only he can't as long as he's facing her, so he turns around to the window where he closes his eyes to the bright light flowing through it. He pretends to engage himself in a soliloquy, gives one last performance of an irretrievably lost detainee and it seems to do the trick, they are leaving. Thank god, they are finally leaving.

Go. Please, go. And never come back.

He's not sure he could do this one more time. He feels so weak. So alone. Abandoned. Cold.

Scully...

He doesn't need to see her to be able to tell she's watching him under the small window that ironically sheds a bright light on him now that he's in the darkest place ever. The warmth of her gaze envelops him like a fluffy blanket. He can hear her mind working, this beautiful brain of hers that never ceases to operate, to weigh the options, evaluate facts, and work out a plan. He just prays she will give it a break and let it rest just this once. Just this once he needs her to leave him to his fate.

And then he hears the iron gate slam shut. They are gone. She is gone. That's it.

Oh my god...Scullayyy!

He will never see her again. Never kiss her again. Never make love to her again. He won't see his son grow up. Never read a story to him. Never teach him how to shoot hoops. Never. The future holds nothing but darkness for him, the only silver lining being the knowledge that they are in the light. Finally, he's managed to free her from this crazy quest of his which had brought her so much pain, so much loss.

Scully, his mind whispers inaudibly for the guard still present, I love you.

He always has and always will. All he can do now is hope she knows that, despite his play-acting. If the pain wasn't so overwhelming he would be proud of himself, of how he outfoxed them. Fox William Mulder outwitted Dr. Dana Katherine Scully, she who can usually read his every thought and anticipate his every move. Who would have thought? He convinced her in the manner of a star actor giving an award-worthy performance. He made her believe. Finally.

Ha!

He did great.

Relief settles in, satisfaction over having achieved what he had set out to achieve. But the good feeling only stays for a short moment before it's overshadowed by a dark one. Coldness and hopelessness crawl up his spine and make themselves felt in every part of his body from the very core to the lower limbs as realization kicks in.

He's completely, utterly, all fucked-up.

#xf fanfiction #season 9 #msr #mulder and scully

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karenhikari · 6 years ago

Text

The Ones Who Wander-11. The Hawk and the Hare

Hello, folks! I know, I know, I am the absolute worse at updating, I know. There's no point in apologizing, but if you do want to know, the reason it has taken so long is that I am currently undergoing a college admission process, so... everything is a mess and I am attending courses and doing projects at school and adulting sucks. But just that. To be entirely honest, I only received this chapter back from my beautiful beta yesterday, after having sent it to her a couple of months ago. Geminalupus wanted me to tell you that she is extremely sorry that it took so long to update but, to be honest, it wasn't her fault. It took me forever to write this down, it is only fair that it took her a few months to finish reading it through.

Now, the reason I just couldn't seem to get this chapter written is that, for the first time (spoiler alert) you get to read from the perspective of one of the heroes rather than from the kids. And let me tell you, this hero in particular had a lot to say about the politics and inner workings of Auradon. And... I hate politics, so... it was a bit troublesome. Things starting flowing better once she had given her opinion on the Head King of Auradon.

Either, this chapter is very, very special to me and I had waited a long time to write it. Remember, nearly a year ago, when I published Ginny's chapter? Well, I actually considered writing this chapter first and ignoring the structure I had already planned, simply because this one is more special to me. However, I like order, so I continued with the plan.

Anyways, i have kept this chapter from you long enough. Now... enjoy!

The Hawk and the Hare

There were many ways a woman such as Elsa Danica of Arrendelle and Vistborg could spend her day. Waiting in an overcrowded wharf was certainly not an option she would have thought of, much less chosen. However, that prospective became an even less satisfying alternative when the sole purpose of her journey was to pick up the child —or children, as that important information had been withheld from her— of the man who had tried to take over her kingdom and murder her younger sister.

To her, at least, this was glaringly a bad idea. That was it—put simply, retrieving the descendants of their worst enemies was the most questionable decision the current Head King of Auradon had made. It made absolutely no sense and, worst of all, it was dangerous.

In fact, Elsa did not approve of a number of things the previous Head King, Adam, had done either. To begin, the Isle of the Lost as a whole. She knew their adversaries could not be mended or rehabilitated. To expect something like that was incongruous, and, dare she say it, idiotic. Therefore, she could see why the Islanders should not be trusted to live within their society. She was not defending their right to freedom.

The thing was, neither could she understand why Adam and Belle had determined that a giant island be brought from the sea. She could not understand why Adam and Belle had decided that their aggressors, who had already been executed and exterminated, should be brought back to life. It was taking an unnecessary risk.

Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles, the thirteenth son of late King Fridtjof had never been dead. Even after Elsa had frozen and thawed the fjords of Arrendelle, Hans had only left Arrendelle with a black eye, which was Anna's courtesy, not even Elsa's. For three years, before the Crown Kings of Auradon had developed the idea of the Isle of the Lost, Hans had been kept in a dungeon under Rolskrod Palace, what could have been his castle if he had not been so eager to take over someone else's throne. Not even shackled like Elsa had been in her own kingdom, not even sent to jail to be surrounded by common thieves in a congested cell. No, privileged even as a prisoner, Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles had only been kept in an oubliette for three years and two months, not that Elsa had been counting.

Then, Elsa was still struggling to comprehend exactly how, Adam and Belle had announced their new plan. The creation of a considerable extension of land, brought from the bottom of the sea to its surface through magic. At the time, the magic prohibition hadn't been as strong as it was now. In fact, the hearsay and rumors of Fayanna's idea to regulate and possibly eliminate the usage of magic in everyday life had barely begun, a rotten apple in a fruit bowl that would blemish everything that came in contact with it.

Somehow, the ludicrous idea had been approved by the council. Fayanna, the most trusted advisor of the Head Kings, was named the coordinator of the project a few weeks after the announcement. They wasted no time in beginning the arrangements to transform their absurd plan something tangible. Immediately, they began recovering the remains of the deceased villains, drawing maps to decide where to put what they started to call 'the Isle' with something that already sounded like dread. They summoned villains such as Anastasia Tremaine and Hans Westergaard himself, the ones who had been leading a relatively normal life and the ones who had been kept isolated in jail, to inform them of the plans to relocate them.

Elsa knew she would not get a chance to punish Hans the way she wanted to, she knew there were laws and political logistics that stopped her from being able to unleash her wrath on the runt of the Southern Isles dynasty. And, in the same matter-of-fact, concise, precise way, she knew someone like him, so unsympathetic and indifferent would be incapable of changing. Elsa was convinced that all of them, who had already attempted to murder and sabotage everything others held dear would not change and, therefore, they should be kept away.

Elsa absolutely comprehended the need for a prison that kept the villains away from the good, hard-working part of the population. It made sense and it was in such a way that society had operated for centuries. You had to trim the weak branches of a rose bush for the plant to stay healthy and bloom. She could understand that.

What was beyond her discernment was the fact that Belle and Adam had decided to put all of those villains together, in the same place, which would either allow them to annihilate each other or to create alliances that made them more perilous than they had been the first time they had attacked. For years, each nation had kept their own villains imprisoned, they had each been responsible for punishing the offenders that they produced and preventing the story to repeat itself. However, now that more kingdoms were joining the United States of Auradon, the Head Kings claimed it would be better to create a new confinement to hold them all. It lacked every possible ounce of reason and coherence there was, if you asked the Queen of Arrendelle, and she had been quick to voice her opinions.

To be entirely honest, Elsa had never concurred with the ideology that Fayanna had drilled into Adam. The king was slightly older than Elsa, that was true, but he had also spent much of his youth deprived of human contact and mistreating his serfdom. The Queen of Arrendelle was in no position to judge what he had done while transformed into a beast. She knew that she had, too, committed despicable actions while she was too concentrated on keeping her powers a secret to wholeheartedly care about her people like she should have. However, that did not give Adam the right to have such a strong say in what other rulers did as he seemed to think he had.

Nevertheless, it wasn't long before smaller provinces like Prydain and Maldonia decided to accept the tempting offer of joining Adam's more powerful kingdom. According to Adam, he had the dream of a united kingdom, ruled by a head king that would make sure that all the other smaller sovereigns followed certain regulations. United they would be stronger, he claimed. United they would preserve peace and worship loyalty.

In theory, it sounded fair and good and tempting. By becoming one single humongous kingdom, they would share resources, eliminate the competition and considerably reduce the number of possible future wars. They would have laws and a higher power in charge of preventing disagreements from escalating to military combats. In theory, it sounded adequate, unobjectionably safer.

What Elsa was not keen on, however, was the idea of an almighty power who would be on her back, reading her reports and monitoring her. Adam had suggested an aristocratic democracy then. Yes, royal families still had significant privileges when compared to their subjects, but it was only because a prince or a duke had been trained to care for their people from a tender age. The bearer of such great power should also possess enough knowledge and responsibility to know how to properly use it, and members of the nobility were expected to know how to fulfill that role.

Adam had then gone on to be democratically elected as the first Head King of the United States of Auradon. He had sold the idea of an egalitarian, peaceable kingdom to small provinces that were in a competitive disadvantage. And they had hungrily bought it. Nonetheless, it had only been a matter of time before bigger and more recognizable kingdoms began to sign treaties and agreements, until most of the European kingdoms joined Adam in the search of his 'dream'.

Elsa signed the treaty for Arrendelle to become part of Auradon barely six months after Corona, her cousin's kingdom. It would only take Adam a year and a half more to get the Chinese empress, Ching Shih, to sign as well. With that, the United States of Auradon as they knew it was finally formed.

Some small provinces were still independent. Motunui, for example had blatantly refused to join Auradon, and mostly kept for themselves. Neverland, too, was not considered a part of the kingdom, although they were much more open to commerce and tourism than Motunui. Wonderland was out of the table as well, and though the inhabitants made an exception about their 'no visit' policy for Alice and her family, even she rarely visited.

It was shortly after the merging of their country that Adam began making decisions that seemed... nonsensical, to say the least. There were two proposals that Elsa had both loathed and feared from the first time she had heard the words leave Adam's mouth. One was the creation of Isle of the Lost. The other was the prohibition of magic.

Despite the fact that not every sovereign the United States of Auradon had approved of either of those propositions, the majority of them had. Therefore, Adam and Fayanna's little experiment carried on. After an odd —and, she said it with fear of being accused of treason, an obscure— agreement with Hades, the deceased villains were brought back to life and confined to an island. The Isle of the Lost, they called it now, with pride, with dread, with arrogance. The Isle of the Lost, a living reminder that their enemies still lived, waiting to retaliate against them.

The ones who had never been dead to start with were sent to join them soon after. To close with a flourish —and, supposedly, to prevent any outbreaks—, it had been decreed that a barrier be put around the island. Nothing could get in and, they swore, nothing could come out.

Fayanna recruited a vast number of adjutants, as her proposition was incredibly dangerous and impossible to do for a single person. Merlin, Tinker Bell, the Genie, even Zeus, the almighty King of Olympus, had assisted in the creation and maintenance of the barrier. Elsa's magical powers did not suit the undertaking, and therefore she had not been contacted or asked to participate. She wanted to believe that she would have refused to participate in the creation of the barrier even if she could have been able to help them.

Regardless of how, or who had supported such ludicrous idea, the Isle of the Lost had come to exist. Soon, both the formerly deceased villains and the perfectly alive ones were living in their new imprisonment. In a way, it helped Auradonians ―a gentilic Elsa was still trying to get used to―, in the laborious and often arduous task of forgetting. They didn't mention the island that was so close to Auradon's capital city that it could literally be seen from Auradon Castle's windows. They never mentioned the names of the sorcerers and witches that had once terrorized their people, not when the inscrutable veil of night covered their lips, not when the golden rays of sunshine bathed the marble of their castles. They pretended not to remember why Cinderella did not fit in during royal parties, why Aurora referred to three fairies as her 'aunts', why, out of the thirteen princes Fridtjof had fathered, only ten had still lived in the Southern Isles when the United States of Auradon became a glorious nation. They pretended and, even after all those years, their performance was dreary and extremely apathetic.

Likewise, Elsa had long ago learned the dialogues of the character she had been assigned to play. She smiled and she curtsied, she read letters and she signed commerce treaties with a languid hand, going through monotonous days in a haze. She kissed her sister's cheek and she threw her arms around her nieces and nephew with remorse, knowing that there were words that she held concealed under her tongue, adamant in her refusal to pronounce them.

It had been probably thirteen years since the last time anyone in her family had dared mention the disappearance of her cousin, Rapunzel of Corona. They met regularly, they celebrated their birthdays and they sent letters back and forth during the whole year. They always made it a point to spend both Christmas and New Year's Eve together, be it at Corona or at Arrendelle. Yet, they failed to talk about the eighteen years worth of memories and laughter that they had lost.

Elsa knew it made it easier, because Anna and she didn't talk about the years they had spent barely speaking to each other, about the searing pain that still burnt in their chests, too tangible and too recent. Anna, in her kindness and unconditional love for her never brought back how cruel she had been to her, she never mentioned a single one of the thousands of days she had spent, numbly knocking on the wooden door of an unhearing sister. They had learned —they had been forced to learn— to live in the moment and to embrace what they had because they could just as easily lose it, because they hadn't had it before and they wanted to make the most of it now that they did.

Thereby, Elsa could not blame them for tucking every agonizing reminder of their past lives under Persian rugs. If the memories of what had happened to other heroes aggrieved them as much as it still made her insides turn, if guilt and ache still blazed their eyes whenever they could not force themselves to forget, then she could understand their reasons. She had come so close to losing Anna, so close to feeling the remaining pieces of her family slip between her fingers… it only made sense that the other heroes yearned for this numbing relief.

For all that they didn't talk about it, the insistent, constant query of what would have happened if Hans' murderous plan had succeeded was a shadow that accompanied Elsa's steps both in the death of night and in the warmth of the morning. It wondered aloud, unrelenting, unstoppable, what would have happened if Anna had actually died, what if Hans' sword had impeccably severed the Queen of Arrendelle's neck, what if Hans had sat at the throne of a kingdom that was not his to claim. The thought never failed to make a striking pang of guilt and ache pierce her chest.

