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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

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episode two: the weirdo on maple street

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp. “Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your review sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

Summary: you use your limited psych knowledge to help a bald girl, you force jonathan to accept $20 and he's later an ass to you, steve doesn't know what a "missing" poster looks like, and it's really hard being a single mother to now four kids.

Rating: general, but there's cursing as usual and steve being... well, steve - but hes still season 1 steve so give him some time

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, use of y/n, and there's more angst in this chapter with some fighting between reader and jonathan, so fair warning.

Words: 10.1k (the longest thing ive ever written)

Before you swing in: i'm almost done with chapter 4, so here's a sweet treat as i cram for exams lmao. some housekeeping: should i do a tag list ? i got a few questions about it, so pls let me know soldiers. also, i feel the need to clarify that i adore nancy but for plot reasons - reader and her don't really get along (but they def will later, trust me). season 1 nancy and steve are just so silly. anyways, i hope y'all enjoy this loooong chapter. the rest definitely aren't as lengthy due to plot, but wow. i amazed myself. carry on !

Your jeans drip onto the Wheeler’s carpet, and you’ve definitely left a wet imprint on the couch cushion beneath you. The other boys are dripping as well, but all their attention is on the girl in front of them.

After finding her in the woods, your motherly instincts kicked in, immediately removing your coat to place on her and gently ushering her to your bike and demanding that the boys go back to Mike’s. Your mom is home, so your house was out of the question, and it’s always been easy sneaking into the Wheeler’s, anyways.

Once you all had made it back, you guided the girl onto the couch and sat next to her. You refuse to let her go too far from you, having no idea where she came from or why, but regardless you know she’s too young for any of it to have been good.

Which leads you to now: wearily watching the boys stare at the girl as if she’s some science experiment, asking her a million questions a second.

Bless them and their little prepubescent minds.

Lucas reaches out to touch her, and before you can nudge him away, Mike slaps at his hand. “Stop it! You’re freaking her out!”

“She’s freaking me out!” Lucas retaliates, which honestly? That’s fair. The girl hasn’t said anything yet, even after your multiple attempts to get her to do so. No matter how much you try, you can’t coax a response out of her.

“I bet she’s deaf.” Your brother offers, suddenly clapping his hands to scare her, making both you and her flinch. “Not deaf…”

You roll your eyes at him. “Guys, she’s probably just really scared right now. We should give her some space,” you look at both Lucas and Dustin, “and time,” now you look at Mike. The three boys deflate a bit.

“She’s probably cold,” Mike says after a moment of silence, and you nod at his suggestion. Seeing your agreement, he walks over to a basket of clothes and takes out some pajamas.

While Mike is away, thunder rumbles and the girl jumps, unconsciously getting closer to you. You wrap an arm around her reassuringly, making note that she doesn’t like loud noises. If anything, she’s showing more and more signs of trauma response, which makes you uneasy. You remember Hopper saying something about Will being in danger. What are the odds that this little girl was running from something as well?

“Here, these are clean.” Mike’s return breaks you from your thoughts, and you take the clothes from him and stand up. You thank him, then offer your hand to the girl. She looks at you uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her. “Let’s go get you dressed in some warm clothes. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

“She’s super nice.” Dustin says, trying to help.

Lucas adds, “Yeah, you can trust her.”

“She’s alright.” Is all Mike offers.

You give them all an appreciative smile, even if Mike is being a bit of an ass, and then you feel a small, cold hand wrap around yours. The girl stands up, looking around shyly, and you lead her to the bathroom. When you go to close the door, she stops you.

Mike has followed, seeing the interaction. “You don’t want it closed?”

Her voice is quiet, solemn. “No,”

You and Mike look at each other, and he voices what you’re thinking. “So you can speak.”

He looks excited about this new information, and you shove his head out of the doorway. She needs to get dressed. “We’ll leave the door cracked, okay?”

She nods at you, and you stand guard outside the door. It’s not that you don’t trust the boys, but Mike has only known her for ten minutes and he’s already been nicer to her than you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. The only other person he’s this soft spoken to is Will, so you’re protective of her.

You can hear the boys discussing tonight’s events from the living area while the girl gets dressed. They sound scared, and a part of you can’t blame them. While you’re fairly certain that the girl isn’t dangerous, it’s still a creepy situation. Once again, Hopper’s new theory surrounding Will floats through your mind. This all can’t be some coincidence.

Sighing, you approach the boys and catch a bit of the conversation.

“Our houses become Alcatraz.” You hear Lucas saying, and you figure they’ve finally pieced together that there’s no way any of you can tell anyone about the girl. None of you were supposed to be out tonight. As much as you know you should tell an adult, you also need to be able to help Jonathan with finding Will. If your mom locks the house down, you’re doomed.

“Lucas is right,” the boys turn to you. “We can’t go to anyone about this just yet, but I also don’t think it’s a good idea to hide her. She’s been through something terrible, it’s obvious. Tonight, I say she gets some rest. We can figure out what to do later.”

Mike nods, for once agreeing wholeheartedly with you. “She’ll sleep here tonight-”

Dustin’s eyes widen in horror, “You’re letting a girl-”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, motioning for Mike to continue.

“Thanks, Y/N. In the morning, she sneaks around my house, goes to the front door and rings my doorbell. My mom will answer and know exactly what to do. She’ll send her back to Pennhurst,”

They think she’s from Pennhurst? You think, but don’t verbalize it.

“Or wherever she comes from. We’ll be totally in the clear! And tomorrow night, we go back out, and this time we find Will.”

You gotta hand it to Mike Wheeler, he may be a pain in the ass, but he’s a smart pain in the ass. The plan is pretty sound, so long as he follows through with it. However, it’s him following through with it that leaves you a bit unsure.

He looks at you for approval, and you hesitantly nod. “It’s a pretty good plan, Wheeler. So long as you stick to it.”

Lucas and Dustin nod along with you, there’s an unspoken sense of doubt that Mike will actually be able to turn the girl over to his mom. Then she walks out, dressed now in some of Nancy’s old clothes. She draws into herself when you all turn to her, shy. You walk over and offer your hand again, which she accepts.

“Mike, go find her something to sleep on. Dustin, we gotta go soon before mom notices we’re gone.”

Both boys comply, with Mike searching for a sleeping bag and Dustin packing up his stuff. You crouch down next to the girl, so that you’re face to face, and give her a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you. My name is Y/N, I hope Mike over there doesn’t give you a hard time tonight.”

Mike flips you off, having heard you. “If he’s annoying,” you lean in close to her now, whispering in her ear. “You have my permission to pinch him.”

The girl giggles, finally relaxing a bit, and you warm with pride. She’ll be okay, she seems like a very resilient girl and you’ll oddly miss her.

The two other boys are waiting for you upstairs. You all wish Mrs. Wheeler a good night and head out. Thankfully the rain has now stopped, so the bike ride home isn’t bad. You stop at Lucas’ turn to make sure he gets home safely before finally arriving at your place. As Dustin begins pedaling into your driveway, you don’t follow.

“I’m going to go see Jonathan, he didn’t answer my calls earlier and I just…”

Dustin waves at you, not even bothering to turn around. “Yeah yeah, go see your boyfriend. If mom asks, you’re asleep.”

“He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Are you seriously going to argue with me after I offered to cover for you?”

Your brother gives you a pointed look, and you know he’s right. “Touché.”

Dustin goes to leave, but you quickly grab at his jacket. “Before I forget, swear to me that you’ll keep me updated if anything weird happens, okay?”

He nods at you, knowing better than to argue, and gives you a mock salute as he heads inside.

The living room light is on when you arrive at the Byers home, despite the late hour, but you aren’t surprised. You knock on the door and wait. When no one comes, you knock again, a bit louder this time. After another few moments, the door swings open.

Jonathan has a finger over his lips in a shushing manner, motioning to Joyce who is passed out on the couch. You nod, letting him know you understand. The two of you go to his room and when he closes the door, you finally get a good look at him. He looks worse than he did earlier, the bags under his eyes have somehow gotten darker. His hair is a mess, his eyes bloodshot.

“You’re soaked.” Jonathan says.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t want to talk about it yet, so you play along. “Got caught in the rain. Are some of my spare clothes still in your bottom drawer?”

He nods at you, going over and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants for you. You accept them gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom to change. Your bones are cold, the rain seemingly having penetrated the layers of your skin. In the mirror you see that your own eyes are bloodshot; you don’t look much better than Jonathan, really.

When you return Jonathan is sitting on his bed, so you join him. It’s silent between you, all you can hear is his breathing. You stare straight ahead, so does he, and you wait. You’ve only seen Jonathan like this a handful of times, where the stress and anxiety becomes too much for him. He shuts down, draws into himself, and all you can do is wait for him to return to you; he always does.

“Mom got a call tonight.” Jonathan’s voice is hoarse, and he looks frail. You wonder if he ever did end up making the spaghetti you prepared for him.

“Who was it?”

He swallows heavily, taking a moment to respond. “She said it was Will.”

“Will?” You look at him now, searching for any signs on his face, his voice lacks emotion. By the way he stares blankly ahead, as if he’s not really present with you right now, you know that it hadn’t been Will on the other end.

“She started freaking out, going ballistic,” his voice cracks a bit, so you take a chance and reach for his hand. He lets you take it, giving you a squeeze, before continuing. “She was screaming, begging whoever it was to give Will back.”

Jonathan pauses again. You don’t say anything, because no words will help. He’s never been the type for comforting words, anyways. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It wasn’t him. Lightning struck and our phone got charred. It wasn’t Will.”

Now it’s your turn to squeeze Jonathan’s hand. He doesn’t deserve any of this. None of the Byers do. Out of the entire town, they’re the family who deserves the most that life can give. Will, too good. Jonathan, too selfless. Joyce, too loving. They’re the best damn people you know.

“I tried calming her down, but she was hysterical. She’s only asleep right now because she worked herself up too much and passed out. I’m worried she-'' Jonathan shakes his head, as if ashamed by his own words. “I’m worried she’s going crazy, Y/N.”

He’s quiet again, but you can tell he’s about to break. His knee is now bouncing up and down and his breathing has become slightly ragged. Everything from today has been building up, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. You’re also worried about Joyce, a part of you skeptical to believe her, but the little girl you found tonight in the rain? Something was definitely weird about Will’s disappearance, but you’re hesitant to tell Jonathan just yet. For all you know, she could’ve simply been a girl who got lost and will be returned to her family tomorrow.

You don’t want to worry Jonathan any more than you need to.

“I should’ve been there for him. I shouldn’t have taken that shift.” He gasps out, and like a dam the tears begin to fall. You’re quick to pull him into a hug and he crumbles into you. His body shakes with violent sobs and he clutches at you as if afraid you’ll leave.

“You can’t blame yourself.” You whisper, stroking a hand through his hair. He cries even harder, the force of it almost enough to knock you over, so you situate yourself so that you’re fully on the bed, laying against his pillows, with Jonathan crying into your chest beside you.

“He’s g-gone.”

“We’ll find him, I promise.” Your own tears threaten to come out, but you force them down. You have to be here for him, he needs you. The only other time Jonathan has so openly cried was when Lonnie left years ago. He’s been holding everything in since then, all those years of looking after his family, taking care of his brother, getting harassed by assholes like Tommy Hagan.

Neither of you say anything else, and you know that Jonathan needs to let it all out. You soothe him as best as you can, running a hand through his hair, stroking his back, reassuring him over and over again that none of this is his fault until your own voice becomes hoarse. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but sometime during the night Jonathan finally falls asleep, and you follow shortly after him.

—

Sunlight streams through Jonathan’s spare bed sheet that he’s pinned over his window, serving as a makeshift curtain, waking you up. You stretch, careful not to wake the boy beside you, and crawl out of the bed. You’re antsy, already knowing that today will be another long day. After grabbing some clothes from your designated drawer and getting dressed, you head into the kitchen and start making a quick breakfast. Just as you’re finishing up, Jonathan comes out of his room, dressed and ready for the day.

Neither of you say anything about the night prior, instead silently working around each other in the kitchen with years of practiced ease. He hands you the salt shaker right when you need it, you grab the pieces of toast that he popped into the toaster, the two of you never once get in each other’s way. You get deja vu, remembering all the times you’ve slept over with Dustin, you and Jonathan making the boys breakfast while they slept in.

The only indication that last night really happened is a forehead kiss from Jonathan, his lips soft against your head. Out of the two of you, you’re definitely the touchy one, so it’s always a nice surprise when he initiates the touch, and his forehead kisses were a welcome rarity.

When the plates have been made, Joyce gets up from the couch and stumbles over to the table. You quickly help her sit down, and for the first time since Will’s disappearance you’re able to really look at her. She looks like Jonathan, only worse. The bags under her eyes are darker, her hair is more matted, and you believe she’s still wearing the same shirt you saw her in the night that Will went missing.

“All right, mom. Breakfast is ready.” Jonathan tries to place her plate on the table, but Joyce stops him, worried about the poster of Will.

Jonathan gives you a look and you run over to the table, grabbing the poster so that he can set the plate down.

Joyce gives you a tired smile, “Thank you, Y/N, but I can’t eat.”

“I just need you to eat, mom.”

“Jonathan’s right, Mrs. Byers. You need to eat, we gotta keep your strength up.” You feel like you’re talking to a child, but in a way, you suppose you are.

The woman lights a cigarette instead, and faintly you wonder how many she’s had within the last 48 hours; you’ll need to wash your clothes when you get home. She begins to ask Jonathan to go to Xerox to make as many copies of Will’s poster as possible. You sit down in front of her, silently eating, knowing there’s no place for you in this conversation.

It’s not that the Byers are ashamed that they have little money, but you know it’s rude to listen in. They make do with what they have, and Jonathan has never felt embarrassed with you knowing it.

“I don’t want you to go alone,” Joyce says, causing you to speak up.

“I’ll go with him and help hang them up, it’s no problem.”

Jonathan turns to you. “You have that chem test, remember? I’m not letting you miss that.”

“Shit…” you bury your face into your hands. You completely forgot about that after finding the little girl last night and dealing with Jonathan. You’ve heard about how impossible the chem exams were, and science has never been your best subject. That was Dustin’s thing, your thing was more humanities.

“You’re the smartest person I know, you’ll ace the exam,” Jonathan reassures you before turning to his mom. “And I’ll handle the posters, it’s okay.”

Joyce has been lost in thought during your conversation with her son, only beginning to speak again when she’s asked how many copies will be efficient. Once she starts speaking again, it’s almost like she’s physically unable to stop. She begins to ramble, finally exposing the crumbling woman that you’ve only heard about, now understanding Jonathan’s fears for her.

“Mom-”

“If we… ten cents-”

“Mom!” Jonathan raises his voice a bit, now grabbing at his mother’s hand. “You can’t get like this, okay?”

The look on Joyce’s face kills you. She looks so lost, ashamed of her behavior, and you cast your head down; this is a private matter. Joyce profusely apologizes to him and all Jonathan can do is gently reassure her that it’s okay. All of this is okay.

Their tender moment is interrupted by knocking on the front door, revealing Hopper on the other side. His presence makes you uneasy, so you stay in the kitchen and begin to clean up with Jonathan while Joyce attacks him with questions.

“A little bit of trust here, alright? We’ve been searching all night.” You hear the cop say. Your hand clenches the sponge, rubbing a bit harder at the plate you’re cleaning. If they’ve been searching all night, why are they here now?

“Went all the way to Cartersville.” Ever since Will disappeared, you’ve been building a wall of hope within you that he’ll be found safe and sound. However, with every passing day, with every new situation that occurs, you can feel a piece of the wall collapse. You can feel it now; the search party went all the way to Cartersville.

“And?” Joyce asks.

“Nothing.” The cry that Joyce lets out causes you to drop the plate you’ve been cleaning, shattering on the floor. You curse, immediately bending down to pick up the pieces. Luckily it didn’t shatter into a million bits, but you still feel horrible for breaking one of their dishes.

Jonathan bends down as well to help, and the commotion catches Hopper’s attention. He sees you scrambling to clean up the mess and sighs with annoyance. “Does she live here or something?”

You and Jonathan look at each other, a slight smile on your faces, and only respond to Hopper with a synchronized shrug. You basically do live at the Byers’ at this point, you have been for years now. It was the same for Jonathan: if you weren’t at his house, he was at yours.

Joyce wipes some of her tears away. “Y/N is family, she’s here to help.”

Hopper ignores this, instead bringing up the phone call from the night before. Joyce leads him over to the phone, and you join them once you’ve collected the remaining pieces of broken glass. When you see the phone, you can’t help but gasp. Jonathan’s words from last night are accurate, the phone is charred.

“Storm barbecued this pretty good.” Hopper says.

Joyce waves her arms out, disbelieving. “The storm? You’re saying that that’s not… weird?”

“No, it’s weird.” Hopper begins, but you cut him off.

“It’s really weird.”

He glares at you. You mumble a quick sorry and back away a bit while Jonathan asks if the call can be traced. Hopper focuses back on the situation at hand, informing him that it isn’t possible and then questions if Joyce even heard Will in the first place. The question makes you cringe, knowing it’ll only make Joyce more agitated and hurt.

“Flo said you just heard some breathing.”

It’s the way he phrases the question, the way he emphasizes the word “just”, that bothers you. This woman has just lost her kid, what kind of mother wouldn’t know her own child’s breathing?

“Even if it was ‘just’ some breathing, I’d know it was my brother. Will is her son, she’d know better than anyone.” You find yourself saying. The words weren’t meant to leave your mouth, but the appreciative look Joyce casts your way outweighs the fear from Hopper’s glare.

“It was him. It was Will, and he was scared. Then something-”

“It was probably just a prank call,” Hopper tries to reason with her, causing you to roll your eyes at him. You respect the guy, you do, but could he at least attempt to listen to Joyce?

You excuse yourself before you say anything else, heading back into the kitchen to collect the two posters you and Jonathan made. While the others talk, you grab his things and pack his bag for him. You know he’ll probably skip school today to get the copies done in time, maybe keep an eye on his mom, so you make a mental note to inform him later that you’ll help with putting the fliers up the second you’re done with the exam. He needs someone there for him.

When you’ve grabbed the last of Jonathan’s things, Lonnie’s name is mentioned. You freeze, standing right outside the hall from them, only a wall between you. If Lonnie is somehow involved in this, you’ll kill him yourself. He was always cruel to Will, even when you were around to witness it. You hate him more than anything in this damn world.

“It’s been long enough, I’m having him checked out.” Hopper declares, storming out of the house.

You count to three in your head, and the second you get to three, Jonathan is following after Hopper. You knew he would, hating his father the most out of everyone who has had the displeasure of meeting him. You follow behind him, heading outside to talk to the Chief.

“Hey, Hopper. Let me go.”

Hopper takes a drag from his cigarette, facing the two of you. “I’m sorry?”

“To Lonnie’s,” Jonathan says, looking at you for backup.

You do your best to try. “If Will’s there, that means he probably ran away. Cops will scare the poor boy, he’ll think he’s in trouble.”

“And he’ll hide. He’s good at hiding.” Jonathan finishes for you.

Hopper stares at you both, inhaling more smoke from his cigarette and blowing it in your direction with a curious look in his eyes. “You two are sickening to be near, you know that?”

You and Jonathan share an annoyed look. A kid is missing, and you still have to clarify that you aren’t together? “It’s not like that,” Jonathan says.

“Sure, you know cops are good at detecting lies,” Hopper approaches him now, grabbing his shoulders. For a brief second you’re afraid he’ll hurt him. “And we’re also good at finding, okay? Stay here with your mom. She needs you.”

Hopper punches at Jonathan’s shoulder before facing you. “And you,” you brace for whatever he’s about to say, knowing you probably aren’t his favorite person at the moment. He points at Jonathan, “He needs you.”

His words hang in the air several minutes after he’s gone. You glance at Jonathan, but he doesn’t meet your eye and instead he goes back inside. You sigh, following after him because it’s what you do. Hopper’s right, he needs you.

Jonathan’s in the living room, speaking softly to his mom when you enter. You don’t disturb them but rather snatch Jonathan’s keys from the counter and wait for him by the door. Like Joyce said, Xerox opens in about thirty minutes and you have a chem exam to take. If you leave now, you’ll be able to make the copies with him and be back in time before school.

The ride to Xerox is tense, you know Jonathan is upset that he’s been sidelined by Hopper. You also know that he’s torn between wanting to help his mom and staying out of his house as much as possible. If it weren’t for your god damn chem test you’d offer to skip and hide out at your place, but you can’t. Jonathan wouldn’t let you risk your future for him (even though you would, in a heartbeat, a million times over).

The man at Xerox gives Jonathan a look of pity, clearly recognizing Will’s picture on the poster. It’s your favorite photo of him, smiling with all his teeth and happy as can be. From what you’ve heard, the whole town has been conducting search parties for him. Jonathan ignores the look and asks for the 200 copies to be made.

It’s just you and him in the store as you wait for the prints to be done. The guy said it’d be about a ten minute wait so you wander around the store. Jonathan clearly is in a no talking mood, so you occupy yourself with whatever you find. You wish you’d brought your backpack to Jonathan’s last night so you could at least study a bit while waiting, but you didn’t. It’d be a miracle if you pass this exam.

Jonathan wanders around as well, so you give a quick look around and find the employee. He’s standing over the printer when you approach. “I’d like to pay for the copies, please.”

“You can pay after they’re done-”

“No, I can’t let him see,” you point over to Jonathan, who is now looking at some stationary. “Please, just let me pay now so he can yell at me later.”

The guy gives you a shrug, clearly not getting paid enough to care. “Okay, it’ll be $20. Just leave the money on the counter over there, the prints should be done soon.”

You nod and do as you’re told, leaving the $20 bill on the counter while Jonathan isn’t looking. He can kill you later, right now you want to make up for not being able to help with hanging them up. There’s literally hundreds to get through, he can’t do that all alone.

When the posters are done and Jonathan collects them, you wish the worker a good day and then wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to drag your friend into the car. He doesn't fight back at first, too confused by your actions, and you’re almost out the door before he sees the man pocket the money and wave at you. The dots connect in his head and Jonathan begins to fight against you.

“Y/N, let me pay-”

“Nope. Not happening!”

“We both know I’m stronger-”

“Debatable, honestly, seeing as how we’re almost to your car.”

“Let go!” He tugs harshly as his arm, which you’ve got a secure hold on, causing you to stumble a bit.

You plant your feet more firmly against the ground and use all your weight to pull the boy forward. You’re a few feet away from the car, just one more solid pull should do the trick. “Stop fighting this, Byers. I’ve already paid-”

“Which you shouldn’t have!”

“Keep fighting and drop all the posters, I dare you.”

Jonathan looks down at the posters in his spare hand, realizing that you’re right. If he doesn’t give in soon, they’ll topple over. He lets out an agitated groan, throwing his head back, and then marches over to the car to unlock it and fling himself into the driver’s seat. “Just get in.”

You do a small victory dance and hop in the car.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He hesitates only for a moment. “God, I hate that I do.”

You smile, buckling your seatbelt. Jonathan pulls out of the parking lot and begins the drive to school. He’s less tense this time, at least. The small little wrestling match between the two of you seemingly did some good, then.

When you pull up to school, you once again apologize to Jonathan for being unable to help. He waves you off, understanding.

“It’s okay, I promise. I can’t have you failing out of high school because of me.”

You roll your eyes. “One test won’t make me become a high school dropout, Jonathan.”

He ruffles your hair, which you slap him for. “You can join me after, okay? Good luck, bug.”

“Fine, but I’m taking some posters with me so I can hang up on my way to my locker.”

“Deal.”

You run to your locker, flinging it open and letting out a sigh of relief when you spot your chem cards. Honestly, you really should’ve prepared better for your little sleepover at the Byers. You glance at the watch on your wrist, noting that you have roughly fifteen minutes to memorize all the elements in the periodic table as well as some chemistry definitions.

Just peachy.

You tie your hair up so you can focus better and grab the note cards. If you review the cards as you walk to class, you can save at least three minutes of studying time. You tuck the few remaining posters of Will under your arm and begin to head to your class, getting absorbed in all the elements and words. As you’re skimming a card about protein being K, you run into Nancy and Barb, who also seem to have the same idea as you.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Nancy greets you, Barb waving to you as well.

They’re being nice, so you try to make conversation. “Studying for Kaminsky’s test?”

They nod at you and Nancy sighs, “Yeah, his exams are the worst.”

You laugh a bit, for once on the same page as her. “I know. I spent last night at Jonathan’s, I completely forgot about the test until this morning. I’m screwed.”

Barb raises her eyebrows at you while Nancy suddenly looks sad. “Oh, I’m sorry about Will. I know you and him are close.”

“Yeah, it must be hard taking care of Jonathan right now.” Barb voices.

You give them both an awkward smile. “Thanks, I guess? It’s just, there’s still hope, so…”

The three of you stand there as your voice trails off. It’s painfully awkward. While you’ve known Nancy since you were 12, and at some point you even called her a close friend of yours, the second you entered high school she became distant. You never blamed her for it, people simply grow up and grow apart. Now you only ever interact with her if it concerns the boys.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, you hold up a poster and offer it to them, but Steve snatches it from your grasp.

“Henderson, didn’t know you were also a little know-it-all. Why don’t you share your cheat sheet with the rest of us?” He says, casting a teasing look your way. It isn’t until he inspects the piece of paper that he finally notices that it’s a missing poster for a child, not a review sheet. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

You snatch the poster back from him. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

His friends laugh, but Steve has a bit of heart to look guilty, so you count that as something. His shame doesn’t last long though and the goofy and sweet boy who made sure you were okay after almost hitting you with his car is gone.

Steve plays off the situation as if it were nothing. “Let me make it up to you, Henderson. I know you’re probably stressed out of your mind dealing with boyfriend troubles because of Bill-”

“His name is Will,” you grit out, remembering now why you dislike Steve so much. Everything was about impressing his friends, and while you can sympathize with him, it doesn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

“Right, Will. Anyways, I was just about to inform Nance over here that my dad has left town on a conference and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, ya know, she doesn’t trust him.”

“Good call,” Tommy says, and you glare at him.

Steve carries on. “So, are you guys in?”

“In for what?” Nancy asks.

“No parents, a big house?” Carol says, as if Nancy is a giant idiot.

You feel bad for her being treated so poorly by her boyfriend’s friends, so you lean in and whisper, “A party, Nancy.” Then you look at Steve. “And no, I’ll pass.”

Steve pouts. “Can’t leave loverboy alone for a couple hours?”

You scoff, shoving the poster against his chest, using more force than probably necessary, but the satisfying grunt he lets out pleases you. “If I didn’t know you I’d say you sound jealous. Unfortunately, I do know you, and that’s exactly why I’m not interested.”

“Meow,” says Carol as she and Tommy laugh.

You ignore her and push past the group to get to class. You’ve wasted enough time, you have to study. Steve lets you, hurt by your words, but tries to play it off, instead focusing his attention on Jonathan up ahead hanging up some posters. You both see him at the same time and as you start to approach him, you hear Steve and his group mock him.

“God, that’s depressing.” Steve says, and you’ve never wanted to hit a man more than you do right now.

You glance at Nancy, trying to convey your disappointment in her. She’s a nice girl, she shouldn’t be with an idiot like Harrington. Who the hell makes fun of a guy with a missing brother? Nancy doesn’t meet your eye, which pleases you. She should feel guilty.

As you near Jonathan, Nancy calls after you to wait up. You listen, mostly because you’re surprised she even followed, and together you walk up to him. “Hey, bee. I thought you’d be long gone by now.”

Jonathan looks up at your voice, surprised when he sees Nancy next to you. He gives you a look that you conclude is a what is she doing here? look and you can only shrug as if to say I have no clue how I ended up in this situation.

Nancy doesn’t see this exchange. “Hey,”

“Hey,” Jonathan responds, still confused.

Nancy looks at you uncertainly, but you refuse to leave. Screw your exam, if she even considers voicing her boyfriend’s opinions to Jonathan then you’ll personally see that she fails alongside you. “I just… I wanted to say, you know… I’m sorry, about everything.”

Oh, she’s being nice. You’re still unimpressed, but Jonathan motions to you to stop staring her down, so you reluctantly listen.

“Everyone’s thinking about you.”

You all turn towards Steve and his group, who are clearly listening in, and you snort at her words. “Right, obviously.”

“Y/N.” Jonathan warns.

“Sorry.”

“It sucks.” Nancy continues, and you have to give her some credit. You’re being a blatant bitch, but she’s still trying. You feel a bit bad now, which honestly makes you dislike her a bit more. Damn morals. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s a smart kid.”

The bell rings, ending Nancy’s little monologue. “I have to go, chemistry test. Y/N, want to walk together?”

She really makes it impossible to be a bitch to her. “Sure, just give me a second.”

You lean close to Jonathan and lower your voice. “Good luck with your dad, bee.”

“How did you know I’d go-”

“Because of course you would. Now go, give him hell for me, will ya?”

Jonathan nods, relieved you aren’t pushing the topic. You know that Lonnie is a sore topic for him, for the entire Byers family, really. You only knew Lonnie for a year or so before Joyce left him, but you’ll never forget his spiteful words and the bruises that Jonathan tried to hide from you. He needs to do this alone, father and son.

You see Nancy watching, and just to spite her you kiss Jonathan’s cheek, relishing in the fact that she looks away, and you wish him luck once again before following her to class.

The test isn’t as bad as you’d feared, and the rest of the day goes by with relative ease. You don’t see much of Steve and his group and you’re thankful for that. Nancy also keeps her distance, no longer attempting to be all buddy buddy with you. A part of you feels bad about that, because honestly the thought of someone thinking you hate them makes you feel physically ill, but as long as Nancy is with someone like Steve, there’s not much you can do about that.

After school you stop by all of Jonathan’s classes and collect the work he’s missed over the last few days; he has enough to worry about, so you figured you could help do some assignments for him. It’s nothing unusual, truth to be told. There was a time you were out for two weeks straight due to the flu one year and Jonathan did every one of your assignments, so it’s about time you returned the favor.

Once you have what you need, you hang up the remaining flyers in your bag and begin your journey to work. You’ve used up all of your sick days helping the Byers, and while Mrs. Waters has insisted on letting you have more time off, you figured the distraction would be good for you. Jonathan will want some space after confronting his dad, and as much as you hated Lonnie, something told you he had nothing to do with Will.

Just when your shift is almost done, your coworker, this young kid named Alex who you’re honestly surprised can legally work, informs you that your mom is on the phone and wants to speak with you. You stack the remaining books in your hands and thank him, walking over to pick up the call.

“Hey, mom. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, sweetie! I was just calling to tell ya that Dusty is at the Wheeler’s tonight for dinner, so my plan for ribs won’t work without him. I was wondering if darling Johnny could feed you tonight? I know the two of you have that little sneaky food game.”

Your posture, once slumped over and uninterested, now straightens out. Why the hell is Dustin having dinner at the Wheeler’s? They never do that. “Uh, sure mom that won’t be an issue.”

Your mom lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless that Jonathan! I’ve always liked him…”

Your mom may be the biggest Jonathan supporter you’ve ever met. “Yeah, he’s your favorite. I know,” you shift a bit to catch Alex’s attention, mouthing to him that you need to leave work early. “Hey, did Dustin by chance say how long he’ll be at the Wheeler’s? I can swing by and pick him up after my shift.”

“Oh, I think he’s staying the night there. He mentioned something about Mike not finishing his part of their little science project?”

They’re calling the little girl a science project now? Boys are so typical. “Oh, I see. Well, I gotta get back to work, mom. I’ll be home late tonight.”

Your mom wishes you goodbye and warns you not to be out too late. You hum, already trying to figure out the quickest route to the Wheeler’s house. You can’t say you’re surprised that Mike didn’t follow the plan, but you also can’t say you were prepared for this either.

Alex comes back with your boss and you quickly make up a lie about not feeling well. Mrs. Waters gives you a pitying look and tells you to go. You’re incredibly grateful for her, she’s like a grandmother to you and has always been so kind.

You quickly bike to Mike’s house, going over a grand speech in your head for the boys. Logistically speaking, you’re not sure if they can even harbor the little girl in his basement. Would it be kidnapping? Could kids even kidnap other kids? You aren’t sure and you definitely aren’t willing to find out.

You arrive at the house just as Nancy and Barb are pulling out of the driveway, presumably to Steve’s grand house party. They wave at you awkwardly and you don’t have it in you to wave back. You park your bike next to their doorstep and knock on the door.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wheeler asks after opening the door.

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could hang out with the boys tonight? Jonathan’s busy and I promised Dustin I’d help with their campaign.”

Mrs. Wheeler cocks her head at you. “But I thought there was a special assembly at the school for Will? Nancy and Barb just left for it.”

You feel your blood boil a bit. There was no assembly for Will at your school, and it was really damn low of Nancy to use his disappearance as a cover story for her stupid party. She’s known Will since he was practically a baby. You have no idea how someone could be so unaffected by a missing child, let alone one who has been at your house every damn weekend for years now.

“Oh, that!” You force yourself to remain calm; there isn’t time to snitch on Nancy, Mrs. Wheeler would only have more questions for you. “Yeah, I’m, uh, skipping it. Jonathan doesn’t want to go, so after he’s back from his errands I’m heading over to his place to, you know, comfort him?”

The woman stares at you for a second, trying to determine if there are any lies to your words. You’ve never been the best liar, but being the oldest Henderson child has unfortunately prepared you for being quick on your feet when needed.

“Well, come on then. They boys just went downstairs, and if you can please remind them to bring the plate of food back up here I’d really appreciate it.”

You thank Mrs. Wheeler and let yourself in. Her words have all but solidified your suspicions: Mike kept the girl.

When you descend the basement steps, it’s almost comical how the kids scramble to hide the girl like little cockroaches. They run around and Dustin screams something about covering her before the poor girl is being manhandled into a sheet as Mike screams at Lucas and Dustin to calm down.

“Guys! It’s just me! Jesus!” You shout, shoving past Mike to rush over to the girl and free her from the sheets. She looks more frightened than usual, but at least she’s alive.

“God, why am I always the one you push?”

You shush Mike, smoothing back the girl’s hair and offering her a reassuring smile. “Remember me, sweetheart?”

The girl nods and softly says, “Y/N.”

“Very good. I’m going to scream at my brother real quick, so why don’t you cover your ears for me so you don’t get too frightened?”

“Wait, what-”

The minute her ears are covered, you turn to Dustin and begin screaming. “Are you brain dead and not understand the words ‘tell me if anything weird happens’ or do you simply lack the appropriate empathy needed for a concerned sister?”

Dustin ducks his head in shame. “Y/N, look-”

“No! I’m all for helping you guys with your adventures and whatever, but Will went missing and then she appears and Mike,” you turn to him and he hides behind a frightened Lucas. “You said you’d stick to your plan. Now tell me, did you?”

Mike shakes his head, his eyes wide. Dustin looks no better as he cowers behind the others. Lucas simply shrugs, knowing that this would happen. You never, ever, yell at the boys; the few times you have in the past, all hell had broken loose.

“Y/N-”

“Zip it, Henderson. I’m so pissed off at you right now and if you want to make it to thirteen I suggest you keep quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, why don’t you guys catch me up on what you’ve so sweetly kept hidden from me.” It’s worded as a question, but the boys know better than to deny you.

You sit on the ground so that you’re next to the girl and then motion for the three boys in front of you to start speaking. They look at Mike, giving him a nudge, and he hesitantly steps forward to begin speaking. “Her name is El.”

The girl, El, looks up at you and smiles. You return the smile and knock your shoulder against hers in a playful manner. “Nice to meet you, can I ask what El is short for?”

“Eleven,” she says, and you want to question the name further but the look on Mike’s face stops you. Now is not the time, you guess.

“El, she’s… different.” Mike continues, looking around nervously. He’s acting as if someone could break in any second and snipe you guys, and a part of you doesn’t doubt it can happen. “She has these powers, like, mind control powers.”

You snort, unable to stop yourself. El looks at you, looking unoffended, seemingly expecting this reaction. However, Mike groans at you. “Y/N, this is serious. She-she knows about Will.”

At this, your smile fades and you feel an overwhelming sense of hope take over you. You find your arms wrapping around El before you can control yourself and you give her a tight hug. She stiffens in your arms and you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I just… sorry.”

She laughs a bit, softly saying that it’s okay.

“Do you really know Will? Where he is?” You ask, almost too scared to say the words out loud. If she’s telling the truth… you shake your head in an attempt to dispel any false hope. You don’t know this girl, she could be lying.

Before El can say anything else, Mike speaks for her. “She does, but there’s bad men out there who want to hurt her. I think they’re after Will, too.”

You freeze. “Bad men?”

“Yes, this is why we didn’t want to tell you!”

“I wanted to tell her,” Lucas says, which causes Mike to glare at him.

You wave your arms at the two boys, breaking up their fight. “Mike, what do you mean by bad men? Honey,” you look at El, “did someone hurt you? Are you in danger? Should I call the police?”

“No!” All three boys shout at once.

You look at them, at the genuine fear in their eyes, and sigh, “Okay, if you can give me a good reason not to call the cops, I won’t.”

“Did you not hear the part about El having powers?” Dustin asks.

“Gee, Dustin. You’re right! It’s like her having powers is totally believable and reassuring to the situation at hand!”

“I can show you,” El speaks up.

You all face her now. “You can?”

She nods at you, getting up and grabbing your backpack that you threw on the ground when you walked in. She rustles through it while you and the boys look at one another. After a few seconds, El grabs one of your comic books and places it on the table. She looks at you and tilts her head, indicating for you to sit down next to her; you do as you’re told.

El straightens out your comic and then closes her eyes, going completely still. The air around you shifts and you can practically feel the static electricity encasing you; the hair on your arms stand up. The pages of the comic begin to flick up, fluttering as if someone is thumbing through them in rapid succession. You watch as the Spidey panels flash before your eyes, the pages flying faster and faster until it becomes almost frightening to be near. Then, once it gets to its last page, the comic flies up into the air and hovers for a few seconds, right in front of your face.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your eyes wide.

Just as quickly as it began, the comic drops back onto the table. You look up at El and see that her nose is now bleeding, which rips you back to reality. The chair scrapes against the ground as you get up to help her, dabbing at the blood with a tissue that had been laying on the table.

“Do you believe us now?” Mike asks, a smug look on his face.

You gently wipe away the remaining blood from El’s face, looking her in the eye and directing your words to her. “I’m listening, sweetheart. What can you do to help us find Will?”

El smiles, pleased to have earned your trust, and you get the feeling that this little girl is the most powerful thing in all of Hawkins, maybe even the world. At her request, Mike places his DnD board on the table and arranges the pieces for El to use. She sits down and closes her eyes once more.

Lucas gives you a doubtful look. “What’s the weirdo doing?”

You flick his head, not enjoying the name calling. Honestly, you thought you raised these boys better than that.

El seems to accomplish whatever she was doing and picks up the wizard piece, murmuring, “Will.”

You feel your heart stop. Will always insisted on being the wizard whenever they played the game. He was Will the Wise, forever and always. El couldn’t have simply guessed that, and you know it’s her-

“Superpowers,” Dustin finishes your thought for you. The two of you exchange a glance and you notice the slight glee in his eyes. Under different circumstances, you’d also find this all pretty cool.

Mike sits next to El and begins to ask some questions about where she last saw Will. She gives him a look that you can’t quite decipher before swiping her arm across the table and spilling the pieces onto the floor. She then flips the board over, having it now face upside down, and places Will’s piece back down.

You knit your brows together, trying to follow along. El’s movements are methodical and carefully planned, being unable to find the right words due to her poor speech, and you try to piece together the information you’ve been given.

“I don’t understand,” Mike says, being extra gentle with El. You’ve never seen him so soft spoken before and you’re grateful at least one of the boys doesn’t view her as some monster. Which reminds you that you need to have a conversation with Dustin about respecting women, but for now you’ll hold off.

“Hiding.” says El.

He’s good at hiding, Jonathan’s words echo in your head.

“Will is hiding?”

El nods, now looking more nervous. You can tell that Mike is getting closer to information that she doesn’t want him near, which finally causes you to ask the question that’s been heavily on your mind. “From the bad men?”

Now El gives a slight shake of the head, and Mike presses on. “Then from who?”

Without saying anything, El places a second piece onto the board right in front of Will’s. It’s a piece you’re unfamiliar with, with two snake-like heads that loom over the small wizard piece. Whatever it is, you know it isn’t good judging the way Mike, Dustin, and Lucas look at each other in fear.

You turn to Dustin and whisper, “What’s that piece?”

Your brother puts his hands behind his head and sighs deeply, a new resigned look on his face. He looks as if he’s just aged thirty years, which you find a bit dramatic. “It’s the Demogorgon.”

“The Demo-what?” The name sounds familiar, but you can’t remember anything about it.

Mike looks at you and for once his voice holds no annoyance when he says, “There’s a lot we still have to catch you up on.”

–

Your head is spinning as you bike to Jonathan’s with all the new information you’ve just received. Demogorgons, magical vortexes, kids with damn superpowers. It’s all a lot for you to take in, and while you fully believe that El is something entirely different from a normal little girl, how can you be sure that it’s connected to Will? While his disappearance still confuses you, it’s illogical to jump to supernatural conclusions.

Dustin had begged you to let him spend the night at Mikes in order to keep talking to El, and you only agreed because you figured you’d be at Jonathan’s again tonight anyways. He’s been MIA all day and you’re worried as usual, but you made him and Mike swear to you that they’d stay put in the house. At least this way they’re in one place, so if they screw around they’ll be easier to find.

When you arrive at the Byers home you notice that Jonathan’s car isn’t in the driveway, which only confuses you further. Where the hell is he? You gave him all day to deal with Lonnie and cool off, trusting that he wouldn’t do anything stupid for twelve hours, and yet…

You fear he’s done something stupid.

You don’t have time to think too much about Jonathan’s absence because a frantic Joyce runs out the door screaming. She runs straight past you and into her car, and the house begins to light up like a Christmas tree. You can hear The Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go, a song that Will once had on repeat for three weeks straight, and you can feel the same static electricity in the air that you felt when El used her powers in front of you.

Joyce suddenly gets out of the car and spots you, pointing towards her house. “You see that too?”

You swallow. “Yeah,”

She nods, as if your confirmation is all she needs to determine her sanity, and then marches inside. You stand in the yard, motionless. You’re terrified, and after learning about El tonight, you don’t have it in you to discover any other supernatural beings in Hawkins at the moment. Sighing, you follow after the woman because Jonathan isn’t home and someone needs to talk her down from whatever panic attack the flashing lights have inevitably caused.

“Mrs. Byers-”

“Y/N, you can’t tell me there isn’t something,” Joyce waves her hands in front of her face, almost grasping at the air, “weird about all of this. That was Will’s song, the lights were flashing in Will’s room, something came out of Will’s wall-”

“Something came out of his wall?”

“Yes! I’m not… I promise I’m not crazy, okay? You saw it, please tell me you saw it.”

You bite your lip, now thinking about El. You swore to Mike you wouldn’t tell anyone about her, and honestly you’re not sure that you should tell Joyce about her right now. You’re still unsure if El is being honest with you, and you can’t just give the woman false hope for her son. It’d kill you if you were wrong about El. But seeing the lights, hearing the music, the thing in the wall… There’s something that she’s not telling you.

“Mrs. Byers… I’m not quite sure what I saw, but we just had a bad storm and it could be faulty wiring.”

Joyce slumps her shoulders, frustrated that you aren’t conspiring with her. You just… you can’t. Not yet. Not before you figure out what the hell El is doing in Hawkins. You refuse to worsen Joyce’s already chronic anxiety and paranoia; Jonathan would never forgive you if you fed into her delusions, but it kills you to lie to her.

“Look, I do think that something is weird about this entire situation, “ Joyce’s face lights up, but you’re quick to add, “however, there’s no proof. You, I mean-Mrs. Byers, you’ve seen things in the past. You’re stressed, and anxious, and all the other synonyms.”

The woman lets a few tears drop from her eyes, now embarrassed. “Maybe you’re right. I-I’m sorry, honey. I just-”

You grab her hand. “I know,”

Her smile is brittle, a ghost of the once beautiful smile she’d give you, and your heart breaks for her.

After your conversation, Joyce excuses herself to her room. She looks even more exhausted than before, so you leave her alone and hole yourself up in Jonathan’s room.

You glance at your watch and note the late hour; you’re starting to worry now. Jonathan didn’t mention anything besides Lonnie and the posters, so you don’t know what else he could be doing so late. He wouldn’t go searching for Will without you.

You wake up to Jonathan returning an hour or so later, apparently having fallen asleep while waiting for him.

“Y/N?” His voice is gruff and surprised.

You groan and rub your eyes. “Turn the light off, bee.”

He doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

The tone of his voice wakes you up a bit, making you sit up and look at him more clearly. His shoulders are tense, his eyes are hiding something, and his overall demeanor is hard to read. “I had something to tell you, but is everything okay?”

“You couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Y/N, this is my house, just… just get out.”

“I’m sorry?” You’re confused by his behavior, now starting to become a bit defensive and hurt by his dismissal.

“You can’t just let yourself in whenever you please.” Jonathan puts his camera on his desk, still refusing to meet your eyes.

“Jonathan, we literally have always let ourselves into each other’s houses whenever we please.”

He rolls his eyes at you and rips off his jacket, throwing it at you. “Get out!”

You catch the jacket before it hits you in the face. “What the hell, Jonathan!”

“Listen, I get that you think you’re a part of the family, but you’re not. You’ve been here for days now, it’s getting old.”

His words cut through you and leave vicious wounds against your skin. He doesn’t mean that, he can’t mean that. You and him were family. He’s never, ever insinuated anything less. He wouldn’t dare. Your Jonathan would never act like this to you, and the only time he’s ever been this cruel to you was when he accidentally dropped Lonnie’s last beer in the fridge and was too embarrassed and ashamed to ask for help; he’d shown up with bruises later that night.

Then it hits you. He did something, something that makes him feel guilty; he keeps glancing at his camera. You soften your voice, “Bee, what did you do?”

He whips around, now yelling. “Nothing! Just get the hell out of my house! It’s getting pathetic!”

You swallow back the angry tears that build in your throat. Fine. Whatever. Let him be a raging bitch after everything you’ve done for him these last few days.

“Fine, I will.” Grabbing your backpack you snatch the assignments you were supposed to give Jonathan and slam them against his chest. “Here’s all your fucking assignments, by the way.”

He seems to come back to himself, blinking away the anger and shame. “Bug…”

“You don’t get to call me that.” And with that, you don’t spare Jonathan another glance.

–

When you get home, the house is eerily quiet. Dustin is at Mike’s and your mom leaves you a note saying that she’s spending the night at your aunt’s. Great. Looks like it’s just you and Mews tonight then.

After everything that’s happened tonight, you never found time to eat dinner, and your stomach is loudly growling. You drop your stuff in your room and then reheat some leftovers, feeling like a pathetic child. You know that Jonathan didn’t mean what he said, but the words had come too easily to him to have just been a way to dodge his guilt. There had been some truth to them. Maybe you were pathetic for always fretting over him.

Dinner is quiet tonight.

You wait for the phone to ring, for Jonathan to call you and apologize, but the call never comes.

You’ve never felt so alone before.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #the thought of steve just taking will's missing poster and then being like oh shit was so funny to me i had to add it #also sad ending #sorry #but also not

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emeraldelixirs · 1 month ago

Text

Bloodsport {II:when the party’s over}

bsf! m. riddle x fem!sallow!reader, stepbrother! t. nott x fem!sallow!reader

Bound by Blood, Betrayed by Fate. When you’re dragged to Malfoy Manor under orders from Voldemort himself, you learn the price of your mother’s mistakes: an Unbreakable Vow, tethering your life to the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. Forced to navigate a web of dark magic, family debts, and impossible expectations, you must tread carefully in a house brimming with enemies—and a few familiar faces. As tensions rise and the lines between loyalty and survival blur, one question remains: will you find a way to break free, or will you lose yourself to the darkness?

Content warnings: 18+ themes, angst, dark, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, blood, swearing, fighting, taboo themes, underage coercion, predatory behavior, suggestive content, underage recreational drug and alcohol use, typical canon HP themes of blood purity, house prejudices, oppression, lmk if I miss anything this chapter is considerably lengthy with detail

Word count: 8k oops

A/n: is it really a slytherin fic if it doesn’t have a party scene? sorta hehe sorry. but we have the whole gang together in this, and that’s why i love this part sm, easily so far my pride and joy of what i have written for this fic. also collectively the longest chapter ive ever written for any fic ive wrote…ever. banter and comedic relief is really my bread and butter

[playlist: televised—hunny, bite my tongue—you me at six, softcore—the neighbourhood, do i wanna know—arctic monkeys, kyoto—phone bridgers, people—the 1975, fourth of july—sufjan stevens, when the party’s over-from the room below—sleep token, seventeen going under—sam fender]

<< previous part >> || << next part >>

The Zabini Villa roared with laughter, loud chatter, and throbbing music that seemed to make the very walls vibrate. Judging by the unfamiliar faces crowding every room, this party had spiraled well past its original circle of Hogwarts pure-bloods like Blaise had originally intended for. You and Theo wove through the throng, his large, warm hand secured at the small of your back, guiding you gently while you led the way.

“There’s no way all these people are from Hogwarts,” Theo quipped, batting away a gaudy streamer that dangled in front of his face.

“Merlin, no,” you muttered, forcing a polite smile at Millicent Bulstrode as she brushed by, then reverting to a frown once she was gone. “Everyone must sense this might be the last Zabini bash they’ll ever see.”

And perhaps they were right. The Daily Prophet had plastered the story across its front page at the end of term: the Department of Mysteries debacle was conclusive proof that Voldemort was back. The second wizarding war had begun to weave its dark tendrils into daily life, pulling you—and your friends—deeper into roles none of you wanted. Now, your presence at this party felt less like revelry and more like obligation. But among the upper-inner circles you roamed, appearances were everything still. You and your friends had a carefully maintained status quo, and no looming war would undo that overnight.

Not that you were simply a carefree teen. You were also Bellatrix’s pawn: the one she nudged around the board, using you to lure secrets from the gullible, offering your company to the wavering. You tried not to dwell on that as you made a beeline for the kitchens, your chest feeling tight beneath the weight of her instructions.

“The less your peers know, the better,” she’d sneered earlier that week, pacing in the Malfoy Manor drawing room.

“We may never know who might have vital information—on their family, their loyalties, their resources…” Her cold eyes had narrowed on you, a grimace of satisfaction twisting her features.

“Do you understand, girl?”

“Yes… Mistress,” you’d been forced to concede, swallowing your hatred.

Now the memory fluttered through your head as you stepped into Blaise’s expansive kitchen. You exhaled, relieved at the relative calm. Maybe you could breathe easier here, at least for a moment.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Theo said, noticing the faraway look in your eyes. He maneuvered around you, snagging two cups from an array of colorful bottles lined across the counters.

To your mild surprise, the kitchen wasn’t packed—only a handful of people rummaged for snacks or chattered over glasses of spiked punch. The music, mercifully, was less ear-splitting.

You leaned against the moss agate countertop, the cool surface grounding you. Theo’s presence was a balm, as it always had been. You’d known him since infancy, your mothers having been close friends long before war divided loyalties. And his father—your now stepfather—had become a mentor to your own father before his untimely death.

Theo had been there for every moment that mattered: the good, the bad, the life-altering. Neither of you wore icy apathy like a shield towards one another; instead, your shared experiences had created an unspoken understanding. A bond as unshakable as it was fraught.