If anything, waking up every morning to the love of her people and to the sight of her family at the breakfast table only made the burning remorse blaze higher. It made her wonder what would have happened if she had failed to protect all of it, if her own fear had been greater than her resolution. It forced her to ask herself what would have been of Anna's unrestricted laughter, of the way Kristoff played "the Ballad of Flemmingrad" during Christmas Eve, his wonderful, sincere eyes locked with his wife's.

And every time, every single time that that thought, unwelcomed, shattering and irrepressible assaulted her, the Queen of Arrendelle found herself unable to move, unable to breathe. Elsa could understand the need to forget. She felt that pulsing desire often. She, too, wished she could take a long, exhausting walk in the woods, dig a hole under a centenary Betula alba and extract the incessant questions that plagued her mind to bury them, never to be heard of again.

Forgetting was the feeling of a warm, knit quilt for the traveler that had been surprised by a snowstorm on the road. Forgetting was the simple joy of meeting with an old friend you hadn't seen in a terribly long while and having the chance to talk to them carefree for hours that elongated indefinitely. Elsa knew that.

However, she knew that, in the same way that pouring her pain-stricken memories into a hypothetical grave was impossible and hoping to do so was fruitless, dumping all of their villains into a magical, faraway island, would not heal the wounds that were still open and festering within their silk robes. She had learned, the hard way, ones would call it, that not speaking about the shadows that haunted the high towers of their castles would only bring desolation. There was no way, no way that putting all the demons and the ghosts of a kingdom as big as Auradon in the same place could be a good idea.

Adam and Fayanna clearly did not share her belief. Neither did most of the inhabitants of Auradon. The Isle of the Lost gave them a solution, the answer to never once feeling your pulse raise in fear again. They would trim the weak branches of their perfect rose bush, they would focus on teaching the new generation about the mistakes that they should not repeat. How they would do that without mentioning the hard-learned lessons that Elsa's generation had endured, she had no idea, but they would find an answer along the way. They built new schools, they wrote books about the real-life love stories of their sovereigns, they widened the commerce among their provinces, they tightened the bonds that united their people.

They promised, time and time again, that this would be a bright, new beginning. The renaissance, they said, of a strong, fearless kingdom.

—*—*—

Regrettably, forgetting was not an easy deed to achieve. Especially not if the source of your agonizing memories was a living, breathing individual. Such a thing became glaringly obvious once the villains that had been casted aside, supposedly never to be thought of again, began to sire children, much in the same way that the inhabitants of Auradon did.

Life could not be tossed under a rug, no matter how much will power you put in trying to turn a blind eye to that fact. Life found a way to push, to crawl back from the depths of the blazing inferno you built to annihilate it. A way to be remembered. That was what happened at the Isle of the Lost.

As soon as the word that there were babies being born in the island spread, the extinct embers of the uncertainty some people had felt towards the project fired up all again. Esmeralda de Châteaupers, who had never agreed with the scheme to send the villains to a completely different land, began advocating even more relentlessly to make her voice heard. To an extent, Elsa supposed she had succeeded. Everyone in Auradon had heard of Esmeralda. She was the face of the victims of Claude Frollo, the representative of the gypsy community in France. She became part of the Council of Sidekicks. Even more, she was the official spokesperson of the council. Parallel to that, by marrying Captain Phoebus de Châteaupers she had managed to refine her social status, which had allowed her to voice her opinions even more loudly.

Elsa knew a good number of members of the royalty who found Esmeralda unbearable, insufferable. After all, kings and queens whose bloodlines went back centuries in the past refused to let other kings order them around. It was only natural that they became fuming when it was someone with a social status so low as a gypsy's the one who dared suggest they were doing something wrong. And that proved Esmeralda's point bright and clear—none of them were focusing their energies on solving the scarcities of Auradon, the shadows of inequality that still roamed around the corners of the castles and the tents of gypsies' camps, because they were too busy criticizing Esmeralda's attire and lack of prestige.

Some called Esmeralda an activist, a gentle woman with the heart of a warrior. Elsa didn't eulogize her as much. She didn't dare despise Esmeralda due to her poor upbringing, although she was not about to admire or support her causes either. Simply, Elsa thought that she was a strong woman who felt no trace of fear for what the others thought of her, and for that, gypsy or not, she deserved recognition.

To the long list of problematics she withstood on a daily basis, Esmeralda augmented the injustice of leaving the children of the Isle of the Lost in a prison. She claimed it was inexcusable, unethical, unjustifiable. She claimed that it would backfire, that the time would come when they were children no more, but creatures who festered on the fear and decay that seemed to constitute the main columns of their rotten society. She said, over and over again during the council meetings, that making children pay for the mistakes of their parents was as low as someone could get, that it spoke great lengths that their 'strong, fearless kingdom' had to be upheld in the aching shoulders of children.

Cinderella and a number of other royal personalities agreed with her. Still, Adam and Fayanna turned a deaf ear to their pleas and refused to move a finger to fix the situation. After two or three years, Esmeralda received the help of Corona, and they were granted Auradon's permission to send supplies to the Isle. They were hand-me-down clothes and nearly-spoiled food, but it was better than nothing.

Truthfully, Elsa considered Esmeralda's words to be an exaggeration. Esmeralda was too passionate, too quick to grant her unwavering support to a cause she did not fully comprehend. And, to be entirely honest, Elsa was a firm believer that there was no reason for her to be concerned with the conditions of the Isle of the Lost, when she had never even agreed with the creation of such thing. There was no reason for her to divert the resources of her people to try to fix the situation of the ones who had tried to destroy her kingdom and her family.

Eugene, who had concurred with Esmeralda as soon she said that no child should be allowed to grow in fear and indifference, had been assigned to get the supplies to the Isle. Every once in a while, Eugene and Rapunzel convinced Anna to donate a ship worth of food or of clothes, and Elsa allowed it. Nonetheless, the queen of Arrendelle had refused to listen to Esmeralda during the meetings, she had adamantly rejected each of the gypsy's attempt to make her consider the injustice that the Isle of the Lost represented on itself.

That was how things had been for the last seventeen years. Now, when Adam finally decided to step down from the throne, it turned out that his own son would be the one to 'democratically' succeed him. The Queen of Arrendelle was well-acquainted with young Benjamin. She had practically watched him grow, as both of them belonged to the royal families of Auradon. She knew the boy had a kind heart, and she was certain that everything he'd done until then was only fueled by good intentions and a utopic imagination. However, he was simply too inexperienced to handle the pressure of becoming the Head King of a territory as big and tumultuous as the United States of Auradon.

It seemed that Benjamin also questioned the decisions Adam had made during his reign, howbeit he did so for a different reason than the one the Queen of Arrendelle had to oppose the former king. Benjamin, who had only ever seen the good in the world, was incapable of comprehending how dangerous allowing the children of the villains into their domains was. He was part of Auradon's next generation, the one who had read the real-life love stories of their provinces' sovereigns in school textbooks, the one who had never feared the second the sun went down and ghosts roamed their palaces freely, the one that had only ever worn silk dresses and walked on marble castles.

Youth had blessed him with naiveness, and naiveness had cursed him with ingenuousness. Elsa knew with icy certainty that it was only a matter of time before the young prince's reverie caught fire in the flames of the villains' spite and turned into a nightmarish sight.

However, youth had also made Benjamin passionate, determined in a way that Elsa had to admire. If not for nothing else, she did so with sageness. That was the boy who would soon rule over them, they needed to redirect the fierce resolve of which he spoke about the children of the Isle of the Lost. Nonetheless, if he maintained it as the Head King of Auradon, he would be vehement and uncontainable. Notwithstanding the fact that Elsa praised a sovereign with such characteristic, she was far from blind. There would be no time for Benjamin to become a well-loved, wise monarch if his kingdom burnt to the ground mere days after his coronation. Still, the boy was set on his verdict, and there was no power on earth that could stop him from making his first decree as king a resolution to free the children of the Isle.

That time, for once, Elsa had wholeheartedly concurred with Adam. The Isle of the Lost had not been a good plan, not even at the beginning, but now that they had it, it was better to simply continue as they had until then. If anything, they could send more than leftovers, perhaps repair their old, crumbling bazaar and clean the rubbish obstructing the streets, but that was as far as Elsa was willing to go for the Islanders.

Benjamin, however, had not been dissuaded. He had refused to listen the life-hardened words of his advisors, he had ignored the, admittedly, more experienced opinions of older sovereigns, he had declined even the guidance of his parents. His outrageous project had been put into operation without losing a second of precious time. In mere months, the first four children of the Isle of the Lost were brought to live among them, in Auradon. And of course, being the idealistic boy he was, Benjamin had decided that the children of that most dangerous villains be the first ones to be relocated.

Contrary to what Elsa had feared, the first stage of his decree had not been a complete failure. In fact, the first scandal the Isle children had been involved with was when Mal, the only known daughter of Maleficent, began to fool around the no-magic rule. She was testing the limits, of that Elsa was certain. The queen had to admit it, she was amused, and she could hardly look down at Mal with scorn or qualm, for she firmly discouraged that prohibition herself. In fact, she considered the no-magic rule more a suggestion than an actual commandment.

It was simply ridiculous, to say the least. The fact that Fayanna, a magical being herself, a fairy who felt magic thump on her jugular and tickle the tips of her fingers, could even fathom over the idea that revoking their right to use the magic that was naturally, rightfully theirs was risible, absurd. Even worse, it was alarming and threatening.

The official reason for this new rule was 'to teach the new generation of Auradonians that magic was not a panacea, but a tool that had to be used scarcely. It was only their wit and creativity that would accompany them, their ability to do good that would forge the road for them to follow.' In summary, it was now seen as unfair that children born with the power to wield magic received the same education as children who were incapable of doing it. And, to promote equality, it had been decided that they should take away the 'advantage' of magic-natural children. Elsa huffed. Clearly, forbidding magical children to use their powers was fair. Clearly, they should take away their birth-right instead of offering non-magical children the possibility to learn magic in order for them to become sorcerers and witches.

Elsa had spent enough time denying the magic that coursed through her veins to simply accept Fayanna's outrageous rule. It had taken enough of her and her people to learn to live with her magic and accept the fact that her powers would not go away because they were part of her. If Fayanna thought she could simply come and order them to stop the use of their powers merely because she was the most beloved advisor of the Head King, she was dead-wrong.

Thereby, when the daughter of Maleficent began using her magic at Auradon Prep, Elsa was not counted in the number of people who felt their distrust towards the Isle children grow. If anything, she was amused. God knew how a girl who had been raised without the vaguest knowledge of magic had learnt how to wield it so rapidly. That, at least, was an admirable skill, and the Queen of Arrendelle had always praised when praise was due. Howbeit, whatever empathy-induced closeness she could feel for the daughter of Maleficent was not nearly enough to make her forget the Isle that girl had grown up in.

Surprisingly, it was not the children of the Isle of the Lost who had broken havoc during Benjamin's coronation. Jane, the very daughter of Fayanna, was the one who snatched one of the most powerful magical items from the hand of her own mother. Even more exceptional was it that the Isle children were the ones to stop Maleficent from utterly tearing apart Auradon Cathedral.

Perhaps, Elsa had caught herself thinking, Rapunzel was inerrant. Maybe Benjamin, with his naive cerulean eyes and the innocence of his youth, could see something that she had grown too hawkish to notice anymore. For a moment, she even allowed her mind to wrap around the conception that, perchance, Benjamin's decree was not as preposterous as it sounded.

Said resolution lasted less than three months, for it was after that time that Benjamin insisted that only the first stage of his decree had been carried out. It was time for the rest of the Isle children to be brought to Auradon, he insisted. That prospect was not appealing to the Queen of Arrendelle in the least.

They agreed on the need to send someone to the Isle of the Lost. To Elsa, it seemed they were testing the ground, making sure that the thin layer of ice that the recent snowstorm had formed on the surface of the lake was sturdy enough to step on it with their full weight. Without further ado, they designated the very daughter of Maleficent as the Ambassador of the United States of Auradon in the Isle of the Lost.

Rumors spread, vehement like wildfires, of the possibility of new children arriving from the Isle at the beginning of the next school year. Some of the Auradonians Elsa had spoken to had even began making theories about whose children would me the next to be brought to Auradon. Rapunzel, for example, had received notice that Gothel had sired a daughter, and she awaited the moment she would be able to meet the young girl with both dread and impatience

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Benjamin gave a press conference urging the hero families to 'Open their hearts and homes to the winds of change by enrolling themselves as tutors for one of the children of the Isle'. At the moment, Elsa had snickered. It was an outrageous proposition. To think, even for a second, that they would risk their families and kingdoms to welcome the offspring of their worst enemies was simply ridiculous. To ask from them that they put every ounce of normality and security it had taken decades to reconstruct on the line to receive the spawns of the ones who had tried to destroy their kingdoms was... unimaginable. Contumelious.

Notwithstanding, for a reason that the queen could not seem explain, it appeared that she was the only one seeing things that way. People like Esmeralda and Phoebus, who had been waiting for a sign that someone from the royalty had heard their appeal for years, immediately offered themselves to tutor even more than one child, if it were necessary. Rapunzel and Cinderella, along with their respective partners, were quick to follow their leads.

Soon, Benjamin's overture was not the only thing that had surprised the Queen of Arrendelle. In a matter of weeks, more Auradonian families than she would have thought agreed with such a ridiculous proposition were signing up to become the legal guardians of the Isle children. Even then, Elsa had clung on to hope that she would be able to escape this altruistic nonsense and keep her kingdom and family as far as possible from the Isle of the Lost and its inhabitants.

Said feeble faith came to an abrupt end one bright morning of spring, when Anna entered her office without even knocking, decision written on her features. She said she was putting her foot down, that they could not sit back while heroes of all the other kingdoms and provinces contributed to such an important change. She made it a point to insist that it had taken Auradon long enough to recognize the mistake the Isle of the Lost was, Arrendelle could not stay behind and be indifferent about this project.

When all of that failed to dissuade her sister, Anna added in an undertone, almost as if she were telling a secret, that Eugene had informed her that Hans had managed to have a son. Out of pure rage, Elsa had laughed. If Hans had a son, then that kid also had ten direct uncles who could look after him and receive him in the Southern Isles. The fact that Hans had spawned one, or two, or even ten children meant nothing to Elsa.