A hand slid around your shoulder, making you jump.

“Oi,” Daphne Greengrass said, lips quirking into a half-smile. “So jumpy. Relax—it’s a party.”

You forced a semblance of a grin, tension dissolving a fraction when you saw it was just her. “Daph…”

She pressed a friendly kiss to your cheek, eyes darting between you and Theo. “Where in Salazar’s name have you two been? Blaise is losing his mind—he’s about ready to hex the pair of you for being late.”

She didn’t know half of it since this was the first time you’d seen her since summer began; how Bellatrix had forced you into an unbreakable vow; how Theo had been dragged into the Dark Lord’s fold with no way out. War loomed in every corner, and Daphne, blissfully unaware, was closer to its claws than she realized. And you hadn’t been sure you wanted her to know, terribly naive, too pure for the mud you and the other rolled around in now.

You shrugged lightly, deflecting. “Busy summer.”

She jabbed a finger at you, pouting. “More importantly, where have my letters gone?! I wrote you heaps!”

You flinched. She pulled away, stepping around the island to give Theo a quick squeeze and a smacking kiss on the cheek. “You do realize our father’s in Azkaban currently?” Theo replied for you, tone sharper than usual, though that never deterred Daphne.

“And?” she retorted, placing her hands on her hips. “A simple note to tell me you’re fine would’ve been comforting, you git.”

Theo set his jaw, a flicker of apology in his eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

You parted your lips to intervene, but Daphne continued chastising Theo, her exasperation morphing into mild relief that both of you were safe. Then launching into her usual Daphne updates, like a beat wasn’t missed: an outfit she saw that reminded her of you, the gossip she heard—that you too should have known—since school ended, or where her family was choosing to stay for holiday.

Somewhere in her mini-lecture, she casually mentioned:

“Oh, and watch out—someone said Lord Rosier’s nephew, Evander, is here tonight, skulking around somewhere. You know the Rosiers, always up to something… shady.” Then she held her arm as she twirled a piece of her honey blond hair, thoughtfully. Then adding in, “though I remember him being so handsome back in first year—shame.”

An internal pang reminded you of the other very real reason you were here—to attempt to gain information from any possible prominent names in attendance. Her offhand comment sent your thoughts spiraling because this was, if not, the biggest prominent name on the list of contacts Bellatrix had talked about. The Rosiers were an influential pure-blood family, their allegiances as ambiguous as they were dangerous. If Evander was here, he might have information Bellatrix would find valuable.

You masked your interest, offering a polite nod. Inside, determination sparked more than it ever had since you were pushed into task. If you could pry even a shred of intel from Evander, it might buy you some breathing room—enough to finish your summer coursework without Bellatrix breathing down your neck. Even for a week? Then you could surely spend the rest of summer doing her bidding, or gods knows what, and maybe hold together your sanity?

“Need to… use the bathroom,” you excused yourself, ignoring Daphne’s frown of confusion. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and knowing. But he let it go, turning back to placate Daphne.

Your mind thrummed: Find Evander. Ask the right questions. Remember Bellatrix’s instructions. Your stomach twisted in equal parts excitement and dread. This had been it—a moment to prove yourself.

You scourged the main corridors of the party, narrowly dodging your friends and peers, with no sign of the infamous wizard yet.

Did you even remember what he looked like?

Finally giving up on the obvious, you slipped into a hallway that led away from the main commotion. Passing ornate paintings and the occasional couple giggling in corners towards the back wing of the villa, you found a partially open door—likely Blaise’s mother’s study or personal lounge. Light spilled through the crack of the sturdy mahogany door with noise of man humming lightly.

You took a breath, moving slowly to peak through the ajar door.

A tall, slender wizard with sharp cheekbones and slicked-back hair leaned against a sideboard, swirling a glass of brandy. It was him—Evander Rosier, you had remembered him from when he attended Hogwarts faintly now. He was in 6th year when you had only first been sorted, but you remembered his distinctive features anywhere. He was the head boy for Slytherin by his 7th, with a gleaming smile, and dimpled cheeks that made all the girls swoon.

Not you though, you weren’t easily charmed with looks, even when people thought of you to think different. Veelas or those with Veela lineage held ideologies that vastly contrasted the stereotype, but that may have been something your mother had just told you. You never met her side of the family or knew much besides they disowned her when she married your father.

Taking a deep breath, you took a baited one right after, faking a casual stroll into the room, glancing behind your shoulder for anyone that may have seen. The space was richly decorated with dark wood shelves, a looming portrait of some Zabini ancestor, and a deep emerald rug that muffled your footsteps.

Evander glanced up when you entered, eyebrows raised in mild curiosity. “Can I help you?” he asked, not unkindly, but distant.

You summoned your best coy grin. “Oh, sorry—I was looking for a quieter spot.” You let your gaze trail meaningfully over the spines of expensive books, then back to him. “Didn’t realize someone was here.”

He shrugged, taking another sip. “I don’t care for crowds. You can stay if you’d like.”

Perfect. You let out a soft sigh, stepping closer. “Crowds can be suffocating, can’t they?” you said, letting just the right note of empathy creep into your voice. “Especially these days, with the rumors swirling… people are so on edge.”

He gave a short laugh, swirling the brandy again. “Rumors. Right.” His eyes darted to the door. “Though some rumors are more than that, if you catch my drift.”

Your heart gave a little leap. This was going somewhere. “I do,” you murmured, feigning a shadow of concern. “Everyone’s talking about… you know, Him. People say families might be forced to pick a side again.”

He stiffened slightly. “And do you have a side, Miss…?”

You offered a small, self-deprecating laugh, hand pressed lightly to your collarbone in a subtle attempt to seem compelling. “Selle.” You opt for your mother’s maiden name. “I’m just a young witch, worried about my future, about where my family stands. It’s all so uncertain. Forgive me if I overstep.”

His expression softened slightly. “Curiosity isn’t a sin, Miss Selle. But it’s a dangerous habit to cultivate these days.”

You forced a bashful smile, letting your lashes flutter—just as Bellatrix had drilled into you. “I only ask because… I want to be prepared. For whatever’s coming.”

His gaze flicked over you, lingering for a moment too long, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Preparedness is admirable. But it can also attract… unwanted attention.” He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Are you sure we haven’t met before? You seem… familiar.”

He thinks I’m flirting, you realized with a jolt of disgust. But you pressed on. If you wanted these secrets, you had to endure the creeping slime of his interest, you reminded yourself of your training with Bellatrix.

Your throat tightened, and your pulse quickened. “I don’t think so,” you replied, aiming for nonchalance. “But perhaps you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, though his eyes betrayed lingering doubt. He reached out, brushing a knuckle against your shoulder—a gesture that made your skin crawl, though you resisted the urge to recoil and continued to flutter your lashes up at him.

“How are you preparing for the inevitable…forgive me,” you touched his arm, thoughtfully. “I hadn’t caught your name yet?”

He studied you, the softened sharpness of doubt in his eye dissipating as he stared at you. “Evander Rosier,” he said, dazed. “My uncle’s always forging alliances, scouting alternative avenues. Now that the Ministry’s rattled…” A dopey like smirk curved his lips?

That was interesting—unexpectedly your charm had begun to work. You forced your expression to remain neutral, your mind racing to process what he’d just revealed. “Alternative avenues,” you echoed, letting the words hang in the air. “Like… trade alliances? Resource management?”

His fingers trailed down your arm slowly. “We’re… considering our options. With the Ministry in disarray, alliances are fragile. It’s a precarious time for everyone.” The closer he stayed, the more his cologne hit you like a wall of acrid fumes, sharp and cloying, filling the air between you with an almost suffocating intensity.

“But you have the resources,” you pressed, letting a trace of awe color your voice, though you upturned your nose avoiding his heady overpowering musk. “The foresight. Surely the Rosiers aren’t relying on chance.”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Chance is a fool’s game. Let’s just say we’re exploring alternative avenues. Not everyone sees eye-to-eye with the Dark Lord’s methods, you know.”

You nodded in understanding. “Your family must be analytical. I envy that, mine can be so naive and misled, never seeing the bigger picture.” A scoff to feign disdain.

“You’re quite inquisitive, Miss Selle. Should I be worried you’ll pass on every word I say to some rival faction?” A charming smile donned his features as he teased you.

You bit your lip, acting as if you were being bashful. “Oh, hush,” you said lightly, playing coy. “I just want to know where the wind blows. For my own safety.”

The air weighed heavy, and you felt a flush of shame. But you forced a sweet smile until he relaxed again, rambling about his relatives’ hush-hush business deals and doubts about the Dark Lord. You caught snatches of who they might recruit, how they planned to hide assets, all the while your heartbeat thundered at your success.

Eventually, he glanced at the time and frowned. “I’ve got to mingle. But perhaps we’ll talk again?” He grabbed your hand, brushing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You swallowed your revulsion. “I would hope, Mr. Rosier.”

“You’re surprisingly… charming,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, as he brought your hand to his lips, kissing your hand.

You forced a tight smile, leaning into his touch just enough to keep the illusion intact. “Likewise,” you murmured, stepping back to break the contact. “I should probably get back as well. My friends will start wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

Evander’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Of course. Do take care, Miss Selle. The world is a dangerous place for the… unprepared.”

With that, he tipped his glass in a mock salute and slipped out of the study without another word. You waited a moment before you made your way out of the room, your chest tight and your mind racing. The information he’d shared was valuable, no doubt—but the cost of acquiring it had left a bitter taste in your mouth. A mixture of triumph and nausea churned in your stomach. You’d gleaned valuable info—Bellatrix would be pleased. But the cost felt steep.

Emerging from the study, you felt shaky, so you snatched a drink from a passing tray and downed it in one go. You nearly bumped into Pansy, who’d apparently been looking for you.

“There you are!” she scolded, linking your arm with hers. “We’re headed to the veranda for fresh air—Blaise wants to smoke.”

Her eyes lit on your face, puzzling over your unsettled expression. “Are you… okay?”

You forced a bright grin. “Sure, yeah. Just… too many people in there.”

But your hands trembled slightly, and Pansy noticed. She frowned. “You’re sure?”

Before you could answer, Daphne’s voice floated over, calling, “Y/n, there you are! Was the toilet enchanted and sucked you in?” She stopped short, noticing your stiff posture. “What’s going on?”

They both stared at you with that worry in their eyes. They didn’t know the half of it—how deep you and the others were entangled in the Dark Lord’s web.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, plastering on a wry smile. “This place is packed. I had to go all the way to the other side of the house to use Blaise’s personal bathroom, the line was so long. Got cornered by some ex-Slytherin alumni, talking my ear off on the way back.”

Daphne’s brows rose. “You? Getting cornered by random men? Never.” She tried to sound playful, but her eyes flickered with concern. “Ugh, well, you’re safe now, with us.”

You almost winced, remembering how you’d endured the man’s touch and questions just minutes ago. But you just shrugged it off. Keep the mask on, you reminded yourself, following your friends closely through the throng of wizards and witches.

Inwardly, you clung to the swirl of relief. The idea of being surrounded by your close friends, you could put on your old persona again—just a teenage witch out for a good time—never mind the dark secrets burning a hole in your mind.

After edging away from the house’s main hall, you emerged onto a white stone veranda that stretched grandly across the villa’s rear façade. Tall, dark mahogany beams framed the space like silent guardians, while beyond them, the night sky hung heavy with stars. Music reverberated from within, muffled here by the draped entrances.

In one corner of the veranda, your circle of friends had gathered like a small court. The aura they exuded—Mattheo, Draco, Theo, Enzo, and your host, Blaise—repelled most other party-goers, who lingered meters away. Perhaps the others sensed that an entourage of Death Eater heirs—and the Dark Lord’s heir himself—was too intimidating a scene to breach. Even in the chaos of this unexpectedly crowded party, power commanded distance.

Daphne let out an excited squeal as she dropped into one of the cushioned iron chairs by Blaise. “Everyone’s together again!” she cheered, blissfully unaware of the that undercut what lingered around her within her own friends.

Pansy strolled over to Enzo, who stood near Blaise, indulgently smoking a joint that was being passed around. A swirl of smoke left his lips just as Pansy pinched his arm, snatching the cylinder from his hand.

“Oi, Pans—what the fuck?!” he snapped, rubbing his arm.

“Looked like you were hogging it,” she retorted with a nonchalant shrug, raising the joint to her lips.

A slight grin tugged at your mouth, and you ruffled Enzo’s hair as you walked past, heading to drape your arms around Blaise’s shoulders from behind in a gesture of greeting. “Sorry for being late,” you murmured. He patted your arm briefly, acceptance in his silence.

You then moved to the wide couch where Theo and Draco were seated. They each gave you a subdued nod. Theo casually rested his arm across the back of the couch, behind you, as though you’d never been apart. Draco gave a subtle tilt of his lips—a sort of half-smile, half-cool acknowledgment.

“More like you ladies were taking forever,” Enzo grumbled, adjusting his fluffy brown hair, glaring at Pansy who was now inhaling deeply on the stolen joint.

“It took us ages to find Y/N,” Pansy interjected, her tone pointed as she exhaled a plume of smoke that curled overhead.

You raised a brow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this party was less than sacred among our peers and needed some solitude at the other end of the house.” The smoothness in your voice was practiced, every bit of forced normalcy. You’d slip a mask over the chaos that churned in your racing thoughts, bidding to grant yourself grace for the rest of the night. You’d done what you needed, there was no need to dig for more.

Across from you, Daphne let her legs drape over the arm of her chair, and Mattheo silently passed the joint her way. She took a swift drag, then handed it off to Draco.

Blaise let out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t realize either, okay?” he said, gesturing at the throng of unfamiliar wizards mingling through the open archways. “Apparently, the world’s craving a distraction with… well, everything going on.”

You flicked a look at Theo. He met your gaze, then glanced at Mattheo, who had fixed his dark eyes on you—a hard stare that spoke of annoyance or concern briefly flitting to your now healed hands, then back to your eyes. Your stomach knotted as he scowled deeper, snapping his gaze away the second you raised a questioning brow.

It stung. He was—is—your best friend, along with Theo. Inseparable, you three. Hell, he basically lived with you and Theo at this point. Had his own room in the guest wing and everything. So why did he choose to be distant when you needed him most? When he needed you the most?

“Probably never a good sign if Evander Rosier’s milling about,” Pansy said, taking another slow drag before handing the joint to Draco. She wrinkled her nose. “That man’s a menace.”

Daphne propped her head up, eyes alight with curiosity. “Is he still as handsome as he was in school?” She twirled her hair, kicking her feet idly off the chair’s arm.

“Daph, the guy’s a weasel—” you started, rolling your eyes.

“That prat is here?” Mattheo muttered, stepping forward and running a tense hand through his curls. He spat the words low enough that only your group would hear. There was something almost feral in his tone, like he itched for a confrontation.

Draco leaned in, elbows on his knees. “Bold of him, considering his family's got major targets on their backs for switching allegiances when it suited them. Heard the Dark Lord isn’t fond of turncoats. You’d think they’d keep their heads down.”

“Exactly,” Mattheo agreed, starting to pace in the limited space of the veranda. Each step exuded pent-up energy, a sign of the storm roiling beneath his brooding façade. “I don’t trust him,” Mattheo muttered.

“You don’t trust anyone,” Pansy quipped, leaning into Enzo’s side as she blew a huff of air to fix her bangs.

Mattheo didn’t bother replying, his jaw clenching tighter. Draco, seated at his side of the couch, shifted slightly, one leg crossing over the other as his cool gray gaze flicked between Mattheo and Theo. A hum of knowledge unspoken as the dark curly haired boy continued pacing, his equally dark eyes sharp and restless. His shoulders were tight beneath his tailored jacket, each step deliberate but restrained, as though holding back something more volatile.

War was creeping into every aspect of your lives. It was easy to mask it under booze, weed, and forced smiles, but it only took a mention of someone like Rosier to remind you that trouble lurked everywhere.

“Well, Mattheo’s not wrong,” Draco said, breaking the silence. His tone was measured, but his words carried weight. “If Evander Rosier’s here, it’s for a reason. And it’s not to mingle.”

Daphne, ignorant to the depth of that trouble, scoffed. “You lot are so dramatic. Maybe he’s just here to enjoy the party. Could be a rumor, anyway—who said he’s committing treason?”

Pansy grimaced. “Not treason, survival,” she corrected, flicking her gaze your way. “Rosier’s family is desperate to cling to whatever power they have left. Bet they’ll sell out friends or enemies alike to keep afloat.”

“And what does it matter to us?” Daphne countered, her tone breezy but her eyes narrowing. “We’re not the ones making alliances, are we?”

Her words struck a chord—you forced yourself not to flinch, remembering how you and Theo, Mattheo, and even Draco plus Enzo had been entangled in the Dark Lord’s webs. You busied your hands by taking the joint from Theo and inhaling a bitter drag. A tingle of numbness slid through your veins, but the conversation kept your mind from fully escaping.

Theo, finally spoke up. His arm still rested casually along the back of the couch, his fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the fabric, growing antsy. “If Rosier’s family is trying to play both sides, that makes him a liability to everyone. Including us.”

The group fell silent, the weight of his words settling like a shroud, uncomfortably close to the truth.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Y/n,” Pansy noted, arching a brow as she glanced your way. “Something on your mind?”

You exhaled smoke, crafting your face into something neutral. “Just listening,” you deflected, passing the joint to Enzo. “Watching the crowd, seeing who’s worth noticing.”

“You just smoked!” Enzo complained, though he took the cylinder greedily.

Mattheo’s pacing halted, his gaze snapping to you with hawk-like sharpness. “Did you talk to him?” he asked abruptly.

The question sent a ripple through your friends, each set of eyes anchoring on you.

You wanted to scoff, nothing got past him, did it? Feeling so entitled to know everything you did, despite keeping you at arms length right now.

You hesitated—barely a fraction of a second—long enough for Mattheo’s eyes to narrow. “Briefly,” you confessed, keeping your tone cool. “He wasn’t direct, but he hinted his family might not be as loyal to the Dark Lord as they pretend. Could be worth telling—”

“You shouldn’t have,” Mattheo cut you off, voice throbbing with repressed anger. “You can’t toy with Rosier, he’s dangerous.” Mattheo’s scowl deepened, and he ran a hand through his dark curls in frustration. “You believed him?”

Something about his hostility riled you. You straightened, the high of the smoke fueling a rush of bravado, everyone became muffled background noise. “I’m not toying with him, I’m gaining information. If any of it’s true, we can use it. If not—”

“Y/n,” Theo leaned forward, trying to interrupt.

“Use it for what? Bellatrix’s schemes?” Mattheo interrupted him, bitterness dripping from every word. “For what? For him to use you for his schemes as well now?”

The words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You straightened your spine, the mask of confidence you’d worn all evening hardening.

“I’m not toying with anyone,” you said quietly, doubling down on your stance. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Mattheo snapped. “Because it seems like you’re getting in over your head stupidly.” His words laced with venom.

“Mattheo.” Theo’s voice became sharper, his arm tensed along the back of the couch, but his body coming forward. You put a hand on his chest, pushing lightly him back into the couch.

“No, let him finish,” the words left your mouth before you could stop them. You had been bemused almost. These were the most words you had garnered from him—in the form of an argument nonetheless—something that shouldn’t have shocked you.

Mattheo’s eyes burned into yours, the intensity of his gaze almost unbearable. “You think Bellatrix cares if you come back in one piece? You think she’s sending you out there because she trusts you?” Mattheo’s voice rose, drawing the attention of several onlookers. He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You’re disposable to her, Y/n. We all are.”

A hush descended, the weight of his outburst making the veranda feel smaller. The truth of his words cut deep, but you refused to flinch. Instead, you held his gaze, your jaw tightening.

Somewhere in the corner, Blaise stood, shock and anger etched across his features. “Wait, wait, wait–a gods forsaken second!” Blaise demanded, half to the group, half to you, looking from Theo to Draco to Mattheo for clarity. “Bellatrix’s schemes? Gaining information? What the hell have you lot been doing this summer?”

You didn’t need legilimency to see how Daphne, now realized how serious this was, sat upright, eyes wide. “You guys are… involved with the Dark Lord? And you never told—”

Pansy paled, anxiety twisting her face. “Merlin, did you take the Mark?” She peered at Enzo, then Theo, then you, voice trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t. Tell me you still have a choice.”

Enzo shifted, inhaling sharply, “Well, only Theo and Matt—uh…”

He trailed off, a fateful hush smothering the veranda. The color drained from Blaise’s cheeks; Pansy’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Daphne opened and closed her mouth, at a total loss, the illusions of carefree youth shattered before all your eyes.

The stress in your chest mounted, your mind swirling with guilt for all you’d hidden. Theo leaned forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Enzo…” he grumbled.

Mattheo’s nostrils flared, fists clenching at his sides. “You… you twat!” he snarled, rounding on Enzo. Anger and frustration overloaded him, the tension snapping like a frayed wire of weeks of him barely holding it together

In one swift motion, he lunged for Enzo. The other wizard watchers on the other side of the veranda corner recoiled, startled, as Daphne yelped, tumbling off her seat. The metal chair scraped violently across the stone. Pansy rushed to her aide while the rest of you scrambled to break up the fight.

Draco and Theo tried to pry Mattheo off Enzo, who’d ended up pinned on the floor. Blaise tried to help, but Mattheo and Enzo were locked in a tangle of furious limbs, fists swinging, sounds of fists connecting to bone. Shouts rose from the party-goers that remained, some jeering, others stepping back to watch the spectacle like a twisted show.

Your stomach churned. You’d known everyone was on edge, but seeing them physically brawl—to the point of bruises, cut lips, and swollen eyes—felt like a bitter confirmation that the war had long sunk its claws into your friend group, fracturing the dynamic you all once held.

Your hands shook as you sprang forward alongside Blaise, trying to wedge yourself between the two hotheaded boys. Theo had latched onto Mattheo’s arm, Draco pulling Enzo, but the pair still flailed with adrenaline and rage.

“Stop—stop it!” you yelled, voice cracking with tears you refused to shed. You could glimpse Enzo’s dazed expression beneath Mattheo’s clenched fist. The savage twist in Mattheo’s features struck you with guilt—had you caused this?

Finally, with combined effort, Draco, Blaise, and Theo yanked the two fighters apart. Mattheo staggered backward, panting and furious, his lip split, while Enzo lay on the floor, coughing, a bruise already forming on his jaw, eye swelling. The veranda fell into a stunned silence as party-goers parted to watch.

Blaise, face grim, holding onto the younger man. “You got him?” He asked, and you nodded quickly as he let Enzo slouch into your grasp. He then stepped forward and brandished his wand with authority. “That’s it. Party’s done—get out!” he roared at the onlookers, who quickly backed away, murmuring in hushed tones. Some half-scurried to the exit, others lingered but kept their distance.

You knelt by Enzo, gently brushing back his chocolate brown hair. Despite your anger at him, you couldn’t stop the wave of compassion. His nose was swollen, maybe broken, and blood trickled down his chin. He looked up at you, eyes full of remorse.

“S-sorry,” Enzo whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… hold still, we’ll get you patched up soon.”

Near you, Mattheo stood rigid, fists still trembling, you shot him a bitter glare. Theo hovered, breaths ragged, one arm loosely supporting Mattheo, the other still clamped on your shoulder for stability. The hush pulsed with leftover anger, confusion, guilt.

Pansy and Daphne stared at the group in shock from where they sat, uncertain whether to help Enzo or scold Mattheo. Draco grimly surveyed the damage—a few scattered chairs, a torn tablecloth, broken glasses. The fleeting warmth of the night had turned sour, a mirror of the secrets you and your friends tried to hide from the others now laid bare.

Blaise rubbed his temples, clearing the last stragglers away. “I’ll handle them,” he muttered, shooting the group a glare that balanced frustration and worry. “For now, just—sort yourselves out. This is all going to absolute shit.”

Around you, the once-lively party had dissolved into broken fragments. The veranda, now eerily quiet, bore the evidence of the night’s chaos: dark smears of blood against the pale stone, shattered glass glittering under the soft glow of the fairy lights. In the distance, the music continued its pulsing, upbeat hum—mocking the grim reality before you.

Mattheo stood apart, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain control, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Enzo sat slumped against the railing, wincing under your careful touch, his face contorted with pain. Theo, his usual composure frayed, closed his eyes briefly, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the night had finally broken him. You swallowed hard, blinking back tears that threatened to spill, the stress of the evening hanging over you like a leaden cloak.

Without warning, Mattheo turned sharply, causing both you and Theo to instinctively shield Enzo from whatever fury might follow. But Mattheo didn’t lash out at any of you; instead, he kicked a broken votive lying on the ground, sending shards scattering across the stone.

“Fuck!” he spat, his voice low and hoarse, as he stalked toward the edge of the veranda, Draco following. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one with shaking hands, then offering the pack and lighter to Draco, who took it with trembling fingers.

The flame trembled briefly before catching, the glow illuminating the raw anger and frustration etched across his face. Draco’s face is heavy with exhaustion evident on his pale features.

Theo exhaled deeply, releasing his hold on you as he turned to check on Daphne. She sat huddled nearby, her knees drawn to her chest, tears streaking her pale cheeks. Bright, angry red scrapes marred her arms and legs where she’d fallen, her quiet sobs cutting through the silence like a knife. With Theo nearby, Pansy excused herself to go find Blaise inside the house.

Daphne shouldn’t have been part of this. She wasn’t supposed to be caught in the crossfire of your mess—or theirs. You doubted Mattheo or Enzo had wanted this, either. For all her family’s ties to conservative politics, Daphne had always remained blissfully uninvolved in the darker intricacies of the war. She should have been unscathed.

Enzo groaned softly, clutching his side, his breaths shallow and labored.

You let out a quiet sigh, reaching for your wand.