They had argued that morning, because they had both inherited their mother's stubbornness. When Anna's attempts to convince Elsa of pitying the children of the Isle failed, the princess' features became stern, distant and frigid in the same way marble statues were adamant and cutting. With precise words, she had reminded the queen of Arrendelle of the terrified, young girl that had been forced to remain incarcerated inside her room as the prisoner of a power she could not control. A prisoner, she said, as captive were the children of the Isle, expiating a crime they had not committed.

Anna knew her too well, Elsa was aware of it. It was usually of no concern to her, given the fact that she trusted her younger sister completely. She relied on Anna in the same way she knew a new morning would come after the sundown. To doubt Anna's loyalty was unthinkable.

On the other hand, there was no denying that Anna knew very well how to strike a low-blow when she felt the occasion called for it. Not whispering anymore, she dropped the one question that had haunted the queen of Arrendelle since she could remember—What are you so afraid of?

The vehemence of her words made Elsa step back and gasp for breath. Her hands shook when she answered that she feared not. It was a white lie, the tone of the virgin snow that crowned the mountains of their fjords, but it was the only answer Elsa could ever imagine herself giving. Admitting fear, even for a moment, was doubting her own ability to stop any damage from unfolding and harming her family. It was a weakness she could not allow herself to have.

Regrettably, Anna knew Elsa well-enough to not need the queen to voice the real reason behind her adamant negative. As soon as she noticed the profound impact her words had had on her sister, Anna's features softened. 'There is nothing to be afraid of', she had said. Elsa agreed, there was not—as long as they didn't take any unnecessary, reckless risks.

The only problem was that 'reckless' seemed to be Anna's middle name. Taking her sister's hands in hers, Anna had smiled at the queen of Arrendelle. She'd reiterated that it was not just to let children pay for mistakes they had not made. She decided to pressure Elsa further by asking her to not think of the children of the Isle as the offspring of their enemies, but as if they were only children, like any other in Auradon. Of course, Anna went a step further by mentioning her own son, Karl, and asking Elsa to imagine her little boy living under the conditions the children of the Isle were forced to survive in. Those had been her words. Not live, but survive in.

And, like Anna knew she would, Elsa had yielded. Her resolution had crumbled when faced with Anna's fiery resolve. The princess of Arrendelle was relentless, obstinate like no other, and she had never been one to take a 'no' for an answer. Added to that, she knew her sister thoroughly, she could interpret the thin line of Elsa's lips, a subtle sigh or a reluctant nod. Anna was not the kind of person to give up easily, and thus, she had insisted, pushing Elsa further and further until she knew it would be impossible for the queen to deny her request.

In honor of the truth, Anna had offered to be the one to travel all the way to France, so that she could pick up their new protégé, but Elsa had refused. After all, her sister was six months pregnant, and asking her to voyage in that state was not something Elsa felt comfortable with. They had not even been informed of how many children they were expecting or of whose descendants would henceforth be living with them, thereby, Elsa refused to endanger her sister like that.

The next safe option that would have lifted the burden off Elsa's shoulders would have been Kristoff. Given the fact that they were walking in a completely unknown territory, oblivious to the number of children they were expecting, to their ages and their parentage, asking her brother-by-marriage to pick up the child or children that had been assigned to them would have made things easier.

Certainly, a part of Elsa would have rested more easily, had Kristoff been in her place. After all, he was strong, steadfast, and could overpower a skilled, trained enemy. It was glaringly obvious that one, or even two teenagers, like the ones she had seen in the deck of the ship would be no match for him.

However, summer was approaching, being the number one purveyor of ice in Auradon, Kristoff's days had been increasingly hectic. Naturally, it would have been unthinkable and counterproductive to ask him to put his own responsibilities aside and board a plane to travel to a whole different country in order to pick up the offspring of their enemies. Then again, if they had bothered to ask Elsa her opinion, she would have answered that this whole project was poorly planned and loosely designed.

In the end, it all came down to the fact that Elsa could pass down her obligations to Anna, who would then stay safe at Arrendelle Palace. Conversely, Kristoff could not do so with his chores and leave for someone else to carry them on. That was why Elsa Danica of Arrendelle and Vistborg was standing in an overcrowded wharf.

In anticipation of this 'big day' ―that to her sounded more like a 'huge disaster'―, Anna had shipped their family carriage to Corona nearly a week earlier. Then, Elsa had boarded a plane, set to arrive at her cousin's kingdom, the day before. She had spent the night in the company of Rapunzel and her family, and, come morning, both of them had climbed on their own carriages and traveled from Corona to Auradon City. Elsa had to admit, Rapunzel had thought this whole project more thoroughly than she had, going as far as to take two carriages to Auradon City, in case one was not enough to take the children back to Corona. Of course, the queen of Arrendelle supposed that it only made sense. After all, Rapunzel had impatiently counted the days in her calendar for her to meet her new foster child—or children, the queen reminded herself. That hypothetical plural was too important to ignore. Elsa had, instead, dreaded the day and prayed to the Lord that He would change the minds of everyone involved in the relocation of the Isle children before it arrived.

The plan was that, after receiving their new protégé, they would travel by carriage to Denmark, where they would climb on a plane in order to return to Arrendelle. Rapunzel, always hospitable, had offered for Elsa to return to Corona with her and Eugene, so that they could leave the next morning, well-rested and refreshed, but Elsa had declined. Rapunzel and her family would have to deal with a villain child —or children— of their own, and Elsa simply wanted to return home as soon as possible.

'Soon', however, was a word that Elsa had not heard since arriving to Auradon City. The whole day had been hectic with Fayanna, Benjamin and the former kings giving announcements with big, unceremonious megaphones and handing out leaflets in land. Meanwhile, Maleficent's daughter ran from one side of the deck of the ship to the other, attempting to organize several dozens of teenagers with what seemed to be little success.

The children finally began to descend from the vessel nearly three hours after the scheduled time. The first ones to step on Auradonian land were probably Huns, judging by the way they were dressed. Afterwards came a flock of children that varied between the ages of four and eighteen, at least that's what it seemed to her. She recognized the Hook children. More correctly, she assumed they were the offspring of James Hook, given the fact that they were dressed in a poor attempt to imitate the pirate fashion and that Jane Rees was called to pick some of them up.

Not long after, the loudspeakers called her own cousin, Rapunzel. Elsa stayed at the plaza with Rose and Anxellin while Rapunzel and Eugene ventured to find their foster daughter. When they returned, they were accompanied by a black-haired girl. She wore a faded dress that had once been green, and the worn fabric clung to her bony frame, proving it was at least three sizes too big for her. Despite Rapunzel's upbeat attitude and Eugene's unfaltering smile, the girl that tailed behind them appeared uninterested and apathetic.

Unamused, Elsa simply raised an inquisitive eyebrow when Rapunzel introduced her as Ginny Gothel, her former captor's only daughter. At the mention of her mother, the girl simply huffed, although neither of the sovereigns of Corona seemed to pay any mind to it.

Soon after, Rose and Anxellin took matters into their own hands and offered to take Ginny to the carriages. It was a welcomed change of scenery, apparently, and the girl didn't argue against the proposition. Once they had left, Rapunzel insisted it would be a short while before they called Elsa, too, and she had to approach the wharf to meet her new protégé. The queen of Arrendelle, however, wasn't as convinced. They had never discussed the number of children that would be incorporated into Auradonian households, but she had certainly never imagined that it would ascend to more than fifty. She had been wrong, it was more than apparent.

It was at least two more hours, long after her cousin's family had left to begin their return to Corona, long after the time that Benjamin had promised, that Elsa's name was finally called. The pier had slowly emptied through the afternoon, as the children descended from the ship, and by the time the queen of Arrendelle was called, there were barely any people still at the wharf.

It seemed she had been granted the arguable honor of being the last of the heroes called to meet her protégé, she noted absently. Her theory was proven when, instead of simply guiding the islander down, Benjamin and Grimhilde's daughter descended of the ship first. The daughter of Maleficent followed, and the last member of the party was a young boy.

Soon, Elsa was introduced to the son of Hans, a sick-looking boy with milky skin and freckles dusted on his nose and cheeks. He did not seem to be paying much attention to his surroundings, and he barely lifted his eyes from the ground when Grimhilde's daughter said his name. To be entirely honest, it was… disappointing, to an extent. Lame, almost. He had none of the raw fierceness Elsa had seen in Rapunzel's foster child or the bulky muscles and broad shoulders of the teenagers that had just left the dock in Megara's company.

Instead, the kid paled in comparison as he tailed behind the daughters of two of the most feared villains. He limped as he walked, and the dull sheen of his gaze seemed more resigned than defiant. He was considerably young, as well, probably not older than six. The only vague similarity Elsa could find between that boy and the young woman that Rapunzel had taken under her care was the extreme skinniness, which made the worn-away clothes hang loosely on their bodies.

All things considered, this was not what Elsa had expected to encounter. Yet, the resemblance this boy had with Hans was undeniable. He had the same deep green eyes and reddish hair, an identical, turned-up nose and thin lips, ready to spit out lies and deceive and betray. It should have been no surprise, Elsa supposed.

After all, Hans had never been the typical kind of villain either. He had none of Jafar's sinister eyes and dark magic, none of Ursula's maniacal laughter or power. Hans was a charming young prince, with lips that dripped honey and innocent eyes that enamored foolish girls. If Elsa had learned something out of this whole ordeal, it was that one could not trust appearances. And if that boy was anything like his father, then the guiltlessness in his gaze was nothing other than deception.

Nonetheless, Anna had somehow talked her into entering this insane project, and Elsa valued her word of honor too much to step back now. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. It was too late to refuse taking the child with her. If anything, she should be thankful that she didn't have to deal with a fully-grown teenager.

Endure, there was no other possible solution. Endurance and patience.

With a sigh that mixed both resignation and discomfiture, Elsa nodded her defeat and called Han's offspring over to her. If anything in this mishap was truth, that was the fact that Maleficent's daughter looked exhausted. It was no surprise, after she had been running around the wharf for the best part of the day. Elsa could at least recognize her effort and empathize with it, even if she was still against her charity project.

It seemed, however, that the kid was having second thoughts as well. With his eyes stubbornly glued to the floor beneath them and small fists clenched around the pleased cuffs of his shirt, he offered no answer to the queen when she called his name. In fact, he hardly seemed to be there at all, and neither did he reply in any way when both Grimhilde and Maleficent's daughters spoke to him. It was amusing, Elsa had to admit, that he did not seem an ounce more excited about the position they had found themselves in than she was.

Yet, duty was duty, and neither of them could refuse their luck. The kid seemed to understand that much, for he followed Elsa's lead without so much as a weary nod. He did not let out a single word, not even when Elsa inquired about his lack of luggage or when Grimhilde's daughter insisted that he was welcomed to ask any questions he might have.

The fact that this kid had been dropped under her care with, quite literally, nothing but the clothes he had on was a worry for when they got to Auradon. At least that was what Elsa thought, in her very honest opinion. For now, she would consider it a success if they managed to get to the carriage without any other incidents.

For the first time that day, it seemed that the God above had listened to her prayers. The pier was mostly empty, as was the parking lot. That fortunate happening was at least a comforting thought, if nothing else.

When they finally reached Arrendelle's royal carriage, Elsa allowed herself to internally claim a small victory over that deed. As soon as he saw them approach, Sigurd, Arrendelle's chauffeur, raised from his seat and hurried to hold the carriage door open for them.

"Thank you, Sigurd," the queen offered, flashing her loyal serf a brief smile that quickly dissolved into a strained gesture. "Now, allow me to introduce you to Henry. He is the son of former Admiral Hans Westergaard, the thirteenth son of late King Fridtjof," she recounted, feeling her tongue curl uncomfortably with the bitter stung of the words in her mouth. Perplexed, the driver started to part his lips as a response, but Elsa made a conclusive movement of her hand to let Sigurd know that it was not time to question about the boy's parentage. "And, Henry," she continued. "This is Sigurd, a beloved family friend and a versed server."

Again, the kid hardly bothered to lift his gaze from the floor to look in Sigurd's general direction. However, for the first time that day, his lips moved rapidly as he offered a timid reply. "A pleasure to meet you," he said, hurried and barely audible.

"My, you can speak," Elsa noted out loud before she could stop herself. As soon as she pronounced the words, she saw the boy minutely hunch his shoulders, almost as if an inaudible sigh had left his lips. "Forgive me, child, that was inappropriate," she immediately added. In a desperate attempt to change the topic, she stepped to the side of the carriage so that Han's son could step inside and gestured for him to climb into the vehicle.

Instead of answering, he reverted to simply denying with his head.

"No?" Elsa inquired. "What do you mean?"

"No, Your Majesty," he insisted. "I cannot board before you."

Elsa would have been lying, had she said his response did not throw her aback. Her eyebrows quirked upwards, and it took her a quarter of a millisecond longer than she would have liked to admit to collect her thoughts once again.

"I appreciate it, child, but I must insist," the queen reiterated. "I have to call someone before we leave, and I think you'll need a moment to settle in. By all means, go ahead."

This time, he dared not go against her direct instruction. He climbed into the vehicle after a moment of indecision. Elsa had not lied. She had, in fact, promised to call Anna as soon as she had news of who their new protégé would be. For what seemed to be the thousandth time that day, Elsa let out a tired sigh and then dialed the number she had long ago committed to memory. Anna picked up the phone almost immediately and welcomed her sister with a very unladylike shriek.

"Oh, goodness, Elsa! Where had you been? I tried calling you like ten times. I spoke with Zellie, what? Three hours ago? She said they were already leaving!"

"Indeed. Rapunzel left a while ago," the queen asseverated. "You just know my luck. I was literally the last person called to pick up the kid."

"Kid?" Anna questioned a heartbeat later. "I assume, then, it was only one child?"

"Only one," Elsa nodded. "And you won't believe who it is," before Anna even had time to guess who their foster child could be, the queen continued. "We were assigned Han's son."

"The little boy?"

"You're more informed than I am, it seems."

"Eugene has just mentioned some things," Anna brushed off. "You would know, too, if you paid attention to him when he speaks of the Isle instead of zoning out."