“Keep still, please,” you murmured, your voice gentler than you felt. “This is going to hurt.”

His only response was a faint grimace as you grasped his broken nose carefully between your fingers. He winced sharply, a hiss of pain escaping through his teeth, but he didn’t pull away.

You muttered the incantation for a mending spell, your wand’s tip glowing faintly as you guided the bones back into place. The magic hummed beneath your skin, familiar but no less draining.

“There,” you whispered, leaning back slightly to inspect your work.

Enzo exhaled shakily, his face pale but less strained.

You, Pansy, and Daphne had long since learned the basics of healing spells, an unfortunate necessity when dealing with the boys. Scuffles with others—and often each other—had left their marks over the years. But tonight was different. This wasn’t some petty fistfight or roughhousing gone wrong. This was something darker, more violent.

“Thanks,” Enzo rasped, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, brushing another stray strand of hair from your face as you sat back on your heels.

Nearby, Theo helped Daphne to her feet, his touch gentle but firm. She winced as she stood, her scraped knees trembling slightly. He muttered something low, his voice too soft for you to catch, but whatever he said made her nod, her sobs quieting to sniffles, helping her sit on the couch.

Mattheo, meanwhile, remained by the railing, his back to the group. Smoke curled around him in lazy spirals, the sharp scent of burning tobacco cutting through the night air.

“You should talk to him,” Theo said suddenly, his voice tight and quiet as he returned to your side.

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze.

“Me?” you shot back, your voice hushed but edged with disbelief. “Why me?”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “someone has to keep him in check, Y/n. He’s going to get himself—or all of us—killed.”

Your lips parted, a retort forming, but the weight of his words silenced you. He wasn’t wrong.

“He won’t listen,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible. “Look at what happened just now.”

Theo’s expression softened, the anger giving way to weariness. “He listens to you more than anyone else. He always has.”

You glanced toward Mattheo, your heart heavy. He stood rigid, staring out into the dark expanse beyond the veranda, the glow of his cigarette flickering faintly in the shadows.

“It’s true,” Enzo sat up more properly. “Even when you two are at each other’s throats.”

You shook your head, “not now.” You muttered, looking back down at Enzo. “Lets get you in a seat.”

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of music and the faint crackle of Mattheo’s cigarette with the scraping of a chair that Theo picked up for Enzo to sit in before pulling up his own chair. Their legs bounced up and down anxiously in tandem as no one dared to speak. You sat with your back against the railing, picking at the sides of your nails anxiously.

Pansy finally emerged from the house, her arms laden with first aid supplies. Her usual sharp, composed demeanor was dulled, her expression unusually grim as Blaise trailed behind her, carrying a bottle of firewhisky and a collection of mismatched glasses—enough for all of you.

“Well, that was fun. Anyone else want to air any more grievances?” Blaise announced, his voice laced with sardonic humor as he set the bottle and glasses on the small table beside his chair. He poured himself a drink with practiced ease, his movements deliberately casual, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his true feelings.

No one responded.

Blaise glanced around, his deadpan expression hardening. “Good. Let’s start the family meeting, then.”

Mattheo let out a sharp, humorless laugh from his place at the railing, the ember of his cigarette flaring briefly as he inhaled. “Family meeting? You’re acting like this is some petty school spat, Zabini.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, unruffled. “And you’re acting like sulking is going to fix anything, Riddle.” He poured himself a generous measure of firewhisky, the clink of glass on glass unnervingly loud in the silence.

Draco sank into a chair across from Blaise, his elbows resting on his knees, a sharp contrast to Mattheo’s restless stance.

Mattheo rolled his eyes but said nothing, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily around him, dissipating into the cool night air.

“This mess is only going to get worse if we don’t get our shit together,” Theo said, his voice steady but laced with a frustration that mirrored everyone’s simmering exhaustion.

“Enlighten us, Theo,” Pansy cut in, her arms crossed as she perched on the edge of a chaise. “What exactly is the plan here? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve all—” she paused, her sharp gaze flicking to each of you, her finger subtly tracing a circle that excluded only Blaise and Daphne. “—been keeping things from us.”

“And if we told you?” Theo shot back, his tone sharper now. “What then? You think any of us asked for this? Dragging you into this mess is the last thing we want.”

“Enough,” you said firmly, your voice slicing through the escalating tension. You stood, brushing the dust from your hands, feeling the weight of their stares settle heavily on you. For a moment, you regretted speaking, but you pressed on.

“Whether we told them or not, they’re associated with us,” you said, sitting beside Daphne. “They’ve been collateral since we made our vows. And now? It’s about survival. We’re in too deep, and we all know it.”

Mattheo snorted, the sound bitter and sharp. “Oh, we know it. But pretending to be one big, happy family isn’t going to change anything.”

“And brooding in a corner is?” Blaise shot back, topping off his glass with an air of exasperated nonchalance.

“They deserve to know,” you said softly, picking up a bottle of antiseptic elixir and a clean cloth. You turned to Daphne. “May I?”

She nodded silently, her tear-streaked face a mixture of gratitude and quiet pain. You dabbed the cloth with the elixir and began cleaning the scrapes on her knee. “Face it, Mattheo,” you continued, your tone firmer now. “We’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not.”

“Stuck,” Mattheo repeated, his voice low and dangerous. He flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the darkness, the ember snuffed out on impact. “You say that like it’s some minor inconvenience, Y/n. But in case you’ve forgotten, there are people out there who’d kill us all without a second thought. And some of us…” His voice dropped, and his eyes flicked briefly to Theo. “Some of us are already marked.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken weight of the Dark Marks on Mattheo’s and Theo’s arms casting an even darker shadow over the group.

Daphne broke the silence, her voice soft but steady as she placed a hand on yours, stilling your movements. “I think you’re forgetting something,” she said, her blue-gray eyes filled with quiet resolve. “We’re your friends. Not your enemies, not spies waiting to turn on you. Friends. If any of us thought in first year that befriending Riddle, Sallow, Malfoy, and Nott was a mistake, we’d have steered clear. But we didn’t. We chose you, just like we’re choosing to stand with you now.”

Mattheo’s gaze softened slightly as he looked at her, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

A watery chuckle bubbled out of you despite the heaviness of the moment, and you quickly wiped your face with the back of your hand.

Pansy hummed in agreement, picking up the glasses Blaise had poured and passing them around. “She’s right,” she said, her tone light but firm. “So stop brooding, Mattheo, and get over here.”

Mattheo’s scowl deepened, but he pushed off the railing, crossing the veranda begrudgingly.

Blaise exhaled heavily, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Now we want to know everything,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “And don’t bother sparing the details. I can get my hands on Veritaserum if I have to.”

Theo rolled his eyes but accepted a glass, muttering something under his breath. Draco rubbed a hand down his face, masking a smirk, while Enzo let out a soft laugh before wincing and clutching his side.

You handed a glass to Daphne, then grabbed one for yourself, the firewhisky burning as you took a slow sip.

“Fine,” you said, leaning back against the cold stone wall, the firewhisky warming your chest but doing little to ease the heaviness of the moment. “But you’d better brace yourselves. You might wish you hadn’t asked.”

With Theo, Draco, Enzo, and even begrudging input from Mattheo, you told them everything. The words came haltingly at first, but as the night wore on, they began to flow more easily. You described the aftermath of Lucius Malfoy’s and Theodore Nott Sr.’s imprisonment in Azkaban, the brutal ceremony that branded Mattheo and Theo with the Dark Mark, and your own unbreakable vow with Bellatrix—a chain wrapped tightly around your throat.

Every detail out in the open, even Bellatrix’s obsession with your role as her informant. When you recounted your confrontation with Evander Rosier, Mattheo’s fingers turned white against the arm of the chair. His jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as you explained why Rosier’s allegiance—or lack thereof—was such a critical piece in Bellatrix’s game.

“Merlin,” Daphne whispered, her face pale as she sank deeper into her chair. “If I’d known, I never would have—Y/n, I’m so sorry—”

You waved her off with a lazy flick of your wrist, muttering another ‘Reparo’ as you all worked to restore some semblance of order to the veranda. Shattered glass reassembled, splatters of blood faded from the white stone, but the aftermath of it all lingered

“You didn’t know,” you said softly, brushing stray hair from your face. “And honestly? It might still be useful. If it buys me even a day of her not breathing down my neck, I’ll take it.”

Mattheo scoffed from across the veranda, his sharp eyes flicking toward you, but he said nothing. You shot him a glare, daring him to push further, he only turned his focus back to cleaning, muttering incantations as he scrubbed at the stubborn stains on the tiles.

By the time the night drew to a close, the tension had softened, though it never fully dissipated. There were still unspoken fears and lingering doubts, but for now, what mattered was that the group remained intact.

Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne had listened in silence, their expressions a mixture of shock and resolve. Despite everything, they remained steadfast in their decision to stand by you.

“We’re in this together,” Pansy said firmly, her hand resting on your shoulder as she caught your eye. “No matter what.”

The burden you’d carried for weeks felt just a little lighter, their support a fragile but welcome relief even with the apprehension you felt for their involvement. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope.

As the floo network flared to life, casting an emerald glow across the room, you turned to your friends. Each of them stood nearby, ready to depart but unwilling to leave without a proper goodbye.

You hugged Daphne and Pansy tightly, promising to write as often as you could. Enzo pulled you into a warm embrace, murmuring a quiet apology that you brushed off with a forgiving smile. Draco offered a rare but sincere pat on your shoulder before stepping aside for Blaise, who enveloped both you and Theo in a firm, protective group hug.

“Don’t hesitate to call on us,” Blaise said quietly, his voice steady. “If you need anything—anything—you know where to find me.”

For all the darkness that surrounded you, they were your anchor in their own ways.

“We’ll talk soon,” you said, your voice quiet but resolute.

Theo nodded, his arm brushing against yours in silent support as he stepped toward the hearth.

Just as you moved to follow, Mattheo’s voice stopped you. “Y/n.”

You turned to find him standing apart from the others, his usual mask of indifference fractured, if only slightly. The low light caught the sharp angles of his face, his dark eyes glinting with something unspoken. For a moment, the weight he carried: fear, frustration, and a simmering anger, lay bare between you.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, as though wrestling with the words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw, barely audible over the crackling floo. “Get some rest.” He finally murmured, gaze dropped, and his fingers twitched at his sides, betraying the composure he tried so hard to maintain.

Your breath caught, the knot of frustration and exhaustion loosening just enough to let the gravity of his words settle. Despite the distance he’d put between you, the quiet simmering for weeks, this moment felt like a quiet truce—for now—a bridge across the gulf that had formed between you.

You stepped closer, your voice soft but steady, your fingers twitching, wanting to reach out but hesitating. “You know where to find me, Mattheo.”

He lifted his gaze, and for an instant, his expression was unguarded, raw. His nod was slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to say what words couldn’t. His lips pressed into a thin line before he turned away, retreating to the shadows of the villa.

The green flames licked higher, casting flickering shadows against the walls. You hesitated for a moment longer, your eyes lingering on Mattheo’s retreating figure. Then, with a steadying breath, you stepped into the hearth beside Theo.

As the world blurred into streaks of green, Mattheo’s quiet words echoed in your mind.

The war wasn’t just coming—it was already here. And now, more than ever, you’d have to trust that the fragile bond between you all would hold.

Taglist: @moonlightttfae

A/n: and there we have it the madness begins, I hope you enjoyed. Lmk what you think as always!!

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gorbo-longstocking · 11 days ago

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welp im off to bed and chapter five is done with 10.8k words. itll be posted sometime tomorrow!!! i have a 1 pm-10:30pm shift tomorrow with an hour break at 5 if that helps give you a time table of when itll be posted, because, alas, formatting this stupid fucking chapter for tumblr is probably going to take like two hours im so serious. going through and changing the spacing between paragraphs and italicizing everything is a nightmare, kudos to all tumblr only writers.

im 2.2k words into chapter five and ive only finished the draft of the first major scene. not including transitioning parts, i have four scenes planned. oh boy, oh boy, methinks this is gonna be a long one.

#i wrote like 5k words AT WORK. my coworker was like dude you cannot be fr rn #id check out a customer and go in the back and write out caracallas caracrashout #mannnnnnnnn #i love this fic so bad this is the longest chapter of anything ive ever written ever

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lottie1824 · 18 days ago

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Tagged by @zoomguanyu for the fic rec game where you have to rec something that you've written that you're most proud of

(one day I would've found this difficult but I'm proud of quite a few of my recent fics)

Anyway, here goes nothing lol

Benji- Landoscar kidfic- honestly I just really like the kid aspect in this fic, i'm not used to writing kids (and tbh i dont particularly like it too much) but im very happy with the final product

Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Bed- my ongoing work!!! with Landoscar being complete and utter idiots lol. This one I love cause it's one of the longest fics that i've ever done (at 40k once all the chapters have been published) and it pushed me quite a bit but I eventually got it finished and I'm very pleased with the end result

His Room- i love this one cause it challenged me so much in the way I wrote it because of some of the techniques i used (present tense, first person from a kids pov) that I haven't done before and I'm pretty proud of how it turned out even if the fic itself is a tad dark

4+2=6 (Wheels)- My one and only social media au which is why im proud of it cause they are so difficult to do and i was close to giving up on it at some points lol, especially when it came to putting the pics into ao3 but i eventually got there and im pretty pleased with the end result

5 times Lando wore Oscar's clothes plus 1 time Oscar wore Lando's- This one im particularly proud of cause its my first ever fic to reach 1k kudos so thats why this one gets put on this list as well

well, thats it, dont know if ive done it right but here you go

tagging: @strawberriesinmoominvalley @landoom @jaecantwrite @syrlancelot @pumpkennpie @481boxboxbaby @wht-am-i-doin and anyone else who wants to join in!!!

#tag game #fic recs #but theyre mine #my fics

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squidbrainz · 19 days ago

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Hi!!!! I absolutely love your fics, you are such a talented writer. I can't wait to see what happens in Sacrifice!! I'm sure you've also got an amazing taste in fics too, do you have any gi-hun recs?

MY FIRST ASK REEAHHHH‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ and tysm im really glad u enjoy it :) it’s my longest fic to date :P

okay so i only have a less than a handful—my taste is far and few between i fear

i 100% really really urge you to read the water’s getting colder, let me in your ocean by imarvelatstars !! im a really big fan of their work and they’re such a breath air when it comes to writing an actual good fic :) also there’s some love triangle with in-ho moments going on in there >:) so if u like best of both worlds 💁🏼‍♀️

the one fic that actually got me to start writing after years was fever by bigbooty16. it’s written so well but unfortunately isn’t complete :( it’s so S tier for me and it isn’t even done AUGH

i really enjoy the one shots in love fool by bakhoe :)! there are only 2 chapters so im feening for more

i should try and read more, but unfortunately ive been strapped for time recently :( if u ever want to share some suggestions with me that’d be amazing!!

#inbox

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moonferry · 2 months ago

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EVERYONE STAY CALM, STAY F**KING CALM!!1 fsioy chapter 20 is HERE.

hoooly shit. i finally finished it after. *checks watch* three months.. thank you guys so much for sticking with me bc . this one is the LONGEST chapter ive ever written. its a DOOZY. nothing i say can prepare you for it.. so i'll simply say what i have told my two closest friends (aka my little lab rats / snippet readers ) chapter 20 is going to make everything WORSE. this one is a bit confusing at parts, but whenever its surrounded by "..." its a flash forward to the 'current day' (aka ch 19). this covers things in chapters 11-15. get ready for plot twist galore. please don't throw rocks at my head. im sensitive.

warnings: i think it would be a better question to ask what ISNT a warning.. anyway, they include: death, mentions of previous death, black mail, manipulation, physical violence, the commander himself, swearing. umm i think that's all ? idk ill update this later if i find any more.

word count: 19,141

other chapters: chapter masterlist

ao3 link: here

Kent looked at Willy, a small guilty look crossing his features. His expression soured as the lies burned his throat. He desperately needed a distraction, so he thought back to their earlier conversation.

“You know,” He started, turning to face Willy as his line once again bobbed against the pristine water. Kent pursed his lips together and took a deep breath. He took a moment to gather his thoughts (all while trying to swallow his guilt) and then added, “You said you were going to explain what happened.”

“Ah,” Willy spoke, nodding his head solemnly. He looked at Kent, his expression unreadable. A small sigh slipped past his lips. Willy debated with himself: would Kent be able to handle the truth of Willy’s departure? The older man wasn’t quite sure. Though, a small voice in the back of his mind urged him to tell it. He spoke once more, almost reluctant, “Do ya really want to hear that story? I’m sure it’s not that excitin’.. I mean, it happened fifteen years ago, lad.”

“Willy, I have thought about that day more times than I care to admit,” Kent replied, giving a small nod to signal he did want to hear the story. He looked at the man, his expression forming into one of slight anger. Kent continued, “You practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. I was worried about you. I reached out so, so many times and.. Nothing. Not even a letter.”

“Eh?” Willy asked, confusion washing over his face. He added, “Ye sent me letters?”

Kent scoffed and crossed his arms, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. He spoke once more, “You left when I needed you most, Willy.” Kent paused briefly, watching the older man as he gave an acknowledging nod. He continued, “I think I deserve to know why.”

“Well, I guess yer right about that..” Willy admitted, though he was still reeling with confusion. As far as he knew, no attempt had been made to contact him. He just assumed Kent was angry at him for leaving. But, hearing Kent mention it, and noting the frustration in his voice, it made Willy reconsider.

“Alright,” He started, nodding in Kent’s direction. He spoke once again, “Let me tell ya the story. It all began the day yer friend died.”

“My friend..?” Kent asked. His brows knit together as he tried to determine who Willy was talking about. His face contorted in concentration as he tried to remember - a name, a face, something, anything. However, in the crevices of his mind, all he found was a faint, blurry blob of memories that all seemed to mesh together.

“Aye, the first one.”

“Right..”

“..Daniel? Sawyer? Ring any bells to ye?”

“Um,” Kent started, though his face contorted once again. It seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Though, his mind remained foggy and indecipherable. That name was important to him - it had to be - but he couldn’t remember who he was or what he looked like. It caused a small, uncertain pang in Kent’s chest. Eventually, he replied “Sure.”

Willy looked at him, and raised a small eyebrow - worried that Kent seemed unsure of himself. He shook his head, momentarily brushing it off and continuing his story.

JULY 19XX | XX YEARS AGO | THE DAY OF DANNY’S DEATH

After Willy had comforted Kent, he was called into a nearby meeting room. Apparently, the commander had a special job for him. He entered the room tentatively and approached the desk.

Inside the room, he saw a sleek wooden desk - a deep, rich mahogany coloring. On it lay several papers - all scattered and disorganized from the early morning preparations. Willy had attended that meeting, too. There, he learned that the Gotoro soldiers seemed to be getting bolder - some even going far enough to take over a nearby town. Willy knew that, whatever this meeting held, it wouldn’t be good news.

He continued looking around the room - allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts as he looked around the interior. It was quite nice and contrasted drastically to the rest of the camp. It made Willy wonder where the commander got the funds for his office and why the commander was so obsessed with making it look neat. Willy was sure that there wasn’t a single spec of dust that would dream of settling on anything in this pristine room. It made him feel uneasy.

He picked up one of the papers from the desk. His curiosity had gotten the better of him and he needed to understand why this room felt so.. Different. While Willy was inspecting the room, the sound of footsteps seemed to grow louder. Willy gulped, his posture instantly going rigid. His grip tightened on the paper and he slipped it behind his back. He looked up and gave an acknowledging nod to whoever entered.

Luckily, it wasn’t the commander himself - just an assistant who came to notify Willy that the commander would be with him in a moment, as he was currently in a meeting, which was taking place down the hall. A small sigh of relief slipped past Willy’s lips and he felt himself relax after the petite woman turned and exited the room.

He retrieved the paper from behind his back and brought it close to him. Willy’s eyes scanned the page and he felt his heart sink. His mouth laid agape as he realized what he was reading.

It was an early draft of a partially coded letter - written in the commander's neat scrawl. As Willy read the small excerpt, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It read “Early phases of Plan A are in motion. The three boys selected will prove useful, though it appears a small hiccup has interrupted our progress. Namely, one of the boys has been reported dead. Apparently, he startled one of our surveymen, who had gotten too close to the camp and alerted one of the other soldiers. Proceed to the next phase, though exercise caution-” The letter stops there. A horrified gasp left Willy’s lips and the paper slipped from his hands.

As this happened, a shadow approached before looming over him. It was followed by a snarky, monotone voice that sent a chill down Willy’s spine.

“Well, what do we have here?” The shadow spoke, disdain filling his voice. The commander approached Willy, his lips forming into a small, disapproving line. He stopped once he reached Willy’s right side and shook his head. The man - the commander, Willy knew who he was - spoke once more, “I expected better, William.”

“You know how I feel about snooping,” He purred, his voice gravelly and harsh. A faint snarl slipped past his lips. The commander looked Willy up at down, his eyes appearing bored - as if he expected this. Disappointment filled the man’s voice as he spoke once more. “Though, I suppose I should’ve expected this from your kind.”

“Eh?” Willy asked, taken aback by the commander’s comment. His eyebrows furrowed and he spoke once more, “What do ya mean by ‘yer kind’?”

“Oh, you know,” The commander began. He propped himself against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at Willy, his expression almost a perfect sneer. “A bumpkin from the valley who wants nothing more than to prove himself. I’ve seen it all before.”

“What are ye implyin’?” Willy protested, anger rising in his voice.

“Don’t you understand, Colonel?,” The commander spoke. He looked at Willy as if he were some insect - as if he couldn’t possibly fathom what he was trying to say. He slowed his speech as he continued, intending to insult Willy further, “Those who feel the need to prove themselves die the fastest.”

The commander watched as Willy’s jaw tightened. He saw the briefest flash of rage light up behind Willy’s eyes and continued, “Well, not the fastest, I suppose. That goes to the ones with the biggest hearts. The ones plagued by mercy and a need to save everyone.”

“Like that Neilson idiot. It sickened me how caring he was. He wanted to save everyone and got far too close to a certain… truth, let’s say.” The commander spoke, intently watching Willy’s reaction - as if the things he was saying were intended to push his buttons. To see how far he’d let himself be dragged before he retaliated.

“What..?” Willy spoke, clenching his jaw tighter.

“You know, William, about that friend you had? He was too stupid to realize what he was uncovering. He didn’t know the importance of what he had witnessed.” He paused briefly, turning to look at Willy as a small, wicked smirk formed on his lips. The commander continued, “Christopher Neilson had to be stopped - for the safety of everyone and everything I’ve worked for. I’m sure you understand.”

“What in the blue blazes are ye talkin’ about?” Willy asked, nearly erupting with anger. His fist clenched at his side and he felt his nails digging crescents into his palm.

Willy’s eyes narrowed as he listened to the commander’s words. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had Chris’ death - which had been ruled as an unfortunate accident - been less of an accident and more…premeditated? No.. the commander wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Willy thought to himself. He looked up at the man beside him, suspicion washing over him at the man’s nonchalance. Would he?

Willy gulped and decided to press further, “What.. what did you mean ‘had to be stopped’?” He watched the commander intently, his stomach souring as the man simply replied with a small, almost giddy smirk. Seeing that expression, Willy felt something inside him stir: an emotion. One he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. Willy felt anger. He lunged forward, gripping the commander’s collar in his hands and lifting him off the ground. Willy gritted his teeth, a mixture of disbelief and fear coating his features. He spoke, “What did ye do? What the hell did ya do?!”

“Only what I had to, Colonel,” The commander replied, the same smirk still plastered across his face. He glanced down at Willy’s hands and scoffed. “Now, now, William. No need for violence. We can discuss this civilly, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, like how ya talked with Chris?” Willy responded, his grip tightening and his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip. His upper lip contorted in a small snarl, his mustache following suit. He looked at the commander and shook his head before adding, “I don’t want yer brand of ‘civility’. ‘Cause - next thing I know - I’ll end up at the bottom of a lake.”

“Oh no,” The commander reassured. He looked at Willy, his face stoic and unreadable as ever, before speaking once more, “You’re far too valuable - at this point, anyway. I need you for this to work properly. I didn’t need him. Sergeant Neilson was expendable - replaceable, even. You are not. The boys.. They trust you.”

Willy spoke once more, his voice rising, “Leave Chrissy’s name out of yer damn mouth. Ye didn’t know a single thing about him.” His eyes shone and it was almost as if small fires had ignited behind his pupils. His face turned red-hot and Willy clenched his fists around the rough fabric of the commander’s collar. He wanted nothing more to let his anger take over him - to get some miserable form of justice, to repay the harm done to him, but Willy knew he wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t that type of man, after all. Not to mention it wouldn’t “fix” anything - Chris would still be gone. Against his better judgment, Willy felt his grip loosen and he dropped the commander back onto his heels.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The commander chirped, reaching a hand up to smooth out his now crumbled uniform. He returned to his previous position - casually leaning himself against the edge of his desk. He clasped his hands over his lap and looked at Willy expectantly. He spoke once more, “I’m glad you’re starting to see this my way.”

“Ah..” Willy spoke, intending to protest. However, something the commander said had piqued his curiosity. The commander had mentioned “the boys” - while that was quite mysterious, Willy couldn’t shake a feeling about it’s importance. He could use this to pry for more information. Maybe he’d even get a deeper insight into the letter fragment he’d found earlier.

Willy pursed his lips together, swallowing his pride, and continued, “Right. Of course I see it your way, Commander. Say.. ye mentioned that ye ‘need me’ but never mentioned for what.. I want to help ya. Anything for the Commander, right?”

The lies and flattery felt vile on Willy’s lips, but he needed to do this. He needed to find out what was happening. The commander moved to respond - momentarily closing his eyes in thought. While he did this, Willy extended his hand and grabbed a small tape recorder that was placed precariously on the edge of the commander’s desk. He pressed the record button - letting out an expectant cough to cover the small “click”. Once it was clear it was recording, Willy placed the recorder behind his back.

“Right,” The commander replied with a small sigh. He opened his eyes and looked at Willy - though if he suspected something was amiss, the commander didn’t let on. He continued, “I suppose I should tell you. At least what your part will be, in any case..”

Willy remained silent, though he gave a confirmatory node towards the commander. He didn’t want his voice tainting the recording. It was risky enough as it was, but any mention of him or the sound of his voice would only incriminate himself.

“So, initially, a group of three boys were selected for.. Ah.. a larger project. I won’t say much about that right now, but you appear to be the closest person to these boys. I have been monitoring them and their progress for months now - ever since the third boy arrived, you see.”

“Initially, I had planned for all three of them to be moved to the next phase, but it seems I forgot to account for incompetence. Needless to say, one of them went and got himself killed mere hours ago. While it would’ve worked better with all three, I have decided to press on regardless. Your task, however, is to bring the remaining two to the next stage.” The commander explained, his voice sounding quite bored - as if he had discussed this many times over.

He spoke once more, “You will be responsible for the transportation of these two boys: Kent Neilson and Vincent Leegland. They’re in your unit, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble.” Willy’s eyes widened at the names, though he continued to remain silent. He raised an eyebrow. The commander responded with a small, dismissive wave and continued, “Don’t concern yourself with why. Your task is simply this: bring these two boys into active combat - tomorrow. I have… something quite special planned, I will admit.”

Willy gulped, a small wave of panic and disbelief crashing over him. He fought to keep himself composed - smoothing over his expression to prevent the commander from seeing his distrust. What on Yoba’s green Earth is he thinkin’? Willy wondered to himself. Those boys.. They aren’t ready for that - especially not after what happened today. He turned back towards the commander and gave an obedient nod.

“Oh, and before I forget,” The commander started once more, turning to Willy and his expression full of disgust - as if whatever he was about to say next caused him displeasure. He continued, “Make sure they stay separated. I can’t stand all this.. ‘comradery’. But, if they ask for a reason - you will tell them it’s because their emotions may cause them to be…unstable. Is that understood?”

Ye have got to be kiddin’ me, Willy thought to himself. Separate them? Oh Sweet Yoba, he’s askin’ fer trouble. Willy gritted his teeth - though his outward expression still remained relatively calm. Against his better judgment, he nodded once more.

The commander pushed himself into a standing position. He then approached the door and began exiting. However, he turned around midway and called out to Willy.

“One more thing,” He began. The commander pointed towards a map on the wall. He continued, “Take that with you when you leave. You’ll need it to get where you’re headed. That area.. It’s Gotoro central. Wouldn’t want anyone to get lost over there, hm? I know that… neither of those boys have the best sense of direction - especially not my son.”

Willy watched as the commander then turned and left his office. After ensuring he was actually gone, Willy carefully slipped the tape recorder from his back and hit the “stop” button. He then slipped it into his pocket. Just in time, too, as his emotions seemed to catch up with him. He felt faint. Willy propped himself against the desk and allowed his practiced poise to drop completely.

He didn’t know much about the commander - especially not his personal life - but learning that, apparently, he had a son was quite jarring. Willy didn’t even know the man’s full name (he had been told to refer to him as only “the commander”) but now he knew that the man had a son, whom he was willingly sending into an area infested with Gotoro soldiers? Willy couldn’t believe it. It was vile - cruel, even. Just who was this guy? And why was he so casual about all of this? Willy wasn’t sure. He was sure of one thing, however: he intended to find out.

Willy took a small breath - debating with himself. Was he really about to snoop through the commander's belongings again? Yes. Yes he was. He mumbled a small apology - mostly to ease his own conscience - and began rifling through the various papers (mostly letters and notes) sprawled out on the desk. Finding nothing of importance, he then began opening each drawer and carefully peering inside each one. Eventually, Willy stumbled upon a locked drawer. That struck him as particularly weird - as none of the other drawers had been locked (it didn’t even look like any attempt was made to do so, anyway). The locked drawer likely contained something crucial. Willy needed to find out. He looked around for some sort of key. There had to be one somewhere, right? Willy just needed to find it.

He scanned around the room, his eyes eventually landing on a giant oil painted portrait of the commander. He slowly approached it. As he got closer, Willy noticed that something about the painting seemed off. He couldn’t quite place what it was until he was a few inches away from the painting. It appeared as if the painting was placed onto hinges - likely to conceal a hidden compartment. It was also slightly ajar (as if whoever had closed it last did so very hastily and hadn’t ensured it was fully closed). Willy’s hand hovered over the corner of the painting. He slowly inched it closer - carefully touching it. It instantly swung open and revealed a small, hollowed cupboard. It was mostly barren - save for a few cobwebs - but Willy noticed a small object that had been hastily plopped on the front of the shelf. It was a key. Willy could guess what it went to, so he carefully scooped it into his palm.

Returning back to the locked drawer, key safely tucked in his hand, Willy was filled with a curious determination. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d find - or if it would even be useful - and he had likely just committed several crimes in search of this information. He simply hoped it would be worth it (and that he wouldn’t get caught). Willy composed himself and carefully inserted the key into the lock. He turned it towards the left - listening as the pins of the lock clicked into place before unlocking with a faint pop. Willy extended a shaky hand and slowly opened the drawer.

Inside it was a small, upside down name placard - along with a piece of paper with a photograph paperclipped to the front. Willy carefully picked up both items. He first inspected the piece of paper. It appeared to be the standard sign up form given to new recruits, however it was filled out in a large and blocky scrawl - as if the person writing it had been left handed. Not too unusual, Willy supposed. Plenty of the recruits were left handed. He took a closer look, examining the name and photograph attached.

Upon seeing who it was, Willy nearly jumped in surprise. It appeared the form belonged to none other than Lee. Willy was extremely confused. Why would the commander have this? Willy thought to himself, An’ why would he lock it away? What’s so important about that lad that he doesn’t want anyone else knowin’?

Willy pushed the thought to the side momentarily. He still had more to inspect. He carefully turned the nameplate in his hands and read its inscription. It belonged to the commander - that much was evident, given the large “Commander” written in bold, fierce letters. However, that wasn’t all that was written. Underneath it, in much smaller text, was a name.

Willy squinted, trying his best to decipher the cursive lettering. Eventually he was able to read the name. It read Vincent Leegland. Willy gasped, dropping the nameplate in surprise. It tumbled onto the floor with a loud clatter. He silently swore to himself - hoping no one was around to hear the clamor.

“Yer jokin’,” Willy mumbled to himself, disbelief and panic coating his words. He felt dizzy - the wave of information seemed to make his head spin. He looked back at the paper. Willy’s face drained of all color. How hadn’t he noticed the connection before? The boy looked quite similar to the commander - save for the gingerness of Lee’s hair and the faint vitiligo that littered his features - and even shared his name. Of course he would be the commander’s son. Willy felt like a fool, despite the fact that there was no way he could’ve known.

His mind finally began clicking the pieces together: the commander’s coldness, his apathy towards the loss of innocent lives, the disdain in his voice whenever the commander spoke of those who wanted to be “helpful”, the influx of Gotoro soldiers as of late, and the apparent Gotoro grunt who had “gotten too close” to the campsite. Willy couldn’t believe it: the commander was a double agent. And he was now after Kent and Lee. Willy couldn’t let anything happen to those boys - they had slowly become the closest thing he would consider to his own children.

“I have ta warn those lads,” Willy gasped, fear covering his face.He gripped his chest tightly, trying his best to calm his now rapid breathing. It would do him no good to panic and shut down, not when he had to protect Kent and Lee. He gulped and carefully placed the paper and name placard back into the drawer and locked it. He scurried around the room and attempted to set everything back to its original state - desperately trying to make it seem as if nothing had changed since the commander had left. Willy had debated taking some of the information he found, but decided against it. He didn’t want to risk taking anything (except for the tape recorder). It was better if the commander began to trust him, he decided. That way he could slowly squeeze more information out of him. It would all prove useful later - or at least he hoped it would.

Willy began exiting the room - stopping to grab the map as the commander had suggested - and headed off to find the boys. While he did find them, it was - unfortunately - at Danny’s funeral. Not an ideal place to warn someone. Willy grimaced and stuck to the side - watching the crowd and trying to find the right moment to intervene and pull Kent and Lee aside. Fortunately, it seemed Lee had decided on that moment for him. Willy watched as the boy approached the podium - yelling about how the announcer didn’t know Danny at all. Willy understood his sentiments, as the announcer was droning on and on about someone he didn’t recognize. He hadn’t even realized it was supposed to be about Danny - that’s how awful it was. Willy watched as the announcer began arguing with Lee - causing the boy to erupt in an outburst.

“My name is not Vincent,” Lee spoke, angry tears streaming down his face, “It’s Lee.”

Willy decided that this was probably a good time to step in. He approached the general and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. After a short exchange - and a few choice words - the general scampered away, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

He approached Kent and Lee, who were now surrounding the microphone - yelling any positive thing about Danny they could think of. It caused a small pang to appear in Willy’s chest. To think that, none of this would’ve happened if Willy had figured out the Commander’s plan earlier. To think that all three of the boys would be safe - that they’d be alright.

Willy wasn’t sure how to fix the damage that had already been done, but he was sure of this: Danny’s death would be the last. He couldn’t let either of the remaining boys get hurt. He couldn’t lose another cadet. No, he wouldn’t lose another cadet.

He placed a caring hand on each of their shoulders and gave a small, though mostly humorless chuckle, “Well, that was certainly a ceremony, eh, lads?”

…

“Anyway, ya know how the rest of that day went, so I’ll spare ya by not repeating it, eh?” Willy explained, turning to look at a clearly baffled Kent.

“What?” Kent started, his mouth agape. What he had just heard filled his mind with thoughts as he desperately tried to make connections. He looked at Willy, his eyes wide, and spoke once more, “What happened next?”

“I’m gettin’ to that part, son,” Willy replied, rolling his eyes. He pointed to a nearby bucket of bait, motioning for Kent to grab it. He added, “Hand me those worms, lad. Darn fishes took me last piece of bait like it was nothin’!”

“I have so many questions,” Kent spoke, though he handed the bucket of slimy, wriggling worms towards Willy. He watched as the older man went silent, intently baiting his hook.

“Yeah, yeah, I know ya do,” Willy replied with a small grumble. He pointed towards Kent’s own rod and narrowed his eyes before adding, “Ye can fish an’ talk at the same time, Kent.”

Kent’s brows furrowed together in frustration, though he grabbed his own rod and baited the hook. He decided he’d humor Willy - and, besides, Willy had said he would only tell Kent the story if he fished. A small sigh slipped past his lips, though he watched the bobbers of his and Willy’s rods once again land with a small splash.

“So, as I was sayin’, Vincent Sr.. He had this convoluted plan-” Willy began, eager to continue his story

“Wait, do you think he-” Kent interrupted

“Kent, I am gettin’ to that part, son,” Willy replied, shaking his head.

“Anyway, he has this plan-” Willy tried again.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Kent interrupted once more. He turned to Willy, his face contorting in deep thought.

An exasperated sigh slipped past Willy’s lips. He reached a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned back to Kent and asked, “Do ya want to hear the story or not?”

Kent nodded. He desperately needed to understand why Willy hadn’t reached out over the past fifteen or so years.

“Then quit interruptin’ me, lad!” Willy scolded, though there was no malice in his voice - just slight frustration. Kent pursed his lips together and nodded, mumbling out a small “sorry”.

Willy waved his hand dismissively and continued speaking, “Anyway, as I was tryin’ to say….”

…

After Willy delivered the unfortunate news that Kent and Lee would be moving to active combat, he then - with guidance and constant checking from the Commander - drove the boys towards the new location. A desolate, remote camp in the middle of nowhere.

Great, Willy grumbled to himself, This is just great. Take ‘em to a place where they won’t be missed if somethin’ happens to them.. It made him sick - the Commander’s plan, the fact he had to go along with it, the fact that he had to lie to both Kent and Lee in hopes it would keep them safe. All of it made him sick.

It didn’t help that, in the back of the transportation vehicle, Kent and Lee were audibly distraught. Willy briefly glanced up at the rear-view mirror, pulled from his thoughts by a rather raucous racket from the boys. They appeared to be arguing. Willy understood - they had just lost a close friend (though Willy knew one boy thought of Danny as more than a “close friend”. He’d witnessed it too many times before to ignore Lee’s behavior. He also knew first hand the heartbreak that came with it - the heartbreak of losing someone who you could imagine a life with.) Unfortunately, knowing how he felt and being able to comfort him were two different things. Willy sighed and tore his eyes away from the mirror. He hated that the boys were arguing, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He knew that they’d resolve their little spat eventually - he just had to trust they would do the right thing. He just had to trust he was doing the right thing.

The weight on Willy’s chest seemed to grow as the vehicle approached the entrance to the new camp. It didn’t help that he knew what was coming next: he would be forced to separate the boys, all by the commander’s orders. He pursed his lips together and went to gather Kent and Lee - both of whom were now complaining about some sort of “head injury”.

Willy playfully rolled his eyes and spoke, “Ah, quit yer whinin’, lads.” He slowly approached the back of the vehicle before motioning for them to follow him. Willy added, “Looks like we’re here. Let’s go get ya settled in. Quickly.”

The three of them walked towards the nearby housing units as Willy checked his map, along with the notes he was given from the commander. These boys were to be separated - no exceptions. They would not be allowed to speak to each other, much less look. Willy hated that command so, so much. It made his stomach churn. His discontent only seemed to grow as they approached Lee’s dwelling. Willy glanced back at the boys - both looking quite solemn and hardly talking. He desperately missed the lively chatter that usually resounded from the walls of Cabin Five.

Willy hated seeing them like this. He hated how Kent and Lee seemed to have lost their usual boisterous energy. He had never seen Lee look so upset - hell, he hadn’t even seen the boy do anything but smile. But now? An uncomfortably neutral expression remained plastered across Lee’s features. Willy mentally tsked. It didn’t suit him. Unfortunately, Willy was about to make the situation worse.

They finally reached the building where Lee would be staying. Willy gulped, a wave of discomfort wrapping around him like a thick, uncomfortable blanket. He took a deep breath before motioning for Lee to enter the building. That was the easy part. The difficult part, however, remained. As if in tune with Willy’s thoughts, Kent attempted to follow Lee into the building.

Willy placed a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking his head before speaking, “Not you, lad.” A sigh slipped past his lips and a look of regret washed over his face as the next words left his lips, “Just Private Leegland.”

Kent looked at him, confused, and Willy felt his chest tighten once more. He hated that expression. He hated that he had to be the bearer of this news, too. He knew what was coming next, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“What?” Kent asked, a mixture of confusion and disbelief crossing his features, “Why?”

Willy grimaced, an uncomfortable expression forming on his lips. He felt as if he had just swallowed a frog - his throat felt slick and slimy. It felt wrong. He hated to do this, but it was the commander’s orders, after all. He sucked air between his teeth before gritting them, debating how to best break the news.

Willy hesitated before speaking, “The.. er.. The Commander decided it would be best if you two were separated. At least for a while.”

“What?” Kent asked, his voice rising in disbelief. He protested, his brows furrowing together in discontent, “That’s not fair!”

Willy’s thoughts exactly. This was absolutely not fair and was most definitely not a good idea, but Willy found himself in a situation without much of a choice. He felt defeated - caught between his own morality and the need for information. Going along with the commander’s plan was probably the worst decision he had ever made, but Willy was in too deep to turn back now.

He sighed and pursed his lips, trying his best to hide his own discontent - the same discontent that lined his eyes and splattered across the wrinkles and scars. He had seen far too much in his thirty something years of life - it starts to wear down on you, eventually. Willy simply hoped he’d get out before it reached that point. He turned to Kent, his lips forming a straight line, and replied, “This is war, son. Nothing is fair.”

Willy then explained (or attempted to) explain how it wasn’t his decision and that it was nothing against them. He sincerely hoped the boys would understand and wouldn’t portray him as the bad guy.

Willy glanced between the two and frowned before letting out a defeated sigh. He tried to explain even further, “Look, lads, I'm not heartless. If I could do anythin’, I would, but it's out of me control.”

They looked at him with a hurt expression. Willy responded with a simple shake of his head, dismissing any protests they might have made. It truly broke his heart to do this, but he could only hope it was for the best. He had to hope that, going along with the commander’s plan, everything would turn out fine. He had to hope that they’d be alright. He had to hope. He had to. For their sake.

It made Willy angry just thinking about the cold, uncaring look on the commander's face as he issued the order. How could someone be so cruel? Those boys just lost someone close to them and this is what they get? Willy thought to himself. It didn't sit right with him. Not one single bit. If anything, he believed they should stick together - for emotional support. Regardless of what he thought, it wasn’t Willy’s decision to make. He had to go along with the commander’s plan or none of them stood a chance at making it out of there. He wanted to keep them safe. No, he needed to keep them safe.

He watched as Lee and Kent said their goodbyes and felt sadness on their behalf. Willy wished he could make them explain - he wished he could spill the commander’s plan and convince them both to run - but he couldn’t. He was just as much of a pawn as they were, only he didn’t realize it yet. He pushed his thoughts from his mind and guided Kent towards his own dwelling.

“Ah, this is yer place, Kent,” Willy explained, motioning towards the door. He watched as Kent scrutinized the building. As he was waiting on Kent to enter, his communication device that he had received from the Commander beeped and vibrated. Willy would have to meet up and discuss the journey over, he knew that, but it didn’t make him enjoy the idea any more. He sighed and pulled it out from his pocket - reading a small encrypted message. It was written in the standard code - just as a safety precaution - but Willy was able to easily decipher it.

He squinted at the small screen, and mentally translated the message. It read: “Leave the boy. Come to my tent. We will discuss further upon your arrival.” Willy sighed before pocketing the device once more. He turned to Kent, who was still debating entering his new dwelling.

“Well, lad,” Willy started, nodding in Kent’s direction. He looked around - trying to determine if anyone nearby was watching. He saw a faint shadow around the corner and pursed his lips. So the Commander had sent people to watch him. Willy suspected as much, but it was still jarring to receive confirmation. He placed a hand on Kent’s shoulder before speaking once more, “I have some.. Ah.. Errands, let’s say. I’ll see ya later. Try to get yerself settled in, eh?”

And with that, Willy left Kent’s side and headed in what he hoped was the right direction. The Commander had been especially vague regarding the location of his tent, which made things more difficult. It didn’t help that Willy had to force himself not to stare towards his left - he didn’t want the spy to figure out he was aware of their presence.

After a few moments of trudging through the woods, Willy came across a secluded tent - one that he assumed belonged to the Commander, with how secretive the man was Willy wouldn’t be surprised. He looked around, ensuring he hadn’t been followed (well, followed more than he was already) and pulled open the flap before quickly entering.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly lit interior, but once it did, he saw the man himself standing in the corner of the room. He was wearing a neatly pressed uniform, adorned with various sashes and medals, the sign of a commanding officer. The sign of power. It made Willy irrevocably angry. The Commander had his hands clasped behind his back and was facing away from Willy. Despite this, he was acutely aware of his arrival.

“Good,” He called over his shoulder, his voice seeming less than enthusiastic, as if it was permanently monotone. Willy wasn’t sure he had ever heard an emotion in the man’s voice - or that he had seen one other than boredom on his face, for that matter. The Commander spoke once again, “You’re finally here. It took you long enough.”

“Sorry ‘bout that-” Willy began, though he was quickly interrupted.

The Commander held up his hand, halting Willy’s speech. He spoke instead, “Cease your blabbering, William. I neither care nor have the time to hear it.”

Willy was taken aback, his mouth slightly agape at the sudden bored, almost passive-aggressive hostility in the Commander’s words. He moved to protest, but he didn’t want to risk upsetting the Commander further. He remained silent.

“Well?” The Commander urged, finally turning to face Willy. His expression looked bored as always - as if he had much better things to be doing than talking to Willy. The Commander spoke again, “Are you going to debrief me or not, Colonel? Unlike you, I have important things to do.” Ouch.

“Ah.. right,” Willy replied, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He cleared his throat before beginning his debrief, “Well, I did as ya said. I packed up the lads and brought them here. I showed Lee-”

“Who?” The commander interrupted, looking at Willy suspiciously. He hadn’t authorized anyone named “Lee” to handle any of this information.

“Um.. Private Vincent Leegland, sir,” Willy explained, his voice slightly quiet. Of course he wouldn’t know that nickname. As far as Willy was concerned, he didn’t know a single thing about Lee - despite the fact that the boy was his son. He continued, “It’s just.. Err.. a nickname, I suppose.” Though, as he mentioned Lee’s full name, he carefully watched the commander - searching his face for the smallest hint. It was brief, but Willy swore he was the Commander’s eye twitch.

“We don’t do nicknames here, Colonel,” The Commander scolded. His lip curled into a faint sneer and he added, “We do not even do names. Names make people weak. It humanizes them. From here on, you will refer to them as “A” and “B”, is that understood?”

“Ah. well, Commander..”

“Is that understood, Colonel?” He repeated, narrowing his eyes at Willy.

Willy gulped, though he nodded and spoke, “Understood, sir. No names.”

The Commander barely acknowledged Willy’s words. Instead, he motioned for him to continue his debrief.

“Well, as I was sayin’, I brought them here - like ya asked. I made sure they were separated, like ye asked.” Willy summarized, leaving out several parts. The Commander didn’t need to know everything, did he?

“Right,” The Commander replied with a small nod. Willy waited, raising a small eyebrow. The Commander looked at him, his bored expression returning. He spoke once more, “I suppose you’re expecting praise? Well, congratulations, you didn’t fail me. Yet.”

Willy’s eyes widened. What did he mean by that? Had the commander expected him to fail? Willy wasn’t sure what to think about that comment. Before he could think deeper about it, the Commander began speaking once again.

“In any case, now that you’re here, it’s time to complete the move to the next phase. Since you have proven yourself… adequate, I will explain in more detail.”

“My…ah, let’s say, my colleagues, are searching for something in particular. Well, someone, I should say. A woman. Her name is Misha Grieves,” The Commander began. He perched himself on the edge of his makeshift desk. He turned to Willy, checking to see if he was listening, before continuing, “There have been reports that she is staying in the remains of the nearby town. I don’t know all the specifics - not that I’d tell you if I did, anyway - but I know that she is important..”

“You, along with A and B and whatever other troops you need to use, will be tasked with searching for her. We must find her first. I have it on good authority that she has information.. Information that would give me a certain.. Leverage, let’s say.”

Willy raised an eyebrow skeptically. What information could the Commander possibly be after? And…why was he willing to use troops to get it? Whatever it was, Willy wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.. He gulped, though he remained silent. He anxiously waited for the Commander to continue.

“The information she has is not important to you, Colonel,” The Commander warned, his eyes darting towards Willy in a way that said “don’t even ask.” Willy nodded and felt himself shrink as the Commander’s eyes bore into him. Upon hearing that, Willy decided that it, in fact, was important to him. He just hoped he encountered this woman before either of the boys - Willy needed to talk to her, to discover what the Commander was hiding.

The Commander ignored Willy’s silence and continued explaining the next phase, “When - yes, when, there will be no ‘if’ - you find her, you will notify me immediately. Do not stop before you reach me - I will not accept any excuses. You will be when the clock hits twenty-two hundred hours, exactly.. Do not get distracted, Colonel.” He briefly paused, allowing Willy to nod once more, before continuing, “Tomorrow, take them into whatever remains of that dump and find her. You have approximately 36 hours. Do not fail me.”

After the Commander finished his spiel, Willy left the tent - shaken and head bursting with more questions than answers. Could the Commander really expect him to do this? And, to make things worse, what would happen if Willy failed? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. However, it would seem that the universe, with its sick and twisted sense of humor, didn’t care what Willy wanted. It didn’t care what anyone wanted, for that matter, or none of this would’ve happened, Willy decided. He decided something else, too. No matter what happened, he was going to teach the boys to protect themselves. Willy worried that, somehow, he wouldn’t be there to protect them.

…

The next day, Willy set off. His palms were coated in a thick, grimey sweat.He had spent the last night worrying intently about the request, the boys’ safety, and what would happen when he had to confront the Commander. He wasn’t sure if he had slept (or, if he did, the quality of it), but there was no time to worry about that. He had to prepare Kent and Lee. And he knew just the way.

Some time later, he managed to arrange a set of four or five targets near a small weapon shed (if you could call it a shed, that was. It was more of a…dilapidated wooden box, stocked haphazardly with training-grade weapons, which Willy found…concerning). He took a step back and surveyed his work, a hand resting on his chin in contemplation. The whole thing looked rather shoddy and hastily put together, but it would have to do. Willy had no other choice - a jarring, yet recurring concept that seemed to haunt everything he did these days. With the construction done, all he needed was Kent and Lee. He set off to find them, along with other troops to avoid suspicion.

“Eh.. this shouldn’t be t’ hard,” Willy mused to himself, pursing his lips together as he surveyed the grounds. The boys should be training right now, he reasoned. The first person he found was Lee, who appeared to be sitting silently by himself - a few feet away from where his fellow cadets were doing an obstacle course.

He carefully approached Lee before resting a caring hand on his shoulder. Lee looked up, surprised by the sudden touch, and immediately morphed his solemn expression into a grim, somewhat pained smile. Willy’s lips formed a thin line.

“Ya don’t have to pretend around me, lad,” Willy spoke, kneeling down so that he was eye level with Lee. He gave Lee a firm pat before speaking again, “I know how ya feel, son. Don’t tire yerself out tryin’ to put on a brave face for everyone. It’s not worth it.”

Lee opened his mouth to protest, but simply sighed instead. He didn’t have the energy to argue or to explain that he was fine. The last few days had been taking a toll on him. He looked at Willy and let his cheerful expression fall. Lee knit his brows together and asked, “How do you always do that?”