"I stand by what I have been telling you for months," Elsa insisted, adamant. "It is of no concern of mine who in the Isle of the Lost has spawned children or what has come of their offspring."

"Don't be like this, Elsa, you know better than anyone—"

"I just called to let you know we are on our way home. We should arrive tomorrow afternoon," she cut her off. "I'll let you know when we get to Denmark," she added as a second thought. Without letting Anna so much as gather her thoughts, Elsa hung up.

She would regret her actions later, she knew, once the coals of the fury that blazed inside her had cooled off. She would feel especially awful the following evening, once she got home and she stood face to face in front of Anna. Her sister had that quality, Elsa was more than aware of it. She knew her far too well and she could get her point across to Elsa with nothing other than a quirked eyebrow.

If anything, Anna wouldn't be resentful or upset at her for having reacted the way she had—she would be disappointed. And that burning knowledge was somehow worse than the prospect of a shouting match with her younger sister.

That was a problem for later, she reminded herself as she stepped into her carriage. She could not make plans of sailing overseas when she did not even have a ship to sail in. She would face the problems one at the time. And, in that precise moment, she needed to focus her energy on figuring out what to make of the boy that would be sitting right across from her for the next several hours.

She had told Benjamin that it would be a long and cold way to Auradon. The cold had never been an issue for her, but as for her first affirmation...

"Let's get going, Sigurd," she instructed, taking a seat on the unoccupied bench.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, with the reigns of the Norwegian Fjords* already prepared in his hands.

Elsa reminded herself to look at it from the positive side. Each of her steps was a step closer to returning home. With the comfort, however small, that that thought could provide her with, she slammed the carriage door closed. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she'd seen the kid flinch at the sound. She was more inclined to think it had been a product of her weary mind, because, when she consciously turned her eyes to the boy, he seemed frozen in place.

The first ten minutes of their journey scurried away in an awkward silence. Under regular circumstances, muteness or stillness were not things that bothered the queen of Arrendelle. After all, she had spent the best part of her teenage years living in loneliness. She was more than used to silence and solitude.

Yet, this time, there was something off about that quietness. According to the papers Maleficent's daughter had given her, the boy in front of her was only two years older than Anna's own son, Karl. However, she would not have guessed that the age gap between them was that small, considering how... unobtrusive Han's son was, for lack of a better word.

Karl, as Anna herself, was a chatterbox. He'd learned to speak way before his first birthday, and getting him to remain quiet and still was a challenge. God forgave you were traveling with him, for, in case you were misfortunate enough to be within hearing range from him, it'd be a long and seemingly never ending whining of 'Are we there yet? And now, and now? When are we going to arrive?'

His nephew was the only child Elsa frequently came in contact with, which indicated that perchance he was not a good parameter to measure every other child she encountered. However, there was something unnatural in the way Han's son carried himself. Whether it was because something was indeed out of place or merely because this boy was unfamiliar with his surroundings, Elsa might not know for a while. At least not until Henry trusted her and her family. What she knew with absolute certainty, however, was that this perfect stillness was making her uneasy. Perhaps that was why she took it upon herself to break the silence.

"This is your first time outside the Isle, aren't you excited?" She asked, giving further proof that she was not someone to be trusted when it came to social interaction.

The boy shrugged, weak and uninterested. "Scared," was his reply.

"Scared, huh?" She questioned, slightly amused. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Funny, she thought to herself, that she had echoed the exact same words Anna had used when she tried to convince Elsa to join this insane project. Even funnier it was that she was not an inch closer to believing those words than she had been when Anna had said them the first time. At the moment, with the water up to her neck, she reluctantly admitted that it most likely made no difference.

"Listen," Elsa announced a few minutes later. "We will get to Denmark tonight. We left Auradon City extremely late, as you can see, which, as a consequence, means that we will arrive to Denmark at some time in the wee hours of the morning."

She was aware that there was no reason why she should share such information with the boy. If anything, withdrawing such instruction could have proven beneficial to her, in case the son of Hans intended to retaliate against her for the rather humiliating banishment of his father. Under any other circumstances, she might have strongly advised against enlightening him with the knowledge of their appointed schedule.

On the other hand, it seemed to her extremely unlikely that the boy seating in front of her could be plotting anything like that. It could have been nothing but a tactic to deceive her, that possibility did not escape her mind. However, instead of a vicious vindicator, he only appeared to her as what he had described—scared. Curled up in his seat, as far as humanly possible from Elsa, his green eyes riveted to the queen, attentively watching each of her moves, he seemed lost, meager and afraid.

With that in mind, she figured that giving him a handful of solid datum to cling on to in the midst of the chaos could hardly be considered an important threat. In addition to that, even if he planned on attacking her, it would have been a terrible move to begin an assault when he possessed virtually no knowledge of the land he was standing on or the people he had been sent to fight against.

"And tomorrow," she continued, "at the crack of dawn, we are to board a plane to Arrendelle, my kingdom."

The only prove he have of having heard her was a half-hearted nod of his head. After that, the queen decided against adding anything else. They remained in silence for probably thirty more minutes. This time, it was not necessarily uncomfortable, Elsa had to admit. It was expectant, if anything. It was electrified with restlessness, pregnant with apprehension.

That was how her whole trip to Auradon City had been, if she had to be honest. She had scrutinized the dozens of different scenarios that could unfold. She had recapitulated the names of the villains that had plagued the provinces that now conformed the United States of Auradon, in an attempt to envisage who could be the progenitor of their protégé. She had clung to the hope that she would not have to face the offspring of the man who had nearly destroyed her family.

Elsa Danica of Arrendelle and Vistborg had never believed in her good luck. Whatever star she had been born under, it had never blessed her with the bright fortune others seemed to have embossed on their foreheads. Therefore, despite having hoped beyond hope that this ordeal would not conclude with her housing the spawn of Hans, she had always suspected such would be the ending.

However, her lack of fortunateness did not exclude the possibility of unexpected revelations from unfolding. Which demonstrated why the son of Hans she had been introduced to looked nothing like the vicious adolescent she had believed she would encounter.

It was not an optimal time to be having second thoughts, she concluded wearily. Finally blinking herself back into reality, she took her gaze off the open window and turned to face her new protégé.

"Are you hungry?" She inquired, only then remembering the luncheon Rapunzel had packed for them in the morning. For all answer, the boy merely shook his head, his eyes focused on the burgundy carpet of the floor. "You should eat, child. It is late and still a long journey awaits us."

Despite the fact that she did not receive a verbal answer either, Elsa leaned under her seat to reach for the knit handbag Rapunzel had given her that morning. Rapunzel, always a generous hostess, had packed the bag with enough containers to feed probably six or seven people, no doubt deciding it was better to have more to spare in case the number of protégés was higher than they were expecting. So engrossed had Elsa been with the prospect of the day that laid ahead of them, that she had not even opened Rapunzel's package to check what she had sent.

Calmly, the queen of Arrendelle untied the knot her cousin had secured the bag with. She took out six bottles of water and placed them beside her on the cushioned seat. She then proceeded to pull out one of the plastic containers Rapunzel had carefully packed.

"Oh, this girl," she couldn't help but chuckle as she uncapped the dish. Inside, perfectly aligned to make the most out of the space in the bowl, Rapunzel had placed five kjøttkaker meatballs, with brown sauce carefully spread on them and pea purée served to the side.

Out of the three of them, Rapunzel was the only one who could cook to save her life. Anna, bless her heart, sometimes tried to bake a cake or attempted to make cookies, which more often than not concluded with a chaotic kitchen and burnt dough. In Anna's defense, she was perfectly capable of making a sandwich, that much was true.

As for herself, Elsa had never been in the necessity of learning such a skill. Born and raised to rule Arrendelle, her days as a child had been scheduled around memorizing the history of her country and their neighboring provinces, around studying languages from abroad and learning to navigate the shifts of the economic world. It was only natural that her housewife skills had fallen below on her priority list. Especially taking into consideration that there were several years of her childhood that had been lost to isolation and dread.

Rapunzel, however, had spent her teenage years perfecting a wide variety of arts, which included painting, dressmaking and gastronomy. Elsa had to admit, it was a nice highlight to be invited to Corona and enjoy a home-made meal that had been especially prepared by her cousin. It made it all the more significant. Added to that, Rapunzel was extremely thoughtful, and she had a way of always finding out your culinary preferences in favor of surprising you with a plate of whatever delicacy you favored over the rest.

She would have to call Rapunzel and thank her as soon as she was back in Arrendelle. With that in mind, Elsa turned to face the boy before her once again.

"Here," she handed the container over. The boy accepted it silently, barely looking up to her, although he did not meet her eyes. He then waited patiently for Elsa to fish out the cutlery that had slipped to the bottom of the bag. His hands fidgeted with the bowl, and when Elsa handed over a fork and a knife, he stared down at the food for a moment in mystification and hesitancy.

It was when he finally began eating that Elsa noticed he had two teeth missing. A canine and an incisor, both from the right side of his mouth. He was supposed to be seven, she remembered absently, it was not a unique feature.

"This is a courtesy from my cousin Rapunzel, the Queen of Corona. Have you heard of her?" She questioned instead, turning her attention back to Rapunzel's bag.

"No, Your Majesty. Forgive me."

Bewildered, the queen arched an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose there's no reason you should have," she reflected. Even though she was more than certain that Hans was aware of the fact that the Corona family was related to her own, Elsa could not think of a reason why he would consider it information important enough to share with his son.

Still questioning how much knowledge Hans really had about her family, the queen proceeded to take out a similar dish out of the bag. Calmly, she took off the lid and took in the exquisite smell. It was only when she was halfway through her meal that it occurred to her that she could ask the boy how much he knew of another of her family members.

"What about Anna, my sister?" She inquired, startling her companion, who flinched at the sudden sound. "Did your father ever mention her?"

"He sometimes spoke of Princess Anna," he admitted, more concentrated in the purée than in the queen.

"He did?" Elsa couldn't help but inquire. "And what did he say, if I may know?"

"He used to say that she had made a mistake, choosing to remain loyal to you," he finally answered, his fork frozen midair so he could answer, even though he did not lift his gaze from the plate. "He said she was not fit to be queen."

"Am I to assume he said the same thing about me?" She questioned, genuinely intrigued by what the answer may be.

Instead of replying right away, Henry recoiled into his seat. It almost gave Elsa the impression that he wanted to curl into the back of the piece of furniture and disappear.

"Please, child, speak freely," she encouraged, her right eyebrow quirked up with curiosity. "It would be unjust of me to hold your sincerity against you."

"He called you a witch," he finally answered, holding the fork Elsa had given him tightly in his right hand. Parsimoniously, he cut the meatball into small portions, giving Elsa the impression that he was playing with the food rather than thinking of eating it. However, she quickly discovered that it was only a way to keep his fidgety hands busy. "He said that you shouldn't have been made queen."

"I am certain that he did," Elsa sighed, pressing the plastic lid back on her empty container so she could put it back into the bag.

She couldn't have explained the reason behind her next actions. Probably, there was no good explanation as to why her hands moved to her neck and unclasped her necklace. More mystified than before, she pulled the locket from under her dress and opened it.

The necklace, a snowflake-shaped silver jewel had been a gift from her sister. Inside, a picture of her parents on their wedding day, joyous and bathed in glory, smiled back at her from the left side. On the right one, Anna greeted her with a crooked smile. One of her arms was placed around her son's shoulders, while the other one rested on her thigh, supporting her weight as she squatted down.

To Karl's opposite side, Kristoff stood in a similar position, his eyes closed as he smiled widely to the camera. Between his parents, Karl seemed more preoccupied with the piece of cake before him than with the prospect of having his picture taken. His cheeks and chin were covered in blue icing as his tiny hands reached for the sweet treat. They'd taken that picture during Karl's first birthday party, amidst the chaos of Anna insisting that it had to be perfect and her toddler, who was more interested in the shinny-wrapped gifts and yummy food than in posing for pictures. Elsa cherished it even more because of it.

"This is my sister," she introduced, turning the locket over so Hans' son could appreciate Anna's warm smile. "The one your father deemed unfit to rule. You will be distraught to learn that she is still fiercely loyal to me. And this one," she pointed to Kristoff's joyful figure. "Is her husband. They are here with their son, he's slightly younger than you."

As all answer, the boy simply nodded his head. Although he stiffly leaned forward to get a better look at the picture Elsa was showing him. The queen noticed with a slight tinge of curiosity that he made no movement to grab the locket or to come closer to her than was strictly necessary.

The thought assaulted her like a sudden gush of icy wind on a warm summer evening. It was abrupt, rattling and, above everything, unwelcomed. Elsa could not have explained where it came from, only that it appeared in the horizon of her mind like an unanticipated turn in the tracks of her train of thought. Once she noticed the inevitable divarication she was forced to take, it was too late for her to evade the realization that dwelled on her with a sudden swerve.

Had things been a little different, had Anna continued her original plan and married Hans instead of Kristoff, the little boy in the picture of her locket could have been an entirely different one. For a moment, Elsa's vision blurred and the blond of Karl's hair beclouded to become a dark ginger. For a moment, instead of Kristoff's open expression and sincere smile, the sharp features of a man with green eyes and an icy smile stared back at her from her picture. Had things been a little different, and the thought gnawed at her chest with frigid emptiness, the boy leaning closer to get a better look of her pictures could have been her nephew.

"They are all waiting for us in Arrendelle," the queen manage to articulate in a rushed breath. She brusquely pulled the necklace back and clasped it in place once again with trembling fingers.

"Who is she?" Henry questioned quietly, pointing to where the picture of Elsa's parents had been barely a moment ago with a slight tilt of his head.

"Those are my parents, the former rulers of Arrendelle," Elsa replied, her voice a little tighter than she would have liked to admit.

"She is very pretty," he mumbled, sliding back to his seat.

"She... was," the queen conceded in an undertone. She let out a small sigh, her hand tightly wrapped around the silver snowflake. She didn't let go until the sharp ends of the figure bit at her palm. Even then, she only lessened her grip, although her fingers remained firmly placed around the locket.