“Eh?” Willy asked, confused, “Do what, lad?”

“Know what I’m thinking,” Lee explained, his jaw tightening as a flash of frustration covered his features, “It.. it’s weird, man. I mean.. The only people who could do that so easily were my Oma and Dan-” Lee quickly cut himself off. Saying his name, thinking about him.. It all hurt too much to bear.

“Ah.. I see,” Willy nodded, his own sigh slipping past his lips. He looked at Lee, his expression concerned and understanding. He spoke once more, “Ya miss him, don’t you?”

Lee went silent. “Missing him” felt like such an understatement.

Lee felt as if, when Danny died, a large, gaping hole appeared in his chest. It ached with an intense yearning - one that could never be satisfied. Not anymore, anyway. He felt that Danny didn’t die alone that day. Lee felt like the loss of Danny had tore away at his soul - at his very core. In truth, he didn’t know who he was without Danny. After all, Danny had made Lee well…Lee. He felt completely and utterly lost, but he wouldn’t say this outloud. He didn’t know how Willy would respond.

Instead, Lee simply sighed and brought his knees to his chest. He replied, though his voice was barely a whisper, “Yeah. Yeah.. I do..”

“I know how that is, lad,” Willy replied, nodding once again. He looked off in the distance, surveying the horizon and catching the faintest glimpse of the city’s tallest building. Willy felt a familiar emotion bubble in his chest, one he thought was long buried. One he thought had died with Chris. One he had tried too hard to kill, to silence, to ignore. Looking at Lee, seeing him in this state, it reminded him of himself all those years ago. For once, Willy didn’t suppress the emotion. He let it bubble beneath the surface, slowly rising and threatening to overtake his lungs. He let himself think about events he had long tried to forget. He let himself think about Chris.

“I know yer probably wonderin’, ‘what is this man yappin’ about’, but just trust me, son,” Willy began, turning to look at Lee, his expression filling with the utmost empathy. He continued, “I have been in yer place before. I know what it’s like to lose someone who ya love.”

Lee closed his eyes. He listened intently to Willy’s words, letting them wash over him. Something about the tone he used made Lee believe that, if anyone would understand, it would be Willy.

He opened his eyes and gave a small nod. He paused for a moment before saying, “I just.. What I felt for Danny - what I still feel for him.. It isn't like anything I’ve ever experienced before, Willy.” Lee paused, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He glanced down at the necklace around his neck, the one containing Danny’s dog tag. Lee frowned and wrapped his hand around it. He let his thumb trail over the letters. He continued, “I don’t fully understand it, but I think I’m in love with him. I.. I just wish I could’ve told him to his face. Not.. you know… to his corpse.”

“Well, at least ya told ‘em, eh, lad?” Willy asked, trying to cheer him up. Seeing that it wasn’t working, Willy added, “The same can’t be said fer me, son. I didn’t tell.. Ehh.. this friend o’ mine how I felt, even after he died. I couldn’t bring meself to, I suppose. I regret that - every single day.”

“I guess,” Lee began. His expression dropped slightly and he gripped the tag tighter, feeling the cool metal press firmly against the grooves on his palm. He opened his mouth to speak once more and a small, barely contained sob bubbled in his throat. Lee pushed it back down and added, “I keep thinking about what Kent said to me - how.. How he told me it was my fault. In a way, I guess it was. Every night, I lay awake and I think to myself - would things be different if I hadn’t reacted that way? If I hadn’t run away like a coward? If I realized what I felt sooner? If he didn’t have to chase after me.. If he didn’t have to worry about me at all..”

“Lee..”

“No matter how I look at it, I can’t seem to figure out why he went after me that day,” Lee continued, his voice now brimming with emotion as he rambled. “I’m not something to chase after, Willy. I feel like, no matter what I do or wherever I go, a cloud of bad luck follows me and hurts the people I care about. I don’t want to hurt people..” His voice broke as he said this last line, a small tear welling up in the corner of his eye. Lee sniffled.

“Son, yer not gonna hurt people, ye hear me?” Willy reassured, giving Lee’s shoulder a gentle, yet firm (almost fatherly) squeeze. He looked at Lee, and thought about how the boy before him looked almost like a scared animal, huddling in on himself and shivering while trying to be brave. It was a much different visual from his father - a cold blooded, hungry wolf waiting to gobble up any prey that crosses his path. Willy couldn’t fathom how on earth they could ever be related - that was something that confused him to no end. He spoke once more, “Ye aren’t like that, I know it. You aren’t like him..” Willy’s voice trailed off as he said this last part, leaving the last word barely audible.

“Huh?” Lee asked, tilting his head in confusion, “Like who?”

“Ah,” Willy replied, pursing his lips into a thin line. Of course Lee would pick up on that. Willy mentally scolded himself. He shook his head, waving a dismissive hand and added, “No one. Don’t worry about it, lad.”

“Oh-kaay..” Lee responded, his voice laced with skepticism. However, it was clear he wouldn’t get any more information on the subject, so he dropped it.

“Anyway.. I.. ah..” Willy started, exhaling a rather large breath. He clasped his hands together - a look of reluctance crossing his features. He spoke again, “I hate to say this, son.. But I need you to do something difficult, okay?”

“What’s that..?”

“Self defense training,” He spoke, emotion void from his voice. He watched as Lee’s features paled and a look of worry crept over the boy’s features. Willy continued, “With a weapon.”

“Willy-” Lee began, his eyes wide with fear. He tried to protest.

“I know, son,” Willy replied with a small sigh, “I know.”

“Then why-”

“Because I have to. Because, if I don’t, something will happen - I have a strange feelin’. Because we all have to do difficult things, son. Because we have a mission later an’ I want ya to be prepared.. Because I care about ya. Lots of reasons, Lee.”

“An’ before ya waste yer breath protestin’, I think ye will thank me - in the long run,” Willy explained, watching Lee’s jaw clamp shut. Willy sighed once more before adding, “Besides, Kent is comin’, too, so.. Ya won’t be alone, alright?”

After speaking these words, Willy watched as Lee went silent in consideration.

“Just.. think about it, lad,” Willy spoke once more, pushing himself into a standing position. He took a deep breath and glanced back towards the makeshift arena. He spoke over his shoulder, yet he didn’t turn back in Lee’s direction, “I have t’ go find Kent. Head over there, would ya?”

Willy did not wait for Lee’s answer. He simply pointed towards the targets and walked away.

…

“Anyway, ya pretty much know what happens the rest of that day,” Willy explained, motioning to the still present - yet slightly faded - scars across Kent’s features.

It appeared that he had gotten more over the years - plus the addition of some hearing aids (likely to help his ears after repeated exposure to loud gunfire and explosives). Willy gave a wry chuckle, “Ye even still have the scars to prove it, lad.”

Kent gave Willy a look that read “very funny”, though he let the man continue.

“But what ya don’t know..” Willy started. He paused, a small sigh slipping past his lips, “Is what happened after Lee brought you to the infirmary tent..”

“Aye.. there were some pretty heavy repercussions on my end..”

…

After Kent was brought to the infirmary, Lee had gone to find Willy and inform him about what happened.

“Ye.. ye what?” Willy replied, his face draining of all color as Lee finished retelling the events. Willy’s expression dropped the moment he heard Lee mention “a woman”.

“I told you, Willy,” Lee groaned, clearly frustrated he had to tell this story for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. It didn’t help that Lee appeared more shaken every time he thought about it.

“Kent was attacked, I.. I didn’t.. I didn’t know what else to do,” Lee explained, seeming to shrink in on himself with every word. The events of the earlier afternoon - seeing Misha attack Kent, having to be the one who saved him.. It all weighed on Lee quite heavily.

Willy sighed. He had only himself to blame, he supposed. He had told Lee to use the weapon in self defense - but he never imagined they would actually need to. He hadn’t anticipated that they would actually find Misha, especially so soon after their search had started. Willy replayed the commander’s words in his mind and his stomach churned.

“Look, lad, this isn’t your fault-” Willy started, attempting to calm Lee down.

“No,” Lee interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. He spoke once more, in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s your’s.”

“Now, hold on a second, son..”

“If you hadn’t made me grab this-” Lee motioned to the rifle still firmly placed in his shaking palms, emotion rising in his voice, “Maybe that poor woman would still be alive..”

Willy sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose to avoid letting his frustration get the better of him. He knew Lee was upset. Arguing with him would only do more harm than good. He wished he could explain everything - to tell Lee why they went out there, to tell Lee why he was here in the first place - but he couldn’t.

“I don’t - no, I won’t touch one of these things again. Never, “ Lee argued, motioning angrily with his free arm. His voice seemed very heated - quite unlike Lee’s usual demeanor, “I am not ever, and I mean ever, am I going to touch one of these things again.”

“Aw, come on, lad, it’s not that bad,” Willy pleaded. He was mostly trying to convince himself at this point. Willy knew the repercussion for his failure would be grave.. Hs just didn't know how grave. Yet.

“You weren't there. You don't know-” Lee spoke again, his face contorting in anger.

“I assure ya, I do.”

“No, you don't, Willy,” Lee replied, shaking his head in disbelief. He shoved the weapon in Willy’s direction before reaching for the small locket around his neck. He unclasped it - revealing a small picture. It appeared to be a much younger Lee, standing between two figures - both of whom had their faces ripped from the photo, one with their hand firmly gripping his shoulder. Almost militantly. Next to him was a third figure - a much older woman, with kindness shining in her eyes. Her face remained in tact. She was Lee’s Oma.

On the other side of the locket lay the part thaf had been ripped from the other side - as if whoever had given it to Lee originally did not want them in the picture. The face of one of the figures was jarringly familiar to Willy. Although he looked much younger, Willy could tell it was the commander. Not surprising, Willy thought to himself, he knew the commander was Lee’s father, after all. The other figure he did not know - a woman, with long, sleek black hair and brown eyes similar to Lee’s own. His mother, Willy reasoned.

“Why are ya showing me this, lad?” Willy asked, confused.

“Ever since that moment, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that woman.. There was something about her I couldn't quite place.. Something familiar,” Lee explained. He looked at the locket and a small sigh slipped past his lips, “Then, I remembered something..”

“I found this photo after Oma died - the ripped half, that is..” Lee started, gulping slightly, “I didn't really know the people in it so I didn't think much about it at the time.. But.. seeing that woman's face.. feeling how familiar it was..”

“I opened the locket again.. And I compared what I saw with the woman I.. I.. um.. you know..”

“Anyway.. the years didn't change her that much, I suppose..”

“What are you gettin' at, lad?” Willy asked, raising an eyebrow. He hadn't known what Misha looked like - the Commander hadn't provided a description.

“That woman..” Lee started, taking a deep breath as a small sob built up in his chest, “was my mother.”.

“And.. and I had to..” Lee tried to explain further, closing his eyes tightly to avoid crying.

Willy’s eyes widened, and he reached a hand out to carefully touch Lee’s shoulder. He spoke gently, “I'm sorry, lad..”

Lee shook his head, brushing the contact away. His anger returned.

Lee clenched his fist at his side, his jaw tightening. He spoke once more, an angry determination filling his voice, “I'm not ever going to touch one of these stupid things again. I don't want to hurt people, self defense or not.”

And with that, Lee stormed off. Leaving Willy alone to process what he had just learned.

All the information swirled around his mind - crowding it and causing a large wave of guilt to crash down on him.

He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He couldn’t believe what Lee had done, either. And he definitely couldn’t believe - or even fathom - the kind of things Lee was feeling at that moment. Willy felt awful, his stomach lurched. This was yet another reason why the Commander had to be stopped. However, Willy couldn’t help thinking about what would happen if Lee ended up in another situation like this. He was worried that Lee might endanger not only himself, but everyone else, too. So, he crept into the medical tent and decided to talk to Kent about it.

After chatting with Kent, and assuring him he should rest, Willy took a deep breath. He then checked his watch. Nearly 22:00 - the time the Commander had expected him back. He pursed his lips together with a faint smack, taking a moment to hope the commander wouldn’t be too upset about this. But that’s all he could do: hope. Realistically, he knew this wouldn’t end well.

Willy reluctantly headed towards the Commander’s tent. The man himself was already inside, his hands crossed over his chest. The Commander looked at Willy expectantly.

“Well, where is she?” The man spoke, raising an eyebrow as he gazed lazily in Willy’s direction.

“Ah..” Willy started, pursing his lips into a thin line, “About that..”

The commander looked at him, his eyes shooting a warning glance. He spoke again, “Where is she, Colonel?”

“She ain’t here, Commander,” Willy admitted. He glanced down at the floor, a sense of foreboding washing over him. He continued, “Not anymore, anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” The Commander asked, leaning closer to Willy. His voice remained even, though Willy could hear the small undertones of anger. He spoke again, “Where. Is. She?”

Willy went silent for a moment, unsure of how much of the events he should reveal. He didn’t want to endanger the boys, but he knew he couldn’t keep this a secret. Eventually, he cleared his throat and mumbled out a faint, “She’s dead.”

The Commander pinched the bridge of his nose, his face contorting in a barely contained anger. The corners of his mouth morphed into a sort of smile and he released a sound similar to a dry, humorless chuckle.

“Hilarious, Colonel. If you ever get tired of this gig, you should become a comedian,” The Commander spoke, obviously deluding himself into believing Willy was merely joking. His expression soon returned to its serious state and he looked Willy dead in the eyes. The Commander spoke once more, “Now, tell me where she is.”

“I have been tryin’ to tell ya,” Willy replied, exasperation filling his voice. “She’s dead, Commander. Happened on the scout mission.. One of the boys.. Ah.. he was attacked, another acted in self defense.”

The Commander closed his eyes, listening intently to the words Willy was speaking. When he opened his eyes, an all too familiar rage filled them.

“Tell me their names and badge numbers,” The Commander instructed, slamming his tight fist against the desk and causing the documents to jostle.

“I.. Er..Ya don’t really need those, right? I.. I mean, it was just an accident-” Willy pleaded, his face paling.

“Their names and badge numbers,” The Commander repeated firmly, “Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary-”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, Colonel,” He stated matter-of-factly, his face contorting into an expression of cool, calculated anger.

“Besides, you owe me,” The Commander reminded, “You failed me, now you will pay the price for your failures.”

“Commander..” Willy started, a wave of worry forming across his face. His brows knit together.

“You seem to be rather fond of them, Colonel,” He spoke, the emotion now completely void from his words. He added, “It would be quite a shame for them to pay for your failures, wouldn’t it?”

“Ye wouldn’t..” Willy replied, his jaw clenching.

“Oh. no, I wouldn’t…” The Commander replied. Willy mentally wiped some sweat from his brow, relieved. “But as for my colleagues..? Hm.. They will be quite disappointed upon learning they will never receive the information they seek.”

The Commander turned and sat down at his desk, leaning over it and propping up on his elbows. He clasped his hands together, a wry smile forming across his lips, “Tell me their names and badge numbers, and I’ll ensure their safety.”

Willy sighed. He couldn’t possibly trust the Commander - not after everything he learned - but it seemed that, once again, he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to endanger Kent or Lee any more than he already had. He thought to himself, deeply considering the Commander’s offer. He felt utterly helpless.

Willy looked at the Commander once more, then to a small photo he kept in his breast pocket - a photo of Chris and an infant Kent visiting Willy on his boat. I hope this is the right thing to do, Chrissy.. Willy pleaded silently to himself.

He told the Commander their names.

The Commander smiled in Willy’s direction. A sick, sadistic smile. He stared at Willy as he reached for a nearby walkie-talkie. He brought it towards his lips, never breaking eye contact with Willy as he did this.

He pressed the push-to-talk button and repeated the information he was given. However, at the end of it, he said something quite unexpected.”I have a special request for these two soldiers.” The Commander spoke, though he intently watched Willy’s expression as the next words left his lips.

“Kill them.”

Willy had never regretted a decision faster. His face drained of all color and his mouth remained agape.

Before he realized it, Willy launched himself forward. He reached over the desk and gripped the Commander by the collar of his uniform.

“How could ya?” He spat, anger filling his voice as his grip tightened around the fabric, “Ye said they’d be safe. Ye said ya would ‘ensure their safety’.”

“Hm..” The Commander started, “I don’t recall that.”

Willy felt his teeth clench, his fist gripping the fabric of the Commander’s outfit tight enough to make his knuckles appear white.

“Ye are one sick, twisted ba-.” Willy spoke, though he was quickly cut off.

The Commander raised a hand, cutting off any further words from Willy’s mouth. He spoke, his voice coated in a calm, almost playful tone, “Colonel, I would watch your tone. Be thankful I have warned you of what is to come.”

The Commander went silent for a moment, thinking. Eventually, his lips morphed into a twisted smile, “Besides, you know them better than anyone. You may be able to save them.”

“If you hurry.”

And with that, Willy instantly dropped the Commander’s collar and turned a prompt 180 degrees. He rushed out of the tent. Scrambling to think about what the boys would do, panic slowly washed over Willy’s usual calm, collected disposition.

He couldn’t believe he had been so foolish. He had been trying so hard to protect them that he endangered them in the process. Willy shoved the rushing thoughts down, harshly swallowing as he tried to compose himself. He could fix this. He could still save them. He had to. They were his responsibility now.

Willy practically sprinted to the medical tent. However, he was taken aback at what he found - or rather, the lack of what he was looking for. It appeared that, while the nurses weren’t looking, Kent had managed to slip out unnoticed. Willy gulped harshly. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose - trying to stifle the mixture of panic and frustration rising in him.

Of course Kent had gone against his advice. Willy exhaled an exasperated sigh. Why had he thought any different? This was Chris Neilson’s boy - of course he would search for his friend while injured. Luckily, this meant Willy knew exactly where to look. He silently crept towards the dwellings - making sure to stick to the shadows in case anyone was watching.

As he approached, he managed to catch the middle of a muffled conversation. He overheard Lee lamenting, remorse layered heavily in his voice as he talked to who Willy assumed could only be Kent. The man silently peered around the corner, watching intently as Kent and Lee huddled together - clearly distressed after the day’s events. Willy strained his ears, trying to determine what they were planning. He knew that they tended to act irrationally when emotions ran high, so he was rightfully concerned. Willy heard another snippet of their conversation:

“Kent, I can't stop thinking about her. I feel awful thinking about how we just.. left her there, you know?”.

“It doesn't sit right with me. I.. I think we need to go back. Just to give her a proper burial.”

“Would that help ease your mind?”

“I think so.”

Willy raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by their decision. However, the most surprising part came next:

“I know.. you don't really like them or like using them, but it would make me feel safer. And.. since I can't exactly use my arms right now - especially with something like that, you.. might have to be the one to carry it.”

“Kent, I.. I can't.”

“Okay. If it makes you feel better, we won't bring one.”

The older man mentally face palmed, a wave of distraught disbelief coating his features. He absolutely couldn’t believe what he just heard. Didn’t they know how dangerous it could be at night? Especially since it appeared they intended to go back to a place where Kent was injured merely hours ago. Willy felt like it was all a twisted joke - one with him as the punchline. He knew that, with the Commander’s conspiracy with the Gotoran soldiers, going back into the town was the last thing any of them should do. Yet, he watched as Kent and Lee slowly trekked down the path - carrying only a dimly lit lantern and their foolish emotions: bravery, determination, and Lee’s guilt.

Willy shook his head, another sigh slipping past his lips. He gripped the cool metal of the weapon - something he had picked up on his way over, expecting the worst, as always.

“Those boys,” Willy muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose before squinting out and seeing how far they had traveled.. “I guess I better follow ‘em, just to make sure that nothin’ bad happens..” He added with a small grumble.

Willy silently followed them, glancing around to ensure there wasn’t any foreseeable danger. He watched as the boys came to a halt and quickly ducked behind a nearby street pole. It wasn’t much cover, but it would have to do. It looked like Kent and Lee were confused, but Willy wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying. He took a deep breath and decided he would risk it. He moved from behind the pole and slowly inched towards the boys. However, just as he was about to reach them, they moved once more - approaching a nearby building and peering inside.

Good, Willy thought to himself, at least they’re bein’ careful. However, Willy’s thoughts were soon interrupted as the boys returned from the doorway - shaking their heads. He watched, confused, as they continued to inspect a row of buildings. He followed behind them, keeping a safe distance to avoid being spotted. Eventually, the boys seemed to find the “correct building” - as evident by their reactions (which Willy saw were ones of intense gagging, as if they stumbled upon something dead).

He grimaced and moved even closer. From the open doorway, the stench wafted in Willy’s direction - potent enough to make any normal person’s eyes water. However, Willy had experienced enough gruesome scenes in his lifetime to remain mostly unphased. He shook his head and brought the edge of his uniform up to cover his nose. Willy peered through a nearby window, squinting because of the low light, and tried to determine what the boys were doing.

What in the world are those boys up to? Willy thought to himself. He watched as Kent and Lee attempted to move the woman. Willy sighed.

He barely had time to react before Kent and Lee emerged from the building once more. This time, dragging a piece of holey fabric behind them. Willy simply shook his head. He couldn’t help but feel partially responsible, but that didn’t mean he thought this was a good idea. Willy only hoped that Lee’s selfless deed didn’t end badly.

There was that word again: hope. The more Willy needed it, the more he used it, the less it seemed to mean. He hoped he could save them, he hoped nothing bad would happen, he hoped this was all a sick, twisted joke.. Yet, it seemed that even the word itself was turning on him.

Willy cautiously followed them, sticking to the edge of the path and keeping a respectable distance. He watched intently as the boys - well, mainly Lee - began digging a deep hole. Willy didn’t see this as too unusual and glanced away - only for a moment. However, that moment almost cost him everything. When he looked up, he noticed the silhouettes of some figures - about twenty or so. His eyes went wide, fear coursing through him.

However, it looked like Kent and Lee were still oblivious. Willy looked around - trying to find something he could use to warn them. He found a small pebble and gripped it tensely in his palm. I hope this works. He thought to himself. Willy took a deep breath and threw the rock as far as he could - watching as it landed on a pile of dirt near Kent’s feet. Luckily, Kent looked up, confused. Willy watched as Kent seemed to notice the figures.

Please, boys, Willy silently mumbled to himself, gritting his teeth in anticipation, Ye have to run. He waited, watching with each agonizingly slow second as Kent and Lee remained motionless. Willy held his breath, hoping that they would hear his silent pleas. A few seconds later, as if by some miracle, Kent begins to run, hastily dragging Lee out of the hole and frantically pointing in the direction they came from. Willy wiped the beading sweat from his brow, however it seemed the worry wasn’t quite over yet. The large mass of figures had begun following the two boys. Willy watched, his beating heart loudly resounding in his ears. He trailed behind the mass, desperately trying to keep the boys in his line of sight.

Willy carefully trekked behind them, making sure to stay near the shadows to avoid getting spotted by either the group of enemies or Kent and Lee. Everything was going perfectly - the boys were running away, they were even nearing a building that could be used for shelter. Everything was going perfect.

Willy watched, his expression contorting in horror as Lee stumbled over a jagged rock. The limp in Lee’s walk that followed a second after didn’t leave much to Willy’s imagination. He knew what had just happened. He also knew that the crowd was only getting closer. He had to do something - anything. Willy took a deep breath and veered in the direction of the crowd, and, without a second thought, he stood in the middle of the path, the firearm clutched tightly in his steady hands.

“I can’t let ya get any closer,” Willy called out, his voice filled with a calmness that felt almost alien. He had yet to raise the firearm - hoping it would only be a last resort.

“We don’t answer to you, old man,” One figure responded, stepping forward. Willy quickly assessed the boldness - this one must be the “leader”, he reasoned.

“No?” Willy asked, raising an eyebrow. He swallowed - barely noticeable. Let’s hope this works, Willy thought to himself. “Ya answer to my boss though, eh? Would be quite a shame - if he knew yer were tryin’ to disobey his new orders.”

The man went silent for a moment, thinking. Willy could almost see the gears turning. Eventually, he looked Willy up and down - noting the high rank and the Ferngill Republic uniform. His jaw clenched and he spoke through gritted teeth, “New orders?”

“Aye, straight from the man himself,” Willy started.He thought a silent prayer - hoping his luck hadn’t quite run out. He needed them to believe he wasn’t lying or making this up on the spot.

“Enlighten me, then,” The man replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He wants ye to abandon this effort. It was all one big misunderstandin’, you see,” Willy continued. He smoothed any worry from his expression - attempting to make everything he said completely believable.

“What if we don’t believe you, eh?”

“Ah.. I’d rather it not have to come t’ that, lad,” Willy answered, truthfully this time. He did not want this situation to escalate, but it appeared the universe did not care what he wanted. He watched as the opposing leader weighed the options - follow the original orders and risk missing new ones, or follow the new orders and get chastised if they proved to be false.

“I’m sure ya can be reasonable, an’ even make the correct decision,” Willy tried again - attempting to keep the man on his side.

It wasn’t working.

“Nah,” The man responded, shaking his head, “I don’t think so, Gramps.”

The man turned to several colleagues and motioned towards Kent and Lee before adding, “Go after them. We have a job to do and I don’t have time to listen to this man’s blabbering.”

Willy sighed. It seems his luck was running thin. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and muttering a barely audible apology.

Willy spoke once more, his voice once again steady and even, “Then ya leave me no choice.” He then opened his eyes and raised the firearm.

The next few moments were nothing more than an adrenaline infused blur - the sounds of gunshots cut through the silence and whizzed around. Willy hoped he managed to buy the boys enough time to flee. He hoped they would manage to find safety. To find something, anything. Somewhere they could hide until he could find them again.

But, that wasn’t the case. As Willy dodged, he heard a loud, resounding snap. He frantically scanned around the area - his eyes searching for the source of the noise. Much to his dismay, his eyes landed on two figures: one sprawled out on the ground, his arm at an awkward angle, and the other crouching over him warily. As he got closer, he soon realized he was looking at Kent and Lee.

That ain’t good, he thought to himself, sweat beading on his forehead. It seems he hadn’t given them quite enough time - nor did he account that they, too, would have to dodge the incoming gunfire. He watched as Kent managed to drag Lee inside - and not a second too soon, either. As soon as the door closed, a large circle of soldiers swarmed around the building. Not long after, he heard a voice calling out - something about getting revenge for Misha, followed by the sound of rapid gunfire. Willy’s face paled as he watched bullets ricochet off the side of the building that the boys had just entered.

As the gunfire died down, Willy silently crept closer - carefully peering around the edge of the tree. He scanned the area - looking for any remaining soldiers. It appeared they had all dispersed. All except for one.

He watched intently, though his expression soon fell as he noticed Lee hobbling into the open. Willy kept his eyes trained forward - darting between Lee’s location and the distant soldier. The soldier made a motion - reading his weapon - and Willy acted without thinking. He rushed towards Lee. And then it happened.

It was as if time stopped - his movement became suddenly sluggish, his limbs felt like lead as he attempted to lift them. Willy heard the sound a second later: a sharp, resounding bang followed by the distant whizzing as the bullet traveled through the air. He watched in horror, desperately willing his legs to move. He even tried to call out a cry of warning, but any words that formed found themselves caught in his throat. It was too late.

The bullet collided with Lee’s side in one swift motion, lodging itself in between flesh and the slick crimson ooze beneath. Willy could do nothing but watch - his limbs still refusing to cooperate. He felt his chest tighten as Lee slumped over, crashing to the ground in a pained heap.

Still immobilized by shock, Willy watched as a horrified Kent approached the door and struggled, attempting to pull Lee back inside - before firmly closing the door behind him. The sound of distant rustling caused him to shake out of his stupor. His shock was replaced with anger and he marched in the direction of the distant soldier.

When he reached them, Willy immediately kicked the weapon from the man’s hand. Afterwards, he gripped the man’s collar, roughly dragging them upwards.

“Ye are twisted,” Willy spat, the anger clearly vivid in his voice. His grip tightened on the man’s shirt, his knuckles turning white as a result. Willy continued, “That boy had a life ahead of him - a future.”

The man scoffed, baring his teeth as he looked up at Willy. He spoke, “So did my Misha. I guess he should’ve thought about that before he took her from me.”

“Again with this ‘Misha’ lass,” Willy grumbled, his brows furrowing together. He continued, “What’s so damn special about her, anyway? Whatever information she had couldn’t be worth that lad’s life.”

“And here I thought you knew everything,” The soldier replied, his expression forming one of pity.

“Eh?” Willy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Lad, if ye know somethin’, you need to tell me - right now.”

“And why should I do that?” The soldier replied, his expression darkening. “There isn’t anything left for me here, Gramps. My beloved Misha is gone - my future with her. No reward or punishment will be worth this damned existence.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way, son,” Willy tried to explain, his voice firm. “You can still change your future. You don’t have to listen to the corrupt, two-faced leaders.”

The soldier smiled - one of defeat, one of pity. He let out a small, wry chuckle and shook his head in disbelief. He spoke once more, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Willy looked a bit confused, not understanding what the soldier was hinting at.

“We aren’t in control here, Gramps,” the soldier explained, his expression turning solemn, “Never were. Never will be.”

“What are ya blabberin’ about, lad?”

“He’s using you,” The man answered. “He’s using all of us. Pawns in the world’s worst game of fuckin’ chess, that’s all we are - just a meaningless sacrifice, expected to die silently, leavin’ all the damn glory to the kings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You aren’t clever, Gramps,” the soldier spoke once more - pity layered in his words. “He’s using your own game against you and you can’t even see it.”

Wily raised an eyebrow. Was his plan that obvious? Had he not been as careful as he thought? He wasn’t sure.

“You only got this close because he let you,” The man added, looking lazily in Willy’s direction. He continued, “but, you’re simply another piece on the board. He knows that a pawn will never challenge his own king - he has rigged the game called it fairness. Called it a kindness. Called it mercy.”

“He never wanted information,” the soldier explained, “He wanted elimination. Wanted all his little… ‘problems’ to disappear. And you delivered on a silver fuckin’ platter.”

“What-?” Willy asked, his eyes widened in surprise. He dropped the man’s collar. If what the man was saying had an ounce of truth to it, Willy wasn’t sure he could believe it.

While Willy was thinking, the man scrambled and grabbed his previously discarded weapon.

“But it doesn’t matter,” The man spoke, raising the weapon. “I still have a part to play. I have to finish this.. For Misha.”

“Ah.. I can’t let ya do that,” Willy replied, his face paling as he thought about the meaning of the man’s words. Lee was already injured, he knew that meant Kent must be next. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t lose another son.

The man ignored Willy’s words. He bolted, a fierce determination in his eyes. Willy sighed and raised his own weapon.

“I’m sorry,” Willy called out, peering through the small scope attached to the rifle. He spoke once more, “But you left me no choice.”

And with that, a final, sharp bang resounded through the quiet of the night. Willy did not look at the man - he did not need to. His aim was always true - a curse of this lifestyle, one he picked up as a means of survival. He listened as the figure thudded against the packed Earth beneath his feet, but only for a moment.

With the new information in mind, he approached the building where Kent and Lee had hidden themselves. He knocked on the door - a frantic, almost terrified knock. He hoped he wasn’t too late. He hoped he could still save Lee. He hoped and hoped and hoped.

But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“Open the door,” Willy called out, pounding on the outside of the door once again before attempting to jostle the handle and speaking again, “It’s me, lads. I’m here to help ye.”

“Willy?” Kent called out, skeptically.

“Yes, lad!” Willy spoke, his frustration growing the longer the door remained closed. “Let me in an’ I’ll explain everythin’.”

…

“Ya don’t need me to retell what happened next, do ya?” Willy asked, turning to Kent - who had faint, shimmery streaks running down his cheeks, as if he had been crying.

It appears Willy’s story was uncovering some long-forgotten memories; memories Kent hadn’t wanted to forget but lost anyway. Memories of his friends, of their time together, of the reason he was still alive today, of the namesake of his youngest son.

“Ah..” Kent spoke, reaching a hand up to brush away the faint tear streaks, “No. I remember - bits and pieces, but I think it’s better that way.”

Willy gave a firm nod and glanced into the water - his own mood had soured as he retold the events of years ago. He hadn’t forgotten them - he wouldn’t let himself forget them. Every night, Willy thought about what happened. He still held himself accountable, despite knowing he was part of a larger scheme.

“Just.. tell me what happened next,” Kent responded, a small sigh slipping past his lips, “Tell me why you helped me escape. Tell me what happened to you afterwards.”

“Ah.. I was ‘fraid ye would ask about that part.”

“I deserve to know.”

“That you do, Kent,” Willy replied reluctantly, nodding once again. He repeated the phrase, “That you do.”

Willy pursed his lips together, debating how to best approach it. Eventually, he resumed his story.

…

After dropping Lee off at the medical tent, and explaining to the nurses what happened, Willy angrilly marched towards the commander’s tent. He needed to confront him. He wasn’t going to be a pawn to his game any longer, no matter what the commander thought.

“You’re still standing, I see,” The Commander spoke, barely even glancing up as Willy entered the area. He pursed his lips together, noting the hostility in Willy’s eyes. He spoke again, “I suppose that means you have some grievances.”

“Grievances? Grievances?” Willy spoke, anger rising in his voice. “I have more than grievances, Commander. A boy is dead - because of your order. One of your own soldiers, nonetheless.”

The Commander merely shrugged, looking unamused. He spoke, his tone bored, “People die everyday, Colonel.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Willy repeated, leaning across the desk and inching closer to the commander, “A boy is dead because of your orders. He shouldn’t be.”

“A pity, truly,” The Commander replied with a small hum. He glanced up at Willy, his lips forming a thin line. He spoke once more, “However, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Colonel. I haven’t given any orders.”

“Ye lyin’, connivin’-”

“Ah-ah,” the Commander interrupted, “I would watch your tone.” He pulled out a small document - one with a signature beneath it. It appeared to be an order, one showing that Lee and Kent would have to go on a solo mission in the dangerous part of the town, at night. One with Willy’s signature. One he did not write.

“It would be quite a shame if someone found your orders, wouldn’t it?” He spoke, a sly, twisted grin forming on his lips. He continued, “The ones responsible for this poor boy’s death, hm?”

“Eh? I didn’t-” Willy protested, his eyes widening as he glanced at the letter. It looked official - and they even have the messy pen strokes from his heavy hand. It was incredibly convincing, but Willy knew he would never sign something like that.

“Listen, Colonel,” The Commander spoke, using a pen to push Willy further from his face. He clasped his hands on top of each other and spoke calmly, “I control the narrative. What you ‘did’ or ‘did not’ do is merely whatever I say. No hard feelings, of course. I simply do not need you any more. I have everything I wanted - all thanks to you.”

Willy’s mind was racing - he couldn’t believe he was going to be framed for the commander’s crimes. He had to do something.

As he was thinking up a plan, the commander spoke once more, something barely audible, yet Willy assumed it was another twisted scheme.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, I suppose there isn’t a reason to hide it anymore, hm?” The Commander asked, his voice playful, teasing even, as if this was simply a game. He added, “Your next orders will be carried out soon enough.”

“What are ya talkin’ about?” Willy asked, both confused and wary. He eyed the Commander suspiciously.

“Kent Neilson is scheduled to be tried for treason. Both as your accomplice and as the murderer of his fellow brother in arms.”

Willy’s eyes widened, Treason? Kent was only eighteen - hardly capable of treason. He gulped harshly, desperately trying to remain calm. He needed more information. Panicking would ruin his chances at receiving that.

“When?” He asked, harshly gripping the edge of the Commander’s desk.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” The Commander replied, his tone once again returning bored. He continued, “Such a shame, too.. I was really looking forward to his potential.”

With that, Willy had made up his mind: he had to get Kent out before tomorrow afternoon. And he knew just how to do it.

The following morning, Willy rushed towards Kent’s sleeping quarters - however, he was met with a large wave of confusion. Kent was nowhere to be seen. He asked several of the cabinmates and no one knew anything - no one except Ray, that is.

After receiving a tip from Ray, Willy nodded and left the room. He went to the garage and entered the nearest vehicle. Judging by what Ray had told him, Kent had left about an hour ago - which meant he hadn’t gotten too far, much to Willy’s luck.

Sure enough, he found Kent attempting to leave - on foot, nonetheless. Willy had to stifle a laugh as he noticed Kent was walking in the wrong direction.

“Kent!” Willy called out as he trailed behind Kent, having to barely press the gas on the vehicle to keep pace with him. “What are you doin’, lad?”

“Leaving!” Kent called back. He tried to walk slightly faster, but his legs were close to giving up. Willy watched Kent - noting the boy appeared tired. His legs must be exhausted, Willy mused to himself, He’s been walkin’ for hours - it seems.

“And where do ya think you’re goin’?” Willy asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Of course, he knew exactly where Kent was going. He even intended to take him there.

“Home,” Kent answered simply. He looked ahead, determined, before adding, “I’m going home.”

“Not that way, ya aren’t,” Willy spoke, a hearty chuckle bellowing in his chest. He reached a hand out the window and pointed in a different direction than Kent was walking before adding, “City is that way, son.”

…

“But ya know that part, right?” Willy spoke, cutting off his story once again. He turned to Kent, who was nodding silently. Willy continued, a chuckle slipping past his lips, “Aye.. we were trapped in that storm. A real rager, it was. Then yer Mammy came an’ took ya home, didn’t she?”

Kent nodded once more. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered it clearly: praying to Yoba, using Willy’s lucky coin on the off chance the payphone worked, being surprised when it actually did, his mother taking him home, and getting to see Jodi after so long. He remembers the way his heart swelled when he saw her, drenched in the rain and wearing only her nightgown. Kent had never been more in love with her than that moment. Though, the love he felt then still rings true today.

“So, tell me,” Kent began, smacking his lips together as he decided if he really wanted to know what happened next. After deciding he did, he continued, “What happened afterwards? How did you get back?”

“Well, I drove back, son,” Willy answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Wait,” Kent tilted his head in confusion. That doesn’t make sense. He thought the vehicle had gotten stuck - which would leave Willy trapped for hours (or until someone noticed). He continued, “I thought the car was stuck..?”

“Eh, it was,” Willy gave a small chuckle. He reached over and gave Kent and firm smack on his back. He sent a wry smile in his direction, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. “For about five seconds.”

“What?”

“All terrain vehicle, lad,” Willy explained, giving a small nod, “Made to withstand even the deepest mud.”

“But you-?” Kent asked, utterly confused.

Willy waved a hand dismissively. He spoke once more, “I just wanted to make sure ya got home safely. There were people breathin’ down my neck, watchin’ my every move.. I couldn’t go into the city if I wanted to.”

Willy pursed his lips together, shaking his head. He continued, “Nah, I didn’t want to risk yer safety any more than I already had. Better you be safe an’ sound in yer Mammy’s car.”

“Anyway, that part isn’t important,” Willy dismissed. He made a small “hrm” noise as his line came up empty yet again. He reached for another piece of bait, applying it to the hook as he spoke once more, “What is important, though, is what happened when I got back.”

…

As soon as Willy arrived back at camp, he knew this would take a turn for the worst. He took a moment to mentally prepare himself, taking a long, deep breath, and then opened the driver’s door. He stepped out. The second his boots touched the earth beneath him, his arms were quickly seized - two sets of hands roughly dragged him towards the commander’s quarters.

“Imagine my surprise when, upon going to fetch a certain cadet for his trial, I am informed that he is no longer there,” The Commander spoke, a barely contained anger lining his features. An exasperated sigh slipped past his lips, “Care to explain, Colonel?”

“I don’t have to explain anythin’ to ya,” Willy replied.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Colonel,” The Commander started, narrowing his eyes. He leaned over, his face inches away from Willy’s own. He repeated, “Care to explain? Where is Kent Neilson?”

“Gone,” Willy answered. He glared at the Commander and added, “Long gone. Ye ain’t gonna find him even if ya tried.”

“Wrong answer,” The Commander replied, his anger no longer hidden. He motioned to someone standing nearby. Ray’s face was illuminated as he stepped closer to the Commander.

“Private Raegan Schmidt has kindly filled in the details,” The Commander explained, resting a hand almost proudly on Ray’s shoulder. He continued, “I know exactly where Kent Neilson is, Colonel. I also know that this makes him a deserter and you, an accomplice - a crime punishable by death.”

“Now, I’ll give you another chance,” He said. “I’m feeling quite.. Merciful.”

“I don’t want yer brand o’ mercy,” Willy replied. The Commander responded with a small “hmph”, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Colonel, someone needs to teach you to watch your tone,” He stated. The Commander then nodded towards the back wall and another figure approached. Willy felt the pain before he even noticed the movement: a sharp, abrupt pain spread throughout his face. A harsh object - similar to a human fist - collided with his nose. He grimaced, though he only glared in the commander’s direction.

“I am truly sorry it has to be this way, William,” The Commander spoke, watching as another punch collided with Willy’s nose - causing a small stream of blood to trickle out his left nostril. He continued, “You would’ve made such a great ally. We could’ve even been… acquaintances.”

Willy scoffed, shaking his head. He looked at the Commander - his eyes filling with hate. Another punch, more blood, yet Willy no longer cried out in pain. He was done bowing down to this man. He had to confront him, and he had to do it now. He spoke, “Yeah, an’ I would’ve ended up like all yer ‘acquaintances’ - dyin’ because I was in yer way. Just another thing for ya to get rid of.”

“Whatever do you mean-?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Willy replied, narrowing his eyes, “Don’t you, Vincent?”

“How did you-?” The Commander - Vincent - replied, his face paling as the name slipped past Willy’s lips.

“I have my ways,” Willy responded, his determination creeping back in. It was clear that he hadn’t expected Willy to know his name. “Ya didn’t want anyone findin’ out, did you? Didn’t want anyone makin’ connections. Didn’t want anyone threatenin’ yer power.”

“So.. ya got rid of them. Both of ‘em. Didn’t you, Vincent?” Willy stated, shaking his head in anger. “Had yer own son killed - just to save yer damn reputation. You make me sick.”

“Stop with these.. Wild accusations,” Vincent replied, defensive. However, it was clear Willy had gotten under his skin. He smoothed his expression and added, “Besides, even if these were true, you have no proof.”

“Eh?” Willy asked, raising an eyebrow. His lip quirked up in the corner, forming a small smirk. He spoke again, “Don’t I, though?”

Vincent eyed Willy warily. Willy swore he saw the smallest bead of sweat form on the Commander’s brow.

Willy chuckled, fighting against the arms that restrained him. He shook his head, looking at Vincent before speaking once more, “What’s wrong, Commander? Ye ain’t… afraid, are ya? After all, if what I’m sayin’ is…’wild accusations,’ ya have nothing to be worried about, eh?”

“I am not afraid,” Vincent replied, clenching his jaw. A vein protruded in his forehead. He spoke again, through gritted teeth, “You have nothing. You are nothing. No one will believe a word you say.”

“Oh, but it ain’t just words, Commander,” Willy replied.He managed to free one of his arms and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out the tape recorder - one that held every order and conversation he had with the commander for the last two weeks. He also had the small nameplate - something he made a copy of before locking the safe all those days ago.

“This nifty device contains all the ‘proof’ they’ll need,” He spoke with a nod. Several murmurs filled the room and everyone glanced around warily. Willy added, “And, the cherry on top? It’s all in yer own words.”

“You-.. you’re lying,” Vincent replied, though the calm demeanor was slowly melting. HIs face paled - stricken with panic.

“I don’t make a habit o’ lyin’, Commander,” Willy retorted, his face contorting once again, “though, I’m sure ye wouldn’t know anythin’ about that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel,” Vincent replied, clenching his fist.

“Don’t I?” As the words left Willy’s mouth, the commander seemed to snap. He lunged forward, gripping Willy by the collar and hoisting him off the ground.

“No,” Vincent answered, “You don’t.”

“Then ya don’t mind me telling them about yer son, do ya?”

Vincent glared, though he attempted to remain calm. He spoke once more, trying to convince them, “I don’t even have a son.”

“Ah..” Willy piped up, a short chuckle slipping past his lips, “Then I suppose tellin’ yer full name won’t matter, huh?”

“You-”

“Admit it,” Willy urged, “Admit ya have a son. Admit ya killed him.”

“I did no such thing. I have no son.” Vincent spoke, his voice full of hot anger. He glanced around, noting the crowd’s response to his behavior. He set Willy down and cleared his throat before speaking again, more calm this time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Colonel.”

Willy sighed, shaking his head. “Ya always choose the hard way, don’t ye?”

Willy fished around in his pocket, taking out a small crumpled piece of paper - a copy of Lee’s enlistment form.

“In my hands, I have the enlistment form of former Private Vincent Leegland - whom you all know was reported dead just yesterday,” Willy started, holding up the form and earning a chorus of “oohs” and “huhs”from the crowd. He brought out the nameplate and continued, “and in my other hand, I hold the nameplate of yer esteemed Commander.”

Willy took a deep breath, letting a wave of courage overtake him once more. He carefully turned over the nameplate and held it towards the crowd. He read it off, “It reads ‘Commander Vincent Leegland.’ What I didn’t mention was that, on Private Leegland’s form, his name is listed as ‘Vincent Leegland Jr.’.”

A chorus of gasps filled the room and Vincent visibly tensed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vincent spoke, trying to veer the situation back under his control. He pointed an accusatory finger in Willy’s direction and spoke, “What matters is he is an accomplice to a desertion. He helped a soldier escape his trial.”

“I only helped him escape,” Willy started, grimacing as he just admitted to aiding a desertion. He kept speaking nonetheless, “Because ye were going to convict him of a crime - a crime he didn’t commit. A crime you committed.”

The crowd stirred once again, clearly getting antsy from the tension in the room. Vincent was losing. He knew it, too. He couldn’t stand it.

“I should bring you to trial,” Vincent spat, his calm persona vanishing once again, “I should tell the others of your deeds.”

“An’ I should tell ‘em of your treason,” Willy retorted, shaking his head.

As the words left Willy’s mouth, anger bubbled in Vincent’s chest one more. He reached over, lunging for Willy’s shirt once more. He gripped it tightly, pulling the man close to his face.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, Colonel,” Vincent growled, his voice barely audibly - yet seething with raw hatred.

Murmurs filled the crowd. Treason? What treason? The Commander committed treason? But he is so great - practically a saint!

Vincent glanced around, noted the nervous energy of everyone in the room. He was supposed to be their calm, composed Commander - the one who had control, the one who had power, the one who was admired, the one who was feared. Yet, upon watching Willy speak to the commander this way, the onlookers seemed uncertain. This was their commander, yet he appeared weak, cowardly. Vincent was losing them. He couldn’t let that happen. He sighed, reigning in his emotions and a wave of false composure washed over him once more.

“Look, Colonel,” Vincent started, his voice layered with flattery. “We can work this out civilly. I can be merciful, I can be kind, you’ll see.”

Willy scoffed. He pursed his lips and spat - a wad of slick, sticky crimson mixed with a tooth launched from his mouth and onto the commander’s face. He spoke calmly, “I said I don’t want yer mercy - or yer kindness.”

Vincent grimaced, gritting his teeth harshly enough Willy could almost hear them grinding in restraint. He let one hand go, briefly loosening his grip on Willy’s shirt, and wiping the gunk off his face. In this moment, Willy reared his head back before bringing it up harshly - abruptly headbutting Vincent in the nose. He stumbled back - gripping his nose with a groan, causing Willy’s shirt to drop from his hands entirely. As the commander was distracted, Willy once again reached into his back pocket and pulled out the recorder.

“Ye want to see how great yer commander is?” Willy asked, though he didn’t expect an answer. He stood on a nearby crate and raised the recorder of his head, “I’ll show ya just how great he is.”

He paused, waiting for someone to try and stop him. No attempt was made. Willy pressed the small play button and the commander’s own words began playing - revealing his plan, his treachery, and even how he ordered the death of his own son and how he tried to frame Willy and Kent for it, all to save his reputation.

After he recovered from his daze, Vincent was furious. He approached Willy, anger swirling around him. However, he was stopped by two sets of hands - the same hands that restrained Willy earlier.

“What are you doing?” Vincent growled, his voice almost condescending. “Move.”

“We don’t listen to traitors,” one figure explained, crossing their arms firmly over their muscly chest.

“Or murderers,” the other piped up, disgust clear across their face, “Especially not those who turn on their own flesh and blood.”

“Men.. There is no need to be hasty,” The commander attempted to reason, his calm, commanding persona trying to creep back in.

“I just want to talk to Colonel Dodgens. I’m sure we can reach a..” He grimaced, gritting his teeth, “Civil conclusion.”

“You hearin’ this, Willy?” One of the figures called over their shoulder. “What do you think?”

Willy thought for a moment. He had the power in this situation: he could absolutely ruin the commander, he could send this recorder to the hirer ups, he could even become the commander. But, looking at the commander, seeing how the power corrupted him - made him a cowering, weak man who would hurt anyone to keep a sliver of control. Willy hated that sight. He didn’t want to become like Vincent. No, he had a better idea.

“I’ll hear ‘em out, lads,” Willy said, motioning for them to part and let Vincent through, “But I’ll be makin’ the demands.”

“Fine,” Vincent replied, a sigh slipping past his lips. He approached Willy, though he was stopped before he could get too close. “Name your price. Anything you want - it’s yours.”

Willy thought for a moment, pursing his lips together. Eventually, he spoke, “I want ya to forget about Private Neilson’s desertion. Expunge it from his records - burn ‘em if you have to, but no one will find out Kent Neilson deserted.”

“Done.” Vincent replied reluctantly, crossing his arms.

“One more thing,” Willy started.

“Which is..?” The commander replied, bored.

“Give me an honorable discharge. Let me go home an’ put this nonsense behind me. I promise that I’ll be outta yer hair. I won’t even think about comin’ back. Sailor’s honor.”

Vincent thought for a moment, his lips forming a thin line as he debated the options before him: attempt to have Kent and Willy jailed, only to have his own crimes brought forward, or let them go - forget the entire thing ever happened. It wouldn’t fix the damage, but it would prevent any more. Vincent looked at Willy, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “If I grant these requests.. You’ll give me any proof you have?”

“If it guarantees Kent’s safety.” Willy responded, nodding. “That lad.. He ain’t a criminal. He ain’t a monster. He’s got a good heart. He’s got a future. I won’t let ya take away the future of another boy - not after Danny, not after Lee.”

“Consider it done,” Vincent replied finally, giving a curt nod. “Pack your bags, William Dodgens, you’re going home.”

Willy stepped off the crate and approached the commander. He stuck his hand out, sealing the deal with a firm handshake.

“Now.. the recorder?” The commander demanded, holding out his hand expectantly.

“Heh,” Willy chuckled, shaking his head, “I ain’t that gullible, Vincent.”

“Urg-”

“Don’t worry, ye will get yer little recorder,” Willy reassured, waving his hand dismissively, “After you hold up yer end of the bargain. I’m not lettin’ ya weasel your way out of this - not again.”

…

“All that really happened, Willy?” Kent asked, his face contorting in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“Aye, ye better believe it, lad,” Willy confirmed. He chuckled and pointed to his nose, which was now crooked, “Even have one hell of a scar to prove it. Me poor sniffer hasn’t been straight in..oh… fifteen or so years.”

“Anyway, after makin’ sure Vincent held up his end of the bargain, I gave him the recorder,” Willy explained, turning his attention back to Kent.

“Why?” Kent asked, shaking his head, “Weren’t you worried he’d destroy it?”

“Ah.. I knew he’d destroy it - even watched ‘im chuck the damn thing into the flames, along with yer desertion records.. But I did it to make sure ya would be safe, Kent. Haven’t you ever wondered why no one ever came after ya, despite you committing a serious crime?”