Silence fell between them with resignation. There was something unnatural about the way the boy before her sat, too still and too quiet; about the way he adamantly refused to look at her in the eye, about the way his hands rested, barely pulling at the loose ends of his pants. There was something in the way he hunched over and kept his lips pressed into a pallid line that made Elsa shift uncomfortably in her seat. There was something, between the way that boy only ever spoke in soft whispers and her own unwelcomed thoughts that made hot, flaring guilt be born in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to call that feeling uneasiness instead, because it was easier to do that than to admit that, for the first time since she had arrived to the wharf in Auradon City, she did not know how to proceed.

"There's more of these, in case you are still hungry," she urged, holding up the knit bag her cousin had given her in the air, a desperate endeavor to change the subject. "Rapunzel cooked for maybe six people, but it is just the two of us here."

"Thank you, Your Highness," he mumbled quietly, in an attempt, Elsa supposed, to not give her testimony that he was in fact still hungry, even though his eyes followed Elsa's hands greedily when she opened the handbag and put away his dish.

"Here," Elsa handed him another of the containers.

"No, Your Majesty, this..."

"You don't have to eat them now if you don't want to," she shrugged. "However, I will warn you, they won't taste as good when they are reheated."

"Thank you," he repeated, barely audible.

"This is a bestowal from Rapunzel, I can't let it go to waste," she remarked. "In fact..." the queen added as a second thought. "She might have included dessert..."

With that prospect to look forward to, the queen returned her attention to the contents of the bag. As was her custom, Rapunzel had packed the healthy, more nutritious food in the top containers, while the sweeter, sugary treats had ended up at the bottom.

"Here we go," she announced, opening the lid of the dish to reveal six carefully presented cardamom rolls. "She made skolebrød, with vanilla."

Delighted, she took one of the sweets and handed over the remaining ones to the boy.

"Your Majesty, this is... enough. More than enough," he immediately tried to brush off, even though there was barely anything left in his plate.

"Feel free to take it," Elsa insisted, carefully wiping the corners of her lips with a folded napkin. "Rapunzel made it for you more than she made it for me. She is very passionate about this whole... project. Which is more than can be said about me."

Following her dry remark, the boy silently took the pastries and continued eating. After that, they both fell into silence once again. Elsa wouldn't have called it grievous or uncomfortable. If anything, it was contemplative, reflective. Elsa was used to silence, she reveled in it. Far from finding it awkward, it made her feel secure and it saved her the trouble of small talk and forced interactions. Therefore, Elsa was not going to complain over the fact that the boy she'd been assigned to watch over was a quiet one.

With that in mind, Elsa took a book out of her purse and began reading. Truthfully, she was re-reading it, a habit she has acquired as a child, as she remained in her room with no company besides her books and piano. That book in particular was a personal favorite, a collection of her compatriot's theatrical plays, Henrik Ibsen. What she enjoyed the most about them was how were genuine, controversial, and straight to the point they were, how raw and unapologetic.

She refused to put her book down until after seven o'clock, once the sun had come down and it was impossible for her to continue reading. With a content sigh, she put her bookmark in place and slowly blinked herself back into reality.

She unseeingly stared out of the open curtains for thirty or forty more minutes, before finally deciding it had gotten too dark and closing them. The temperature had been consistently dropping for the last hours, but it was around eight thirty when the air turned chilly. It was nothing but a mild annoyance to her. However, she was fairly certain that, had Anna been besides her, she would have alternated her time between placing her hands under her thighs and hugging herself, both fruitless attempts to warm herself up.

It was that thought what finally reminded her that she was not traveling alone to some idyllic and unvisited part of the Norwegian forests. Instead, she was trapped in a very long ride with the son of the man who had plotted to kill her. And somehow, she had managed to forget that crucial piece of information.

When she finally turned to face him once again, she found Hans' son still stiffly sitting in place. Unlike what one would have assumed as a result of the calm stillness that had taken over the carriage —something impossible to achieve when one was traveling with children—, he was not asleep. Rather, his eyes attentively watched every one of Elsa's movements. At some point, he'd drawn his knees closer to the rest of his body, until he was now almost kneeling on the seat, careful to keep his shoes out of the cushioned bench.

His eyes were riveted to Elsa like a hawk. Although, upon further inspection, Elsa realized that that analogy was being too generous with him. A hawk, with capable wings and fearless talons, was a bird of prey, a lone owner of the skies, too powerful to fear even the prideful eagle. The son of Hans looked nothing like that. Curled up into his seat, he gave more the impression of a frightened hare, heedful to his surroundings, desperately registering every sound, in fear that the real hawk would find him. Following that analogy, she should be the raptor, Elsa realized with slight amusement. The thought was also slightly disturbing, and she soon decided to brush it away.

He was almost too tense to be sure, and the murkiness of the carriage made it impossible to be entirely certain. However, from the way that he hugged his arms close to his body and the fact that he seemed to be trying to take up as less space as humanly possible, Elsa thought it was safe to assume that he did not share her views when regarding the weather.

"You're cold," she concluded, not a question as much as it was a statement.

"No, Your Majesty. I am fine," he replied, almost immediately.

Is that so, she thought to herself, unable to stop herself from arching an inquisitive eyebrow at him. It probably made no difference, as the penumbras most likely hid her expression.

"Stand up," she instructed, her reaction sudden and unexplainable even to her.

The change was instantaneous. The words had barely left her lips when the steady rise and fall of his chest came to a halt. His hands, which had been loosely wrapped around his elbows, tensed until they were fists.

"Your... Your Highness... I am extremely sorry," he stammered weakly. "It was not my intention to trouble you, I... will not do it again."

"What are you talking about, child? Stand up," she repeated flatly, as she rose to her feet as well.

This time, the boy locked eyes with her for what had to be the first time since she'd picked him up that afternoon. There was something desperate in his gaze, something, dare she say it, pleading. However, it quickly changed into resignation when he saw Elsa stand in front of him.

With a choked whimper, he pulled himself to his feet and stepped closer to Elsa. His movements were so tense that they almost seemed mechanic.

"Your Majesty, I am sorry," he insisted in a brittle voice. "I assure you it won't happen again."

Judging from the way his breathing had sped up, he was on the verge of tears now. His arms were stiffly wrapped around his torso, and although it was hard for Elsa to be certain due to the fact that he had, once again, turned away from her, he seemed to be blinking repeatedly in a desperate attempt to reabsorb the humidity that had begun to pool in his eyes.

"It won't happen again, Your Majesty, I—"

"Hush, child, hush," Elsa finally interrupted him. In silence, she walked closer to him and crouched so she could be at his height. "I have no idea of what you are talking about. You have done nothing wrong."

Yet, she added to herself, even though her tongue curled in distaste at the prospect of saying it aloud. It was simply too cruel to torture the boy further, when it was so glaringly obvious that he was already terrified of her as things were. Pointing out that she expected him to fail soon was not something Anna would have approved. And, on this particular note, she agreed with her sister.

Without adding a word, Elsa's left hand moved to unfasten the button that secured her cape to her left shoulder. Soon, she repeated the motion with her opposite shoulder. Henry missed the movement, as his eyes were squeezed shut, but Elsa carefully slid the piece of clothing behind him.

"Here," she proceeded, placing her cape on Henry's shoulders. She adjusted the item so that it wrapped around his body. There was a third buttonhole on the left side of the neck, in case the queen wanted it to envelope her body instead of having the Aegean blue fabric cascade from the tips of her shoulders to the floor. Of course, the item was much too long for Henry to wear, and its lower part dragged along the carpet of the floor. When Elsa reached for Henry to button the cape, he practically whimpered at the contact. "Calm down," she shushed. "I don't bite, calm down."

He gave her a curt nod as answer, and Elsa decided to take the gesture as the boy's approval for her to continue. With precise hands, and trying to touch him no more than was strictly necessary, she adjusted the clothing item around him, trying to make it so that the soft linen was wrapped around his body. Carefully, she smoothed out the fabric and primped the white mink fur of the borders of the cloth under Henry's neck.

"There we go, child," she nodded. "This should be enough."

"Queen Elsa, what is...? Why?" He stuttered, his voice hurried and wobbly.

"I can't allow you to get sick before we are even standing in Arrendellian soil," she answered, even though the words tasted of deceit on her tongue. While that was true, she knew that it hadn't been the reason why she had stepped forward so munificently.

"I can't accept this, Your Majesty, I—"

"Hush," Elsa repeated once again. With measured movements, she slipped her left hand into the pocket of her gown and pulled out an embroidered silk handkerchief. She extended it towards the boy, and although he hesitated before taking it, he finally did and rubbed at his eyes. Satisfied with his response, Elsa rose to her feet and turned away. "Take your seat, boy. I do not find cold as troublesome as others do. I will be fine."

Once again, Hans' son chose not to reply verbally. Instead, he offered a faltering nod and quietly walked over to the bench he'd been using. Through the murkiness of the carriage, Elsa saw his hands grip around the fabric of her cape to pull it tighter around his body.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he whispered after several minutes. It was a small sound, tight with something that Elsa did not identify, something that lingered in the space between them and that made Elsa shift in her seat with worriment.

For once, Elsa decided to follow the boy's example and not say anything. Instead, she folded her hands on her lap. She drummed her fingers against the Swarovski crystals of her dress, before finally sighing. She must be imagining things, she decided at last.

"It's still a long way to Arrendelle, child," she announced, turning her eyes to the tarnished window. "Better make yourself comfortable."

Afterwards, neither of them said anything. It only made sense. After all, Elsa had nothing to add, and Henry had made it very clear that he was not the kind of person who easily found his way around interesting conversation topics or awkward silences. Furthermore, they were two strangers who had found themselves sharing a carriage with each other by consequence of ill fortune. They had nothing to say to one another.

When Elsa finally returned her attention to the son of Hans, she found him fast asleep. His legs were tucked under the rest of his body, and his head leaned against the window. Soft exhalations of breath rhythmically misted up the glass. Strangely enough, Elsa noticed that he was sucking on his left thumb, which had to be a worrying behavior.

He almost didn't seem like a threat. Elsa nearly scoffed at the thought. Of course, she thought, he wasn't currently a threat. He was asleep and drained from the day, it was only natural. Likewise, an unconscious, well-trained soldier was completely incapable of inflicting damage.

However, Elsa knew that the fact that he was exhausted was not the reason she'd been assaulted by such thought. That boy, with a wobbly voice and tearful eyes did not seem like a threat even when awake. To practically state it, he was weak. His fight-or-flight instincts seemed to be permanently stuck on freeze, from what she had seen in the course of only a few hours.

Someone like him, someone so quick to obey and to please, someone so deprived of resolution, could definitely not have the upper hand against any of the children that Elsa had seen descend from the Pharaoh that afternoon. Clearly, he could not win against any of the kids that belonged to Miss Hook's crew. The mere thought of Hans' son fighting against, say, the boys that had left with Megara or even the young lady Rapunzel had introduced her to was risible, absurd.

There was an important age gap in her comparisons, Elsa was well-aware of it. However, it was not only size or skill that made the thought so terribly preposterous, it was the attitude of the kids. Were the Gaston boys had carried themselves with overbearingness and conviction, Henry was insecure and weak-willed. Were Miss Gothel had been fierce and oh-so-ready to talk back and to argue against Rapunzel, Henry was eerily quiet for a child his age, unnaturally still through their whole journey.

Careful, she reminded herself. This could very well be what he wants you to think.

It could be, she knew. And it made sense, too, to persuade her into thinking that he was nothing but a terrified young boy. Nothing but an innocent kid, in the same way that her own nephew, Anna's real son, was. Nothing but a child that had been brought up in the worst of conditions, only to be uprooted and thrown into the care of a complete stranger, like Esmeralda de Châteaupers wanted them to believe.

On the other hand... it did not seem to be adding up. Elsa praised herself of being a clever woman, one that could see through the ill intentions of others, one that was rarely taken by surprise. And, if she allowed herself to be honest... to think that the boy that had so completely rendered himself to sleep in front of her, that the boy that had literally jumped in fear at the prospect of her being mildly inconvenienced by him could instead be an egregious attacker waiting to strike seemed quite unlikely to her.

Hans, a wolf in sheep's clothing, a deceiving assassin-to-be, had sounded so secure of himself, he'd carried himself with such earnestness and strong conviction that it was unthinkable to doubt him. He had a seductive smile, he possessed a silky voice and rehearsed compliments curled around the corners of his lips with concealed scorn. It was inconceivable and nearly as absurd as picturing his backboneless son as a Machiavellian vindicator, to think that he expected Henry to become his successor and finish the work he had started at Arrendelle while, at the same time, not even instructing him on his charming qualities.

Careful, careful, she repeated to herself. With a sigh, the queen allowed herself to lean her head on the back of her seat and close her eyes. That morning, she had been certain that it was her duty to diligently stay on guard and protect her family from the arrival of a cold-blooded delinquent. It had been so clear to her, that nothing good could come out of this improvised project.

She wasn't as certain now. There was nothing, not one tiny, insignificant thing that had made her feel she needed to have her guard up. Nothing told her that that boy was plotting to destroy the life she had fought so hard to build. Nothing but the man who had sired him.

If anything, he seemed terrified. And it only made it all the more confusing. She was an expert at concealing her own emotions. She had spent a lifetime perfecting that art, it was only fair that she had become extremely adept at pinpointing someone who was doing the same thing. And, to be completely honest, it did not seem to her that the boy Hans had spawned wanted to take revenge for what had been done to his father.

Anna had asked her to give the Isle children a chance. A chance to prove that they were, in fact, only that—children. That they were scared, hungry and in need of help. A chance to prove that they deserved security and stability, and that they did not intend to follow in their parents' footsteps.

A chance, Anna had insisted until it was impossible for Elsa to refuse. A chance for them to simply be themselves.

"Very well," the queen of Arrendelle announced into the icy darkness of her carriage.

Hawks were patient. They could overfly the extensions of their valleys, eyes scanning the ground below until a single movement of their prey announced their downfall and the hawk, swift and ruthless, descended to grasp them in its claws. If she was a raptor in this unorthodox allegory, patience ran warm in her veins. She would play along, she decided. She would pretend to buy that hare's act and lower her guard.

If nothing else, she would do it out of curiosity, out of genuine desire to see how things unfolded. Only time would tell, she supposed. But if, by any chance, it turned out that Hans had in fact planned to retaliate against her family, then there would be nothing, no stilted analogies or pleas from her sister, no silly royal decrees or tearful apologies, that could prevent her from unleashing her wrath against the ones who had jeopardized her family.

And when the time to strike came, she would not waste time in charming smiles or play pretend for the sake of performance. No, if she was truly a bird of prey, she would shoot to kill, like she had always done. Ruthless, practical, unrelenting.

The first step one took on a freshly frozen lake was always hesitant, dubious. It always held a level of confusion and dread, the first attempt to examine how secure the ice was before applying one's full weight on the glassy material. This was her first step into the waterbody Anna had dragged her to. The water had frozen overnight and she had never been one to trust her good luck, especially not when the weight of her family's and kingdom's welfare ladened her down, heavy as lead shackles. She could be patient and wait until the ice could support her or until it cracked and fissured, drowning Benjamin's outrageous decrees and Anna's naiveness in its icy waters.

That was something she could do. She could wait.

Well... here goes nothing. It is here now! I am so, so happy. I loved how this turned out.

Now, a very long time ago BriEva actually asked me if Henry even had a tongue, as he had not spoken at all in the previous chapters. To be honest, I didn't think you guys would notice such a thing. While Henry's silence was absolutely intentional, I thought you readers would just brush it off and ignore it. It didn't happen, apparently, so imagine my surprise when she asked this and mentioned that "For some reason, she though Hans might have removed it". I am happy to inform, however, that no, Henry is fine, he can speak.

So, I know I shouldn't be picking favorites, because they are all my children and I love them all. However, Henry is a very special character to me, maybe because he is an OC, maybe because it lets me include Elsa. In fact, I even considered not including a child of Hans because I knew I would end up getting carried away because I absolutely adore Elsa. But I have no self-control, so here it is. What had to happen, happened. We have a son of Hans, I have an anarchic Elsa and life couldn't be better.

Now, for the *, the Norwegian Fjords are a breed of horses. Remember the ones with the darker strike of hair in their mane, from the Frozen movie? Those are them. They are lovely and I just wanted to point them out so you can go and see some pretty horse pictures.

Umm... I think that's all for now? I promise I will try to get the next chapter out soon but, like I said, life is a mess right now. Just remember, no matter how long it takes, I won't abandon this story, so rest assured I'm not just leaving it behind. It's just that school sucks. Meanwhile that happens, please know that your comments motivate me a lot, so please feel free to share your opinions and tell me, whose POV do you think the next chapter will be narrated in?

I love you all and read you soon!

#TOWW #the ones who wander #Hans #Southern Isles #Frozen #Elsa #Descendants #Descendants 2015 #Disney Descendants #Fanfiction #Angst #hurt/comfort

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legion1993 · 7 years ago

Text

Saved Before The Ball, Rescued To Abide

A/N: I can’t thank everyone enough for the love on all of these challenge pieces. Once more I’m proud to bring you all another piece of the SPN HWC brought to us all by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing. This is part 3 to I Think We Are Meant To Be. As always be sure to give this love and ignore any and all spelling/grammer errors. some credit for this fic and some of itss ideas also goes to my wonderful mother.

Pairing: Misha x Reader

Prompt: “There is so much blood.”

Plot: not even a full week ago you married Misha Collins. Now you were struggling for your survival after getting kidnapped right from the airport washroom. Right after your honeymoon too, you weren’t happy at all but imagine how distressed Jensen and Misha feel. Now its up to them to rescue you from the clutches of your deranged cousin Luke (A) but what happens when an unexpected confession and an unexpected realization comes to light…

Part 1 Part 2

Y/N: “Why are there jackhammers pounding outside my room? Damn that hurts!”

Your thoughts are mixed with a huge headache and bright light shining in your eyes. As You open your eyes you become aware of damp air and a musty smell.

Y/N: “What the hell?”

you think out loud, and try to remember the last time you were conscious.

The airport, the washroom, Stopping at the water fountain, the pin prick...shit! That damn asshole Luke found me! Oh my God...Misha! Jensen! You hope and pray they weren't hurt and are now searching diligently for you. You stand up and walk around your cell, taking more notice of your surroundings.

You seem to be in a basement of some kind, and anything you had on you when you were taken are all gone. Jewelry, belt, hairpins are all gone. Can’t pick the lock or make a weapon. You shiver from the cool damp air. There is no blankets and your sweater is also missing. Fucking dickhead took your favorite sweater! You form in your mind the many different ways you are going to kill him if he wrecked your favorite cardigan!

Suddenly you hear a lock and a door open, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs and towards where you stand. You see a tall shadowy figure and hear the one voice that always sent a shiver of fear down your spine.

Luke: "Well YN, I was beginning to think I'd given you too much sedative. You've been out for almost 24 hours. How are you feeling?"

Luke smiled at you and looked like he wanted to devour you. You somehow manage to resist throwing up in his face as you reply,

Y/N: "You Bastard! What the hell is your problem?"

Luke brushes his fingers through your hair and you slap them away. Then he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him.

Luke: "I don't have a problem YN. You seem to have the problem. You never wanted to go out with me. You never wanted to be anything more than friends. You knew we weren't blood cousins, yet you still spurned my affection. I was never anything but nice to you. I would have given you the world, anything you desired. But no, you had to ignore me all these years. And then you go and marry someone else? You were supposed to be mine and only mine! Well now you will be. Your lack of virginity is a minor setback. It just means I can do whatever I want without being too gentle."

A feeling of dread washes over you and causes you to back away from the cell door. The nausea you were fighting earlier wins this round as you empty your stomach contents into the floor. As you heave and finish you hear the door open and scream as Luke pulls your hair upwards forcing you to stand. He throws you across the cell towards the bed, and you hit your head on the wall.

Luke binds your hands while your head spins from the hit and pushes you to the bed. A million thoughts run through your head as you quickly recover your senses and try to kick Luke so you can escape. He anticipates this and catches your leg, pinning it under him.

You get lucky and manage to sink your teeth hard into his hand. He lets out a loud scream and backhands you across the mouth. He quickly ties a bandana around your mouth so you cant bite him again, then proceeds to rip your blouse open along with your bra. You struggle and cringe as calloused hands grope you.

Bile tries to make its way up again but the gag forces you to swallow it. Luke then rips at your jeans and pulls them off, followed by your underwear. You continue to struggle and fight but Luke is too big and heavy. Then your worst nightmare becomes reality as he takes you, rough, hard and demanding. Pain overwhelms your senses as he thrusts and smacks you around while he does it.

He bites at your breasts leaving teeth marks and blood all over. Then he finally has his release but the damage is done. He gets up and unties your hands. Then he laughs triumphantly and walks out of the cell, locking it behind him. You shudder and curl into a ball, trying to wrap up in what remains of your clothing. Then you cry yourself to sleep hoping death will take pity on you before Luke comes again.

Meanwhile Misha and Jensen along with Jared, Mark, Rob and some of the other cast and crew have been searching for clues as to where Luke might have taken you. For 2 grueling days your husband and brother have led a constant battle to get you back. Misha is constantly worrying about your safety while Jensen ponders 100 different ways to kill and or maim Luke.

They have involved the police as well, mostly friends and close contacts that staff have recommended.

After some time, one of the detectives hired, a friend recommended by Mark, comes to Jensen, Misha and Jared with some good news.

Detective: "I may have the location where YN is being held. Two days ago, a white van matching the description of the one you saw at the airport was seen parked in an old abandoned jail lot five miles outside of town. No one thought much about it until we put out the word. We were going to send a unit to check it out and wanted to know if you boys were up to joining the team."

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation before all three said yes in unison. Jensen jumped in the driver seat while Misha and Jared rode shotgun. With a police escort, the car Jensen drove hit 140 miles per hour and the hour drive from the studio took half an hour.

Jensen hardly had the car in park before Misha jumped out and began searching the building outside. The cops arrived two seconds after the boys and joined the building area search. Jensen and Jared searched the yard and surrounding woods, not finding much. They then joined the search at the main building.

Misha found an open door and motioned for Jensen and Jared to follow. Drawing their guns they quietly slipped inside and began looking around the dusty halls. The cops joined them indoors, and made a plan to split up. The cops would go to the right and the boys would head left. Misha took the lead as the three of them walked up and down numerous cell blocks.

After some time Jared stumbles across a door leading down to the lower detention blocks, the ones used for solitary confinement. Hearing a male voice laughing he motions for quiet and the three of them sneak down the stairs. Misha and Jensen both perk up upon hearing sobbing but remain quiet so as to keep the advantage of surprise.

Peeking around the corner at the bottom of the stairs Jensen sees a very happy looking Luke humming and washing himself off. Horror shadows his features as he recognizes blood mixed with the water. Misha sees the blood as well and darkness overtakes his features.

Even Jared is ready to kill Luke as he witnesses this act. The guys all look at each other and nod. Three guns point directly at Luke and now the horror is on Luke's face. He manages to laugh though as he says,

Luke: "You found me after all. Took you long enough. Your too late though, I took your sister for a wild ride she won't soon forget."

Crack teeth and blood fly as Jensen smashes his fist into Luke's smug face, sending him backwards into the desk. Jared looks at Misha and says,

Jared: "Go find her. We will take care of this. She needs your strength and support Misha."

Not needing any more convincing Misha takes off following the sound of the crying he heard earlier. His heart breaks as he finds you naked and shivering on the bed in your cell. He locates the key and unlocks the door, rushing to your side and wrapping his jacket around you.

You smell the cologne that has become your favorite scent in the world and feel strong arms pick you up and hold you.

Y/N: "Misha!"

You sob as you bury your head into his shoulder. He holds you and strokes your hair.

Misha: "Your safe now YN. That Bastard will never ever hurt you again."

Misha just holds you for what seems like an eternity, comfort and love flowing from him to you.

Jensen and Jared finally make their way to you and Misha and stop short at the sight that greets them. Jensen pales and whispers,

Jensen: "There is so much blood. My God. YN!"

Misha looks up at Jensen and you do as well. Having donned your jeans and Misha’s jacket while just Misha was there, you are able to stand and hug your brother who fiercely hugs you back whispering apologies for not finding you sooner. You tell him it's not his fault and kiss his cheek.

Misha is standing by you now as is Jared. You get a big hug from him as well, as he is like a brother to you. Together the 4 of you make your way to the stairs, but Jensen stops Misha. Jared shields you from the room where Luke was not wanting to traumatize you further. He takes you upstairs, with assurances that your brother and husband are following shortly.

Jensen takes Misha to where Luke has been tied to a chair and beaten severely. His jaw is broken and the smug smile he had earlier has been taken away with the very painful removal of his man parts. Blood covered the walls and surrounding furniture.

Jensen looked at Misha and said,

Jensen: "I saved some for you. Figured you would want a piece of this shitface."

Misha gives Luke a cold hard stare as he says,

Misha: "Thanks Jensen. Your right. He touched her, hurt her in ways that can't be taken back or easily forgotten."

Upon saying that Misha grabs an iron bar from the corner and smashes it against Luke's ribcage repeatedly. Then he breaks both of Luke's legs in numerous places and his arms right after. Then he swings the bar at the already defiled bloody area where the male parts used to be. Over and over he hits the tender spot.

Luke is almost unconscious except for Jensen waking him with water in the face occasionally. Exhausted, Misha finally drops the iron and walks away. Jensen walks out after him, turning briefly turning to Luke.

Jensen: "You want death, but it's gonna be slow and agonizing. The quick death you were hoping for isn't coming. You are going to suffer for what you did to YN. No one is going to find you or rescue you. Goodbye Luke. Forever."

Jensen closes and bars the door so it can never be opened. Then he makes his way up the stairs where you and the other guys are waiting. Misha picks you up and carries you down the hall and out to the waiting car.

The two officers meet you outside where Jared tells them you have been found and that no one else is in there. The cops are satisfied with this answer and don't investigate further, especially when they see your injuries and bloodied face.

You stayed snuggled against Misha’s chest trying to calm your pulse, you stayed steady as you heard Jensen and Misha yelling at Jared & the police.

Jensen: “take my car Jared and meet us at the hospital…”

Misha: “she is really cold…”

Jared: “bro calm down… calm down its ok you will be ok…Y/N will be ok…”

Jared put his hands on both Misha’s and Jensen’s shoulders, and took Jensen’s keys and went to his car.

Officer Caine: “Mr. Ackles & Mr. Collins if you will permit me I will personally escort all 3 of you to the hospital.”

Jensen: “thank you so much…”

Jensen opened the door as Misha got in first holding you as Jensen followed to prop your legs up on his lap as he started to weep softly.

Jensen: “im so sorry this happened to you biscuit…”

You opened your eyes slightly and coughed..

Y/N: “its not your fault bro neither you nor Misha could have predicted this… I mean had we known about this we could have prevented it but we didn’t so we couldn’t.”

Misha bent down to lightly kiss the top of your forehead.

Misha: “im so glad your back in my arms now babe..”

You snuggled in closer and found peace for the first time in 3 days. It had been a long while.

Y/N: “where are we going?”

Jensen: “to the doctor to get you checked out kiddo… don’t worry we aren’t leaving your side…”

You only smiled falling into a soft unconscious state of shock. Sirens blared as officer caine drove as fast as possible to the hospital. Once there Jensen helped Misha get you out of the car as officer caine herself escorted you all inside.

Officer Caine: “this is an emergency these 3 are to be admitted immediately the girl is your patient… any questions will be directed to me or to one of those lovely gentlemen.”

The nurse looked at the officer and huffed.

Nurse 1: “you don’t come barging into the hospital like that and demand things… seriously and where is your badge… or cant you read?”

Sure enough there was a small sign on the desk saying, “ALL POLICE OFFICERS/DETECTIVES/PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS/ANYONE WITH A GOD DAMN BADGE MUST FUCKING PRESENT IT BEFORE MAKING DEMANDS…”

Officer caine apauled by the sign pulled out her badge and shoved it right in the nurse’s face..

Officer Caine: “there is that better now do as I asked of you and admit this girl… and keep the guys with her as well…”

Nurse 1: “fine… but i….”

Then another voice sounded from behind the nurse…

Victor: “ok helen that’s enough go take your break… ill take these lovely patients into exam room 5 and of course this officer will have to fill out some paper work as well as everyone else. Just so we here get a sense of what happened.”

Officer caine, Jensen & Misha who was carrying you followed Doctor Victor to exam room 5 where he handed officer caine her paperwork. And handed Jensen their paper work.

Victor: “just fill these out.. but verbally I have some questions… it doesn’t matter who answers but I need the truth… what are all your names?”

Jensen: “I am Jensen Ackles. The lady is my twin sister Y/N Collins wife to the man holding her in his arms Misha Collins.”

Victor jotted that down and then spoke once more.

Victor: “what happened to her?”

Misha: “she was raped and beaten badly for 3 days of being kidnapped by their deranged psychotic cousin who is M.I.A…”

Victor: “so first I would like to draw some blood work then check her blood pressure and then check her with an x-ray and an ultrasound… but of course if she wakes I’m sure she will want you both at her side.”

Misha could only hold you close, he did so while the doctor checked your blood pressure and drew blood for blood work.

Misha gently laid you on the hospital bed and wiped a strand of hair from your face. Jensen briefly left the bed area so that Misha and 2 nurses could get you into a gown. Once under some covers Jensen came back into the area. An IV had been set up to help with rehydration and to administer a light sedative to help with the pain and exhaustion.

Misha told the doctor and nurses that he was not leaving your side except for the occasional washroom break, during which time Jensen would be watching you. At no point were you going to be unguarded by your brother or husband.

When the technician came to get you for the ultrasound both Misha and Jensen went with you, even though they had to wait outside the exam room. Halfway through the exam the nurse came to get Misha and bring him into the room.

Nurse: "Mr Collins, apart from some bruising, your wife sustained no permanent damage to her organs. And you will be happy to know your baby is unharmed as well. The doctor will want to keep your wife overnight for observation but I wanted to give you the good news first."

Misha stood there in shock, watching the ultrasound screen as a small tiny 2 week old fetus moved around happy and carefree.

Misha: "Baby? I'm having a baby, or rather my wife is having a baby? I'm going to be a father?"

The nurse smiled.

Nurse: "Yes you are, actually there are 2 babies in there. They are laying very close together so it is hard to see the second one. I can’t tell the genders yet though. Congratulations are definitely in order though."

Misha left the room, practically beaming. Jensen took one look at his friend and thought he had gone crazy. Then Misha gave him the same news he had just received.

Misha: "It is my extreme pleasure to present you my friend, with the title of Uncle Jensen. YN is going to have twins! She's about 2 weeks along which means they aren't Luke's. And they are both healthy!"

It was Jensen’s turn to be shocked.

Jensen: "Damn! That's great news man. I'm really happy for you!”

Then he gave his friend with a big hug and a pat on the back. Then The nurse wheeled you out of the room a few minutes later and back to the patients area.

About 3 hours later you slowly come to feeling somewhat better from the rest. Misha is holding your hand and resting his head on your bed. Jensen was getting some coffee and was not in the room when you woke.

You smile at your husband as he sleeps peacefully and attempt to grab a drink of water from your tray without disturbing him. Misha feels you move anyways and squeezes your hand as he bends over to kiss your forehead and get your water for you.

Misha: "Hey beautiful, how are you feeling? The doctor says there is no permanent physical damage and there isn't going to be any scarring."

You stroke Misha’s hair and reply,

Y/N: "I'm ok. I feel more rested than I have in a few days. That's great news from the doctor. Did he say when you can take me home? This place is uncomfortable and reminds me too much of what happened."

Misha looks at you lovingly and says,

Misha: "The doc wants to keep you overnight to make sure there are no complications. YN we are going to have twins. We are going to be parents! I know It’s still early in this marriage, and we haven't had a chance to discuss whether we wanted kids, but that was the best news I could have received today after finding out you were ok. I'm hoping you..."

You cut Misha off as you pull his mouth to yours and kiss him passionately, then laugh and hug him.

"Misha, I couldn't be happier. This is the perfect addition to the perfect marriage with the perfect man.”

You say as you see your brother's shadow behind the curtain. He steps inside and gives you a hug and kiss on the cheek.

Jensen: “Wow I still can’t believe my brother-in-law and my twin are having twins… this is amazing…"

Y/N: “yes it is rather timely… wait twins… after everything that happened to me are we…”

Jensen and Misha knowing your question nodded their heads.

Misha: “they are both 100% mine… im the only father. They were already in development when everything happened.”

You took a huge breath at that moment

Y/N: “I am going to say this now, and only once. I do not want you or Jensen to blame yourselves for what happened. None of us could have foreseen Luke's deranged plan. That goes for both of you!"

Both men in unison nod their heads at your statement.

Misha kisses the back of your hand and continues to hold it. Then the doctor steps in and checks your vitals and blood pressure. Misha motions for the doctor to join him outside the curtain to talk. Jensen stays with you and gives you some more water, which you gratefully accept.

Jensen: “any ideas yet for names?”

Y/N: “I just found out about the pregnancy just give me time ill come up with something…”

Jensen could only smile…

Jensen: “I’m glad your alright biscuit.”

Misha and the doctor come back a few minutes later with an agreement and an understanding.

Misha looks at you.

Misha: "I have talked to the doctor and convinced him to let you sleep at home, with the promise to bring you here for a check up tomorrow and make a follow-up appointment with your regular doctor. So would you do me the honor of joining me at home, our home?"

You almost jump off the bed and into Misha’s arms and shout for joy. You look over at the doctor as you hug your hubby and whisper a Thank you.

Jensen escorts you and Misha to his home. Misha offers Jay the guest room for the night and after locking up the house, carries you upstairs to your room, his room, yours and his. You love how that sounds. Misha did promise the doctor you would rest and helps you undress and ready for bed.

You yawn and stretch out on the king size bed and wait for Misha to join you. He climbs in and pulls you into a gentle hug after turning the lights out. For as much as you need the comfort of Misha’s arms you also need his loving. You turn to him and kiss him, tracing fingers down his earlobe and neck.

Misha: "YN, i don't want to hurt you. You need time to heal."

You cup his face in your hands.

Y/N: "This will help me heal. You are so amazing and gentle. You won't hurt me. I promise. But I need this. Please Misha!"

Misha begins to kiss you deeper, more demanding. His hands and body worship and gently love you for the next hour, after which you and your husband fall asleep in each others arms, content and happy once again.

You wake the next day with Misha’s arms round your waist, you just laid there enjoying the feeling of being back home… well someplace you would get used to calling home. Damn it was gonna be weird not living with your brother anymore but you found your love.

It was then that your phone buzzed you reached onto the nightstand and grabbed it pulling it to you, your eyes adjusted to see the caller ID. You answered it knowing it was Jared.

Y/N: “hey moose…”

Jared chuckled on the other end.

Jared: “well someone is almost back to their old self. Have you seen Misha & your brother they aren’t answering their phones.”

You quietly got up planting a small kiss on Misha’s forehead before wrapping in your silk robe as you slipped from the room.

Y/N: “ya their both with me they are finally getting their rest that I assume they missed cause they were looking for me.”

Jared: “ya they didn’t want to sleep till they found you, they thought it a waste of time. So how do you like your abode. I know Misha can have a little bit of an interesting taste in décor but it will become an easier place to live in trust me.”

Y/N: “Jared its nothing to do with the place or how it looks its what the doctor told misha who told Jensen who im surprised didn’t tell you.”

Jared was silent for a few moments probably trying to think of what it could be that you were referring to.

Jared: “well aren’t you gonna tell me?”

You giggled.

Y/N: “im pregnant with twins and that knucklehead of a brother of mine is being a pain in the ass… he is already asking me about baby names I told him I don’t have any picked out right now I mean hell I just found out…”

Jared: “well if I may offer my congratulations and ill assist in any way I can.”

You pondered this for a moment and then smiled devilishly.

Y/N: “don’t suppose you know how to cook do you?”

Jared: “hell ya why what’s your idea?”

Y/N: “I just want to surprise them you know to thank them for everything.”

Jared: “well that’s a sweet idea and since I assume your not to do a whole lot anyway I assume you would like my help.”

Y/N: “yes I would…”

Jared was mumbling to himself before you knew it…

Jared: “I found my keys I’m on my way I assume you have the ingrediants for this idea so I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t worry I have a spare key…”

As soon as Jared said that you turned on some quiet tv and then found netflix where you started watching Supernatural from the pilot.

You giggled a little watching your brother and Jared fight in the pilot it was always your fave thing about it. You were only sure that whatever your brother was going through you were sure to have a lot to live up to…

Your worst moments were realized when the bloody mary episode came up you watched it intently now that all your prep was done. What you didn’t hear was the door open and the sound of Jared walking in. jared noticed which episode you were watching and he smiled evilly to himself.

Jared came up behind you and smiled as he placed his hand on your shoulder and you jumped pausing the show as you right hooked Jared in the jaw. Then realized it was him and gave him a hug.

Y/N: “moose don’t do that…”

Jared: “thats some right hook there Y/N.”

Y/N: “thanks umm so everything is set up it just needs to be prepared and cooked.”

Jared: “it will be a few moments. By the way thanks for bringing me by I mean I would have come by anyway but this is just gonna be fun.”

By the time you got resettled into the couch you played the episode by the time the episode was done you heard jared come up behind you and smiled as you turned towards the table which was set and the food laid on it.

Y/N: “its perfect now to wake up the guys…”

Jared: “go do that ill make coffee.”

You got up and went to Misha first, you smiled kissing him softly.

Misha: “morning beautiful…”

You smiled and ruffled his hair a bit.

Y/N: “morning handsome I made breakfast its in the dining room on the table. Get dressed and come out please.”

Misha: “ok but how…”

Y/N: “all will be revealed soon..”

You got up from the bed and left misha to get dressed as you went in to wake up your brother. You jumped on the bed slightly..

Y/N: “jay jay wake up I made breakfast you need to get dressed and come out…”

Jensen: “ok biscuit…”

You went out of the bedroom and walked out to the kitchen, where you stood in wait for the 2 slowpokes to come out. Finally after 5 minutes they both came out and saw you standing beside the table.

Jensen: “biscuit you did all this for us?”

You nodded.

Misha: “but your supposed to be taking it easy..”

Y/N: “well I did have a bit of help.”

Jared came out of the kitchen with 3 cups of coffee as he turned to look at Jensen & Misha with a gentle smile and greeted both with a warm hug.

Jared: “forgive me but she didn’t really do a whole lot sure this was her idea but I came to help so she could rest.”

Y/N: “I watched supernatural while he cooked and put everything together.”

Jensen: “well as long as there is coffee I’m down..”

Misha: “me too and we actually have another surprise for you Y/N.”

Jensen went to the other room and fumbled for a few moment in his bag for the envelope with the tickets in it. He came back out and sat down placing the envelope in front of you.

Jensen: “biscuit we all know how much you have been through and right now this would be the perfect thing to serve as your distraction.”

Misha: “we have been through thick and thin looking for you and when we found out you were missing we had just seen these and so we got them although to tell you the truth I would have rathered seen you and Jensen fight but that wont happen anytime soon. So open the envelope…”

You opened the envelope and your eyes went wide as you read the tickets and you looked at Jensen and Misha with light tears in your eyes.

Y/N: “we are going to a ball?”

Jensen: “all of us are. Plus I don’t think I have danced with my own sister since graduation.”

Y/N: “you mean where we were eachothers escorts because no one else would go with us…”

Jensen: “come on it wasn’t that bad…”

You laughed as you bit into a piece of bacon.

Y/N: “wasn’t that bad, Jay you stepped on my foot 4 times.”

Jensen laughed as he remembered that moment.

Jensen: “anyway ya we were gonna give these to you when you got back to the car but you didn’t come back so we saved them till now.”

Y/N: “so you mean you have had them since the airport.”

Both Jensen and Misha nodded.

Jared: “can we eat now?”

Jensen: “of course we can.”

You all sat there happily talking, laughing, eating, then sitting in the living room watching supernatural. It was the most fun you had had in a while. Minus the dress shopping which you went with your brother for cause Misha was shopping for groceries so you said you would see him at home.

Jensen: “come on Y/N this is the 50th dress your trying on why is it taking so long to pick one.”

Y/N: “cause its my first ball Jay I want to get it right the first time, ok I’m coming out don’t laugh.”

You twirled round once in the dressing room before opening the curtain and exiting the dressing room. Jensen looked at you and you could have sworn his jaw dropped to the ground.

Jensen: “sis you look amazing. Take a look…”

You walked with him to look in the mirror.

Y/N (reaction to looking in the mirror): “wow… this one looks awesome.”

Jensen: “you look beautiful now can we go please.”

You smiled and nodded as you went back behind the curtain got changed and carried the dress to where your brother was at the checkout. Where he paid for it and you smiled walking out of the store together going to the car and going back to your home it felt amazing.

You put the dress in the closet in a bag hoping that Misha would dare not sneak a peak at it. A while later you and your brother are sitting in the living room play monopoly (during which your sort of winning) Misha & Cliff look at you & Jensen sitting on the floor playing monopoly as Jensen gets sent to jail.

Jensen: “not again… Y/N how do you play this game so well?”

Y/N: “what do you think I do with Rob while you guys are filming your scenes?”

Jensen: “really you play monopoly against Rob?”

You nodded your head and then collected another $200 for passing go as you did your turn.

Misha: “well this looks like fun…”

Jensen: “easy for you to say bro your not the one getting spanked in Monopoly by your own sister.”

Misha just laughed as he finished putting away the groceries coming to sit behind you he stroked your sides gently.

Misha: “you all ready for the ball tonight?”

Y/N: “I cant wait its gonna be so much fun.”

Jensen: “yes it will be fun but its also for charity we have also been asked to help with the auction. I guess the committee found out that Supernatural’s biggest stars were coming so they asked if we would help out.”

Misha: “awesome I assume you told Jared already.”

Jensen nodded as he landed on the last orange that needed to be bought. To which he bought it and you waved that last red that he needed in his face.

Y/N: “look bro ill make this easy on you, you give me the orange and ill give you the red… its only fair…”

Jensen: “how is that fair? Whats your catch?”

Y/N: “the catch is if I win this entire game with the most money I was save you the first dance. If you win I save you the last dance and I will have the course that we are gonna be competing on made all the more tough, which I might do anyway just because it will be fun… deal?”

Jensen: “deal… now give me that red…”

You clicked your tongue and shoke your head..

Y/N: “now now bro don’t you know that its not polite to ask like that.”

Jensen: “its polite enough for my sister whose being a butt about this game.”

Misha was laughing at your little banter, as he kissed your neck lightly…

Misha: “whatever happens babe I still love you.”

Y/N: “I know…”

You took your next turn and took a look at the property you landed on. Boardwalk… you bought it immediately.

Jensen: “this is so not good.”

Jensen said that knowing that you had Park Place. You built houses instantly. You had tons of money to spare. It was your brother’s turn soon enough you had every right to keep your money pile hidden. It was then that Jensen didn’t realize that he was heading into your blocked territory.

Jensen: “ok sis please hand over that red you have that entire side of the board to play with please hand it over and I promise ill double the amount I owe you on the first property I land on.”

This little deal caught your attention.

Y/N: “fine but I still want that orange too. Its only fair.”

Jensen finally caved and gave you the orange as you gave him the red and you ushered for him to roll. As he did that you watchd where he was going. You watched the horror on his face as he landed on Boardwalk.

Jensen: “nnnooooo how much is it…”

You laughed as you looked at the card and you showed it to Misha who also started laughing.

Y/N: “regular price is $2,000 but because you decided to make me that deal of you doubling the amount of the first hoteled property you landed on you owe me $4,000 now if you don’t happen to have that amount I would be most gracious to accept your surrender…”

Jensen sunk his head into his hands and shoke his head.

Y/N: “and your verdict is???”

Jensen: “I surrender…”

You threw your hands in the air and kissed Misha in victory. Jensen then answered his phone and then turned to you and Misha and smiled.

Jensen: “well the game finished just in time that was Cliff he is just getting Jared now they will be here within like the hour… so we should get ready… when your ready sis ill help do your hair…”

You nodded and kissed Misha one more time as you got up to go get dressed first telling Misha that you laid out his suit already in the guest room. But that he had to wait till you were dressed first, to which he responded with ok as jensen went to get his suit on so he could do your hair directly after.

You went in to the bedroom and pulled out your dress removing the pricetag and putting on your strapless bra you slid into the dress. Doing it up you slid on your flats. You still werent up to wearing heals. You walked out and down the hall as you cleared your throat and spun around once in the living room in front of Misha who was now standing in front of you.

Y/N: “does it look bad…”

Misha came over to you kissing you passionately and softly.

Misha: “of course not you look amazing babe. Now tell your brother to hurry up so I can get changed.”

You went over to the guest room door and used your nails on the door.

Jensen: “biscuit I know its you… im going as fast as I can…”

You walked back to Misha whose eyes hadn’t left your form.

Misha: “oh babe if we werent going to this charity ball tonight I would already have you out of this dress.”

Y/N: “this is exactly the reaction I was hoping for especially from you. That’s why I chose this one. Plus I like how it makes me look.”

Misha could only smile as Jensen came out of the guest room wearing his full suit and you smiled as Misha kissed your forehead before going to get ready.

Y/N: “just like grad night you look hot bro…”

Jensen: “I know and you look beautiful. Now for your hair is it the same style as that night?”

You nodded and smiled sitting on the stool as he pulled out the curling iron, the elastics and cracked his fingers. After a while Misha came out while Jensen was braiding that one section of your hair.

Misha: “is this normal for you guys?”

Jensen: “ive been doing her hair for every special event that we go to for like ever. Well since our mom died.”

Misha looked at you and smiled looking at Jensen who finished pinning in the braid and then curled your hair.

Jensen: “bro check my phone see whose messaged me.”

Misha takes the phone and looks at it.

Misha: “its Jared he and cliff are almost here should I tell them to just come in when they arrive?”

Jensen nodded as he continued to curl your hair, after about 10 more minutes you were almost done being curled when Jared and Cliff walked through the door.

Jared: “how long does it take to curl hair.”

Y/N: “a long time to get it done right the first time…”

Jared: “that makes sense. And let me guess Y/N won monopoly earlier dude?”

Jensen nodded and groaned…

Jensen: “I’m not worried about it I’ll get her next time.”

Jensen stated as he finished curling your hair he stuck it in a hair elastic and tightened it fluffing out the curls a bit making them bounce.

You stood and twirled feeling your hair flow with the curls. You smiled accordingly and hugged your brother.

Jensen: “now we are ready to go. Now just checking one more thing biscuit do you have the…”

You knew what he was asking, call it twin intuition…

Y/N: “yes I do I sent cliff with it earlier but is that because…”

Jensen nodded.

Jensen: “they want us to do one song right before we go up to help with the auction.”

You breathed in softly and smiled…

Y/N: “which one are we gonna do?”

Jensen: “they want something new, something that hasn’t been out very long… something with a strong female and male equality.”

Y/N: “anything specific come to mind?”

Jensen: “Bring me to life…”

He said those words and you got a chill up your spine you smiled as Misha held his arm to you and you took it. You walked with the guys to the car where Cliff drove all of you to the ball. You presented all your tickets and were admitted.

Misha: “for your first ball this is a pretty nice one to come to.”

Y/N: “omg it looks amazing…”

And you weren’t wrong either…

You could have sworn you were in a castle but you felt surprisingly not nervous. Then you and Jensen were found and escorted to do your sound checks. You kissed Misha on the cheek.

Misha: “I count the seconds till your return.”

Y/N: “as I do too ill be back shortly.”

You and Jensen went to the room they provided to you and sound checked ran through the song once and gave them the karaoke accompaniment.

Y/N: “are you sure we should do this one?”

Jensen: “sis it fits with the ball theme plus we do this they donate $5,000 but whatever anyone donates while we perform. Why not give it everything we got.”

Y/N: “it just this is the song that we first covered together after mom…”

You felt a tear start falling and you turned your head slightly.

Jensen: “its ok biscuit but we have to do this its for charity. We can visit mom when we get back to texas. Now can we do this without breaking into tears.”

You nodded and smiled lightly.

Y/N: “we will definitely try.”

Jensen and you walked out of there finding out when you’re on as you make your way to the table where Jared & Misha are sitting.

Jensen: “sound check is done and we did a once through of the song, we will go on when they tell us to.”

You sat there next to Misha who put his arm around you.

Misha: “babe your gonna do great. Ill be right here cheering you on.”

Jared: “ya and think about it this way at least nothing bad is gonna happen this time.”

Jensen: “don’t worry biscuit we will be amazing we always are.”

You nodded to all 3 statements as you relaxed a little clapping for the announcer.

Announcer: “welcome everyone to tonights ball, over the course of the evening we will be raising funds for a number of different things. Shelters, affordable housing, cancer research etc. we will also have a very special performance from 2 of 4 of our special guests… now we will have a nice meal then we will start the auction/donation taking.”

Then servers brought out the meal which of course you ate all of it considering you were eating for ‘3’ you didn’t think anything of how hungry you were. Then the announcer was up on stage again.

Announcer: “there are several art pieces around the room you may go, take a look and see which piece you may want to bid on… we will begin the auction momentarily.”

You got up and started walking around taking down a mental list of which ones you thought would look good in the house and then you saw one that looked amazing. You made mental note of that one. You knew your brother and Misha would approve of all of those, so you took photos of all of them and you went back to sit down.

Misha: “did you see any you liked?”

Y/N: “yes I did and when you see them you will know which ones I like and why… unless you look at the last few recent photos on my phone then you will know which ones to bid on.”

Misha took your phone and took a look at the photos and he handed your phone back to you with a smile on his face.

Y/N: “does that mean you agree with my choices?”

Misha: “absolutely babe…”

You smiled as the auctioneer came onto the stage to start the auction process. You, Misha, Jensen & Jared all waited patiently for one of the ones you wanted to be brought on stage. Then the first one on your list was brought up.

Auctioneer: “this lovely piece was done by one of our anonymous Vancouver locals. Lets start the bidding at $10,000…”

Someone yelled $10,000 then you got ready to out bid them…

Auctioneer: “I hear $10,000 do I hear…”

You raise your number.

Y/N: “$20,000”

Auctioneer: “i hear $20,000 do I hear 25…”

Someone in the crowd: “$25,000”

Y/N: “$30,000”

Someone in the crowd: “$40,000”

Misha was getting frustrated with this guy so he raised his number too.

Misha: “$70,000”

You smiled at your husband and looked quickly around the room as the auctioneer cleared his throat.

Auctioneer: “$70,000 going once, going twice, sold to number 43…”

You hugged Misha and then watched for the next one.

After another 10 paintings another one that you had on your small list came into view. You nudged Misha to look up and he smiled seeing it. Jensen and Jared also offered their expressions of realization why you liked that one so much.

Auctioneer: “this is a five panel piece it would make the perfect gift for someone whose expecting their first little one. Let’s start the bidding off at $40,000…”

Someone in the crowd: “45,000”

Misha: “55,000”

Someone in the crowd: “60,000”

Y/N: “100,000”

Auctioneer: “$100,000 going once, going twice, sold to number 42.”

You and misha looked at eachother and smiled now holding hands you knew that he was on board he was on your side. The auctioneer took another sharp breath in and then spoke again.

Auctioneer: “now ladies and gentlemen we only have a few paintings left to auction off but that will be in the second half feel free to donate during this next part, tonight we have the great honor of being in the midst of Television royalty. Some of the cast of supernatural is here. Jensen Ackles and his twin sister are gonna come up now and perform for you all. Feel free during this time to donate and take another look at the remaining paintings or grab some dainties as we welcome on the stage Jensen and Y/N”

Everyone cheered and clapped as you and Jensen walked up on stage grabbing your mics and jensen’s guitar you both greeted the crowd.

Jensen: “hows everyone doing tonight?”

The crowd answered very loudly.

Y/N: “this first song is one that my brother and I first covered when our mom passed away years ago it was the first song we ever sang together this is the first time we are performing it live. If you know it feel free to sing along but we didn’t change anything out of the song we just have out voices doing it like karaoke style.”

The musical accompany started as you breathed.

Y/N: “How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down, into my core Where I've become so numb, without a soul My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold Until you find it there, and lead it, back, home”

You were about to continue into the chorus alone when Jensen joined you.

Y/N & Jensen: “Wake me up inside Wake me up inside Call my name and save me from the dark Bid my blood to run Before I come undone Save me from the nothing I've become”

you were letting loose and having fun with this. You hoped to goodness that everyone in here was enjoying themselves.

Jensen: “Now that I know what I'm without You can't just leave me Breathe into me and make me real Bring me to life”

you joined your brother once again for the chorus.

Jensen & Y/N: “Wake me up inside Wake me up inside Call my name and save me from the dark Bid my blood to run Before I come undone Save me from the nothing I've become”

You let the autovoice do the part in between the bridge and that chorus. Then you picked up the bridge or at least the first half of it.

Y/N: “Frozen inside, without your touch Without your love, darling Only you are my life Among the dead”

You sang that part like you did before and then your brother joined in and you split the lines.

Jensen: “I've been sleeping a thousand years it seems”

Y/N: Got to open my eyes to everything”

Jensen: “Don't let me die here”

Y/N: “Bring, me, to, life”

You held that note for as long as possible and Jensen took the first bit of the chorus.

Jensen: “Wake me up inside

Wake me up inside

Call my name and save me from the dark”

You joined Jensen on the last bit.

Jensen & Y/N: “Bid my blood to run

Before I come undone

Save me from the nothing I've become”

Y/N: “Bring me to life”

Jensen: “Bring me to life”

Y/N & Jensen: “Bring me to life”

Upon ending the song you looked into Misha’s eyes and smiled blowing him a kiss as you side hugged your brother. The crowd went wild cheering for you eventually you heard…

Crowd: “encore encore encore encore…”

You looked at your brother who looked at the announcer and the auctioneer..

You whispered an idea in your brother’s ear and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Jensen: “ladies and gentlemen this next song will be mainly my sister’s voice but mine will be heard occasionally…”

Then the musical accompany for it started after misha went to the guy and gave him the song selection. You clapped your hand against your hip as you started to sing…

Y/N: “Ooh this my shit, All the girls stamp your feet like this, Few times I've been around that track, So it's not just gonna happen like that, 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl, I ain't no hollaback girl”

Then you nodded at Jensen who joined you for this next bit.

Jensen & Y/N: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Y/N: “This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit”

Y/N: “I heard that you were talking shit And you didn't think that I would hear it People hear you talking like that, getting everybody fired up So I'm ready to attack, gonna lead the pack Gonna get a touchdown, gonna take you out That's right, put your pom-poms down, getting everybody fired up”

Jensen: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

You laughed at Jensen trying to sing it on his own.

Y/N & Jensen: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Y/N: “This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit”

Y/N: “So that's right dude, meet me at the bleachers No principals, no student-teachers Both of us wanna be the winner, but there can only be one So I'm gonna fight, gonna give it my all Gonna make you fall, gonna sock it to ya That's right, I'm the last one standing, and another one bites the dust”

You let your brother have another try at it.

Jensen: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Then once more you joined in…

Jensen& Y/N: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Y/N: “This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit”

For this next part you needed your brother’s help he had heard you sing this one so many times he should know it by now.

Jensen & Y/N: “Let me hear you say, this shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! Again this shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!”

Jensen: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Jensen & Y/N: “Few times I've been around that track So it's not just gonna happen like that 'Cause I ain't no hollaback girl I ain't no hollaback girl”

Y/N: This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit This my shit, this my shit”

Once more the crowd went wild after that you and Jensen did the last bit of the auction, then all tables were cleared and there was socializing and dancing and constantly you & your brother were asked to sign autographs and take photos it was a night to remember.

The day came you didn’t think it was that day but you felt it. It was your 3 month ultrasound. Misha looked at you as you both entered the ultrasound room.

Nurse: “ok dear here we go the gel might be a bit cold so I appoligize.”

The nurse showed you & Misha the screen.

Misha: “can we find out the genders please?”

Nurse: “of course just a moment please.”

You looked at Misha a little nervous at finding out the genders. The nurse smiled happily almost joyed to tell you the news.

Nurse: “it’s a boy & a girl. Congratulations.”

You kissed Misha passionately.

#spn hiatus writing challenge 2017 #spn hwc - week 18

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