“Hmm,” Kent mused, pursing his lips together in thought, “Now that you mention it..”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter,” Willy replied, once again dismissing the train of thought. “After I watched the papers turn to ash, I packed my bags.”

“That’s where I found that picture of ye and yer friends, you know. Must’ve taken that thing the day you arrived, kept it on me bedside for the longest time. Realized it was only right for ya to have it, I did. So, I sent it to ya.”

“I remember that!” Kent replied, nodding enthusiastically, “I still have it. I hope it didn’t get damaged in the move..”

“Hey, Willy?” Kent asked, thinking deeply about the photo. He remembered receiving it, but no other communication from Willy. “Why didn’t you respond to my letters?”

“Eh?” Willy asked, raising a brow, “I didn’t receive any letters, lad.”

“What?”

“Ah.. ye probably sent ‘em to the camp, didn’t ya?” Willy asked, nodding solemnly. “Aye, I was already long gone. Moved back to the comfort of this town. Though… knowin’ Vincent, he probably used anythin’ with my name on it as kindlin’ fer his fireplace. Sorry, lad.”

“Ah, I see,” Kent replied, giving a glum nod in Willy’s direction. He went silent for a moment. He glanced down at the water, watching the colors swirl and shift into familiar yet distant faces. He muttered softly, “Would you have replied..? If you received them, I mean..”

“To every single one.”

The two stood in silence for a moment - sharing an understanding look. Eventually, Willy glanced towards the town - he looked at the blue house in the distance, watching the hustle and bustle of movers as the small family tried to get settled. He watched as a lanky teen - one who resembled a much younger Kent - placed an anchor over the door.

“Say, Kenty boy,” Willy asked, turning his attention back to the man across from him. He continued, “Who replaced me, anyway?”

Kent raised a brow, “What do you mean?”

“As the leader of the naval forces,” Willy clarified.

Kent went silent for a moment. Eventually, he turned and revealed the small nameplate and badge on his uniform jacket, “That would be me.”

“So.. what do they call ya.?”

“Colonel Kent Neilson - commander of the naval forces.”

“Atta boy,” Willy replied, reaching over and placing a firm hand on Kent’s shoulder. “I always knew ya could do it.”

“So.. what about you, Willy?” Kent asked, glancing around at the small shop behind him, “How is life treating you?”

“Eh, I can’t complain,” Willy replied, giving a curt nod. He motioned towards the shop, “I’m runnin’ me Pappy’s old shop. I think the life of a fisherman is much more my style.”

Kent nodded. He could infer that much. He was about to switch the topic when Willy piped up once again, “That’s not all, though.”

“Oh?” He asked, looking at Willy with intrigue.

Willy chuckled, a small smile forming across his lips, “Even got meself a nice lad. Name’s Marlon - he’s a real fighter. Probably seen as much combat as I have. He reminds me of an old friend.” Willy nodded to himself, pursing his lips together, “Got the same fightin’ spirit as yer Pappy, he does. Same heart, too.”

“Well,” Kent replied, sharing Willy’s smile, “I’m happy for you, Willy. I’m glad you found someone.”

“Ye as well, Kent,” Willy replied. He nodded towards the small family a few feet away. “Ya got yerself a real nice family, son. I’m proud of ya - yer Pappy would be, too.”

“Yeah,” Kent said, a small smile forming on his lips. He looked towards his family - his gaze full of love and adoration, “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“Heh,” Willy chuckled, shaking his head, “Luck ain’t got nothing to do with it, lad.”

“Huh?”

“Yer blessed, Kent.”

Kent went silent, thinking. He thought about his family - about how much they meant to him. He thought about Jodi - about how he thought he was the luckiest man in the world, about how happy he was to call himself her husband. He would give Jodi the entire world - all she had to do was ask for it. He would do anything for each and every one of them. He will do anything for each and every one of them. Because that is what you do for the people you love.

“Yes,” Kent nodded, turning back to Willy with a wide grin, “Yes I am.”

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steelycunt · 11 months ago

Note

sorry if you’ve been asked this a thousand times, but how is it going with your pride au? so excited for, still thinking about the little snippet you posted a while ago.

hi no not at all!! honestly love being asked about it it makes me very happy when people do because i like talking about it : ^ ) rambled a bit so ill put it under the cut with a little snippet!!

it’s going well thank you!! ive done quite a bit in the last couple of weeks by my own standards, and im looking at the last leg of chapter two now!! im quite a slow writer n will probably have to ease off soon for uni stuff, but as it stands the five chapters look like they will be about 20k each give or take a few thousand!! currently i have done about 31/32k so it’s already the longest thing ive ever written…truthfully though i think 95k is far too long so hopefully itll be reduced when i redraft it all. but yah!! having a lot of fun…chapter two is where it starts getting really fun (for me. hopefully it’s fun from chapter one for other people or we’re in trouble) i think chapter one and the start of two stressed me out a bit because there’s a lot more plot and a big ensemble cast im really not used to writing, but a lot of the major details have been established now!! and im really enjoying it...im quite happy with what im writing and im looking forward to being able to share it : ^ )

ii.

#telegram #anon #pride au #r/s #snippet #my fic

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vryivs · 3 months ago

Text

fanfic writer interview

thank you @tiesanjiaoshenanigans

How many works do you have on AO3? 52

What's your total AO3 word count? 571, 768

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Tangerine, Macaron (seongjoong)

the dirt that you're made of (yanqing)

恋の予感 (the longest path to us) (seongjoong)

If I Can Leave One Memory (sansang)

the stars are here (seongjoong)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? yes!! i usually go through my comments right before i upload a new fic or chapter, just because that's easiest

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? god um ok. one sec. it's definitely 白镜 - White Mirror. tragic lesbians... most of what i write has a happy or at least ambiguous ending but this one follows canon so it's a tragedy instead

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? oh man! tbh it's probably 恋の予感 (the longest path to us) again. although nearly everything i write ends happy

Do you write crossovers? not rlly... they just don't appeal to me that much so I've never written them. i dont read them either

Have you ever received hate on a fic? nope! considering how long ive been writing it honestly kind of surprises me--its not even like i write particularly safe stuff either. i figure that maybe its because so much of my work is so personal that a people tend to maintain good etiquette and dont talk shit directly to me

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes. the cinematic kind lol. last time i wrote something explicit was fine, but i much prefer writing smut in a more literary style? not sure if that makes sense. the writing equivalent of close shots and fancy camera angles and lens flare, although that doesnt mean that i cant be crass when i want

Have you ever had a fic stolen? i dont think so, but its not like i check

Have you ever had a fic translated? nop! someday i want to get good enough to translate my own hsr work into chinese just bc so much of what i write is influenced by reading and learning about chinese culture and linguistic quirks, but that wont be any time soon

Have you ever co-written a fic before? yes!! several actually. lonely 'til you hold me was a collab with a pinch hitter for the event it was for. then i also wrote on my old account Accursed Spawn with @shineoftherainbow which to this day i am obsessed with

What's your all-time favorite ship? oh man... i am fickle and my tastes change by the week, but i think i will always have a soft spot for einsla, even if i dont write them much

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? never say never but probably the seongjoong royalty au. i had it planned and everything but then people started discoursing around eden and the planned ending i wrote was potentially too topical, so i waited and then i lost steam.

What are your writing strengths? flow i think? ive always been pretty good at keeping things moving at a good pace. i edit myself a lot (and practice editing on some actual published books too!) so its become second nature to chop and change and move things around.

What are your writing weaknesses? actually writing. just kidding. probably that when i get stuck on something i tend to focus only on the fact that im stuck and cannot continue until i have unstuck myself

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? depends on what is meant my this! if it's about honorifics in dialogue (eg, hyung, -chan, dajie etc) i support it, since a lot don't translate well to english. Same with terms of endearment like -ito and -ie. if it's whole dialogue, it really depends. am i supposed to be able to understand the dialogue? is it something that could've been written just as well with 'he says, in [language]', does the author understand what they're writing, is it a text based or verbal conversation? does the pov character understand what's being said? (personally the best way to have dialogue in other languages is if the pov character isn't supposed to understand it. but always be aware that a native speaker of that language may still read the fic)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? kiamei! i love my lesbian mothers.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

白镜 - White Mirror. lets go lesbians! i really enjoyed writing in this style

tagging: @shineoftherainbow @himbodevotee @nicenightmare13 @morifiinwe @marichild @linhuine

#iv.txt #tag game

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cyberaxolotl · 3 months ago

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you should read my regretevator fanfic Nightmarish Influence

ill make some proper art/sketches promoting it i promise i just feel like i should acknowledge that i wrote this on here because its literally the longest fanfic ive ever written and is still ongoing. Read it because Long (true!) and Good (based on peer review (ao3 comments and bookmark notes))

and since you’re here here’s an excerpt of bive and split kissing from a chapter that hasn’t been released yet (and probably wont be for a while. this is from the wip for chapter 13 and the fic is only updated to chapter 11 rn)

#tori’s writing tag #regretevator #fanfiction #regretevator fanfic

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frogletscribe · 1 year ago

Text

Until It Doesn’t Hurt

Chapter 12: Catch Me Now

Summary:

20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago.

Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

---

Escape plans and chance encounters

_____________________________________________

Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N, Blood, Self-depreciation, Neglectful Parenting, Suggestive Themes, Mutual Pining, Hurt-Comfort, Found Family

WC: 5076 words. AO3 Link Here

A/N: I meant to get this up a couple days ago but ended up waiting till now because of the holidays. I think this is the longest chapter ive written so far. Things are picking up again, i hope people enjoy :)

{ } indicate speaking Na'vi

Masterlist

Previous Next

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Anthe wasn’t processing the scene before them. Spider was screaming, begging Quaritch to stop, to let the reef Na’vi they had bound go, but Anthe couldn’t focus. Frozen between the danger of stepping into the Na’vi clan's defense with Spider and the comfortable safety they had become accustomed to with the RDA. There was so much noise, shouting and crying, it was overwhelming.

“{Why are you doing this?! You are Na’vi!}” A young woman, maybe the clans Tsakarem, cried from her place in the sand, tear filled eyes boring into Anthe as they were startled out of their stupor. They couldn’t speak, barely breathing, a deer in headlights as they struggled to keep composed in front of the recoms. They should have expected this, been more prepared for what horrors the RDA was willing to enact for their own gain. Anthe had lived it, they should have known better. Now this clan, the Ta’unui, would pay the price for it.

A shot rang out, making Anthe flinch reflexively as a new wave of screaming started up again. Anthe turned, stilted, following Spider’s shocked face to the water behind them, the body of an Ilu floating lifelessly in the waves. A warning shot. Quaritch had shot it and not one of the Na’vi only because of Spider, Anthe knew it. He was only merciful because his would-be son begged for it. But if another shot rang out, someone would be dead, no matter what Anthe or Spider had to say about it.

Something snapped in them then, whatever comfort the recoms company gave them in the last months dissolving from their bones as they watched none of them show even the slightest hesitance or remorse. Spider was still screaming, his voice starting to go hoarse as he apologized to the Na’vi on their knees before them. Anthe stepped forward, sliding their rifle back onto their shoulder and kneeling before the crying girl, gently taking her kuru in a mock threat. Quaritch was still demanding Sully’s location from the clans Tsahik, Spider tugging at the man trying to pull him away. If any of the other recoms noticed Anthe’s gentle movements, they didn’t mention it.

“{I have no choice.}” Anthe whispered urgently, willing the girl to hear their intent. “{They hunt people I love. I am trying to slow them down.}”

It was moments like these that Anthe was glad none of the recoms had ever taken to learning Na’vi. Quaritch had been trying, using it as a way to bond with Spider, but he was far from fluent and still struggled with understanding the language when spoken. Now, he was too busy trying to threaten the clans leaders for information rather than focus on whatever Anthe was whispering to the young woman. Anthe watched the Tsakarem collect herself somewhat, blue eyes scanning them for any sign of deceit before meeting Anthe’s gaze once more.

“You make it real clear to him,” Quaritch growled at Spider, clearly frustrated by the lack of the Olo’eyktan’s cooperation. “he doesn’t give up Sully, we kill the Tsahik.”

Anthe immediately tensed, ears pinning back and eyes darting quickly to the Tsahik being pushed into the sand by Lyle, gun pressed to her temple. The Tsakarem noticed, following their gaze, a panicked understanding crossing her features.

“{Protect your people.}” Anthe gritted out quietly, releasing her kuru as they stood.

“No. I’m not doin’ that.” Spider was arguing back at Quaritch.

“That right?” Quaritch straightened, clearly not used to insubordination as he glared down at Spider.

“I’m not gonna be a part of this! These people don’t know anything!”

Anthe’s rifle was back in their hands, moving themselves between the Tsakarem and the closest RDA soldier. The human’s would be the easiest to deal with, they thought, or at least significantly easier than the Recoms would be. Anthe was already cycling through the best way to do as much damage as possible to the soldiers and recoms while still protecting Spider, but nothing they thought of was likely to end with them making it out alive.

“This is wrong!” Spider was still shouting at Quaritch, anger and pain twisting across his features. “What you’re doing here is wrong!”

Anthe held their breath, watching Quaritch and the other recoms, silently waiting for a chance. They held their rifle just high enough to be level with the back of Lyle’s head where he crouched over the clans matriarch, ready to shoot him the second Quaritch gave the order to kill her. With any luck their trigger finger would be faster than his. For maybe half a second, Anthe hesitated, thinking of all the times Lyle had been good to them. Kind, even. But then they looked back at the Na’vi clan around them, the panic and fear, so evident on their faces, and how Lyle was so ready and willing to kill them all. For what? What was the point to any of this other than fulfilling the vendetta of a dead man?

“Burn the huts.” Quaritch ordered finally, stepping away from Spider as he did so, something like guilt briefly gracing the Colonel’s hard face. Anthe stopped, head whipping back to Spider. Quaritch was giving in to Spider again. Giving into whatever little worm the younger man had managed to wriggle into the Colonel’s brain. Mercy. Lyle stood with his typical grin, releasing the clan's matriarch as he turned towards the other soldiers.

“Light ‘em up!” And they did, torching the ancestral homes and belongings of the reef Na’vi as they were forced to watch on. But no one was dead.

“{I’m sorry! I didn’t know.}” Spider was trying to apologize to the villagers, visibly distressed. Anthe moved to him, catching him by the arm and pulling him close, away from Quaritch who was ordering a retreat back to the SeaDragon. They clung to each other, watching the village burn, as Anthe made a choice. They were going to escape tonight. No matter what.

As soon as everyone was boarded back onto the SeaDragon, Quaritch was arguing with Scorsby about the next plan of attack. Questioning the villages would take too long, the recoms already three days into Ardmore’s one week deadline to find the Sullys. With only two days left, the Colonel didn’t have the time to waste anymore. Anthe broke down and reassembled their rifle, double checking for hidden trackers, before Scorsby announced to the ship that they were going Tulkun hunting. If Anthe wasn’t already buzzing with tension before, then they certainly were now.

The ship was a flurry of motion, humans hustling quickly to their stations and prepping massive harpoon guns. Anthe wanted nothing more than to grab Spider and take off right then, but Quaritch was too close for them to go unnoticed.

“Yo, what's up with you Ant?” Lyle was leaning over to them, nudging them with his elbow.

“Nothing. Leave me alone.” Anthe did little to hide their hiss, too much adrenaline in their system to bother with manners.

“What? You’re not fucked up about that village are you? We didn’t even kill anybody!” Lyle was laughing, the sound of which made Anthe’s stomach turn.

“I’m worried about Spider.” They admitted after a moment, watching their friend across the room.

“Ah, he’ll get over it. The Colonel will set him straight.” Lyle shrugged. Anthe didn’t respond, instead pushing off the wall they leaned against to join Spider on the command deck. Quaritch was still nearby, focused on listening to Scorsby give out orders to the rest of the crew, but Spider was looking out on the horizon, back towards the island they had just left. A plume of black smoke billowed from the beach, shrinking as the SeaDragon moved out to more open waters.

“{We don’t have much time.}” Anthe said to the young man quietly, watching the smoke trail into the air. “{We have to go.}”

“{Wh- Now?}” Spider looked up at them, surprised. “{But I still have-}”

“{I know.}” Anthe cut him off, wary of eavesdropping. “{We will figure something out later.}”

They chanced a look out at the rest of the command deck. Quaritch was still engrossed in his conversation with Scorsby and Garvin, the lead scientists they’d been introduced to on the SeaDragon. Lyle had moved from his place on the wall over towards where Prager and Mansk were poking at monitors. No one was paying attention to them.

“{But, we can’t-}” Spider was arguing still, sounding anxious. He had every reason to be. As soon as Quaritch realized Spider was no longer on the SeaDragon, there was no doubt in Anthe’s mind that the Colonel would lose his shit. He would be torn between continuing to hunt for the Sully’s or going after Spider, and Anthe would bet anything that he damn well might choose Spider.

“{We have to. Come on.}” They didn’t wait for Spider to follow, just moved as casually as they were able out of the command deck, headed towards the Ikran perch on the roof. Halfway down the final hall to where the Ikran were held, a hand grabbed and yanked lightly on their tail, stopping Anthe in their tracks. They turned, quickly scanning the hall for anyone else, but there was only Spider.

“{I can’t go.}” He said, letting go of his grip on Anthe’s appendage. His shoulders were tense as he stared up at Anthe, face determined.

“{No, Spider, we have to go. We have to find the Sully’s first, warn them!}” Anthe tried to reason.

“{Anthe, I still have a tracker in my mask! If I go, we lead these assholes straight to them!}” Spider was raising his voice, anxiety giving way to frustration.

“{Then we use it to lead them away. Quaritch will think we are headed to the Sully’s, he will follow us instead.}”

“{And if he doesn’t?}” Spider argued back. He was not as convinced of the Colonel's feelings for him as Anthe was.

“{He will. You’re too important to him.}” As much as Anthe was trying to stay calm, they were running out of time before someone noticed the pair were gone.

“{Then, what happens when they catch us? You think the RDA is just gonna let us get away with that?}” Spider continued to argue, stubbornly refusing to continue down the hall as Anthe began to pace back and forth, their tail swishing impatiently behind them. They were on high alert already, ears twitching at every little sound they picked up.

“{They won’t hurt you, Quaritch won’t let them.}” Anthe shook their head.

“{What about you? What happens to you?}”

“{That doesn’t matter.}”

“{For fucks sake, yes it does! I don’t want you to get hurt, Anthe! You’re my family!}” By now, with all the time they had spent together, hearing that should not have been surprising, but it still made Anthe stop.

“{And you are mine.}” Anthe knelt, trying to get more eye level with the human. “{Which is why I can’t let you stay here. I can’t leave you behind. Not again.}” Too many times now, Anthe had abandoned people they cared about. Their siblings at TAP, Neteyam and the rest of his family. They couldn’t keep leaving people behind.

“{You have to. You need to go find Jake and you need to warn him and the others.}” Spider said, taking their face in his small hands.

“{Not without you, too.}” Anthe couldn’t help the wobble to their voice, tears stinging the corners of their eyes. They didn’t want to leave him, they didn’t want to be alone again. But a part of them also knew that Spider was right. The tracker in his mask meant that Quaritch could find them easily, even if the chaos of a Tulkun hunt gained them an hour or two. The consequences of being caught were not worth the risk if the Colonel still had the chance to find the Sullys within Ardmore’s deadline, and Anthe would be as good as dead.

“{Anthe, they’re not gonna hurt me. You have to be the one that goes.}” Spider pulled their head to his shoulder, letting Anthe wrap their arms around him in a tight, desperate hug.

“{I can’t lose another brother.}” Anthe whispered, fear and guilt swirling in their chest, threatening to consume them entirely.

“{You won’t. I swear.}” Spider whispered into their hair, his own voice straining to stay level. “{You gotta go take care of everybody until I can get back, okay?}” He pulled away, Anthe reluctantly let him go.

“{Okay.}” They said finally, trying to wipe the tears from their eyes. Anthe stood slowly, readjusting their rifle on their back.

“{No getting yourself killed either.}” Spider smiled, half joking in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

“{I’ll do my best.}” Anthe tried to smile back at least a little bit, before heading for the door to the upper decks. Leaving Spider behind.

Outside was just as, if not more chaotic than inside the SeaDragon. The human crew all making their final preparations before the SeaDragon headed out in earnest. Anthe made a point of moving purposefully, as if they had been given orders that needed completing immediately. The human crew scattered as they passed, steering clear of their determined stride. They were up the roof ladder in barely more than three strides, hauling themselves onto the Ikran perch deck with ease. They made their way to Ted, being careful not to disturb the other Ikran. For the most part, the recom’s mounts paid Anthe little mind, barely glancing up from where they nested. Ted chirped happily as they approached, rustling her leathery wings as she sat up.

“{Hello, paskalin.}” Anthe said softly, hand petting the creature's muzzle as they moved to her. She was still saddled from their most recent ride, and Anthe took a moment to check over what gear was there. Anthe’s uniform, stashed in a random pouch after they were given more ocean appropriate swimwear to wear instead of heavy camo pants; a handgun and holster that they quickly strapped to their side with an RDA issue combat knife, and an emergency first aid kit. Anthe pulled out the uniform, tossing the pants back on the deck but keeping the shirt with the first aid.

They mounted quickly, not wanting to waste anymore time as they bonded to Ted. The mount shivered in anticipation beneath them, taking off with Anthe’s silent command, heading back towards the burning Ta’unui clan.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Tenak was not keen on flying across the open ocean, wary of the deep sea creatures that liked to eat Ikran soaring over the water's surface, but there was only so far east he could go before he ran out of land. His search for Anthe had come up empty for too long, and he was starting to become more and more desperate. Luckily, he had managed to hear some news coming out of the clans nearest to the RDA’s original headquarters at Hell Gate. The Omatikaya, who had headed the war on humans 20 years ago now, had gone into hiding, but more importantly to Tenak, was that their former Olo’eyktan had apparently been an Avatar. If anyone was going to give Anthe some slack for their RDA upbringing, it would be someone like that. But the Olo’eyktan had left his clan with his family, and completely disappeared. Worse still, the man was being hunted by the RDA.

Rumors from neighboring clans pointed towards the family traveling to the south western coast, to the Reef clans, where Tenak was headed now. At the very least he could question this Jake Sully character and potentially gain a new ally for the resistance in the process, but for now Tenak had to focus on flying.

He went island to island, never staying long as he asked for any leads to Anthe or Jake Sully. Many clans were tight lipped at first, but relaxed when they realized he was not a part of the RDA. Still, nowhere he went said anything about having seen any forest people, only that the RDA’s demon ships were getting too close for comfort.

Tenak and his Ikran were both exhausted, never stopping for more than a few hours to eat or sleep, only to get straight back into the search, even in the rain that pounded down around them now. Maybe that was why it was no surprise to him when he suddenly hit the water, ice cold as it jolted him back awake. Tenak sputtered, coughing as he scrambled for the surface, his Ikran shreeked above him, panicked. Tenak flailed for a moment, his already tired body struggling to keep him above the waves. He tried to turn, searching desperately for a rock or ledge for him to pull up onto as his Ikran circled above, crying for its rider. The mount was not trained to dive like the cliff clan’s Ikran were, it didn’t know what to do.

Exhaustion was quickly closing in, Tenaks limbs too heavy and waves too rough for him to be able to hold himself afloat. He cursed himself silently for being so stupid. He should have listened to Kala, and been more careful. His head slipped beneath the waves, his body too tired to move any longer. Now he was going to drown in the middle of the ocean and no one would ever know. Maybe that’s what happened to Anthe too, dead somewhere in the vastness of Pandora where no one could even find them.

Distantly, Tenak thought he heard some kind of call or song beneath the waves. Is that what people meant when they said Eywa was calling to them before death? It was so dark and quiet beneath the waves, far calmer than the turbulence on the surface. Tenak could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, struggling to keep his eyes open, but too tired to fight it. He was sinking into the dark, the last bubbles of his breath escaping as his chest seized with pain, desperate for air Tenak didn’t have. In the distance, some large shape was rapidly approaching. An Akula probably, he thought. At least that was a more interesting death than drowning. Then that call again, a long and melodious croon Tenak couldn’t quite place. He closed his eyes, letting himself give in to unconsciousness.

“{What the hell were you thinking!?}” An unfamiliar man’s voice was yelling as Tenak began to rouse back to life.

“{He was going to drown! I was just trying to help!}” A second voice, younger by the sound of it.

“{WHat were you even doing out there?! You know you aren’t supposed to go out past the reef! Last time you went out there on your own, you nearly died!}”

“{But, Dad-}” The younger man sounded frustrated, clearly upset his father wouldn’t let him explain. Tenak opened his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on. He was on his back, inside of someone's home, a fire crackled softly nearby, warming Tenak’s still shivering body. The man and his son stood on the opposite side of the home, still arguing loudly.

“{No buts, Lo’ak! You know the rules! You will not so much as leave the beach again without my say so, do you hear me?}” They were forest Na’vi, Tenak realized belatedly as he watched the father scold his son, but more than that, both of them had extra fingers on their hands, like those of the sky people.

“{... Yes sir…}” The son, Lo’ak deflated with a scowl, giving up on his defense as he stalked over to the fire. He looked like he couldn’t be much more than a teenager, maybe a year or two younger than Anthe was, and bore no marks of having completed his rights yet. The father had turned away, pinching his temples as if warding off a headache. The sound of movement from behind him made Tenak flinch as a young woman entered his field of vision. She made a surprised noise, shuffling quickly towards Lo’ak who perked up as well, ears swiveling to attention. The girl too, had four fingered hands.

“{You’re awake.}” She said, and it took Tenak a moment to realise she was talking to him. He nodded, unsure of how else to respond. With some struggle, Tenak managed to push himself into a sitting position, his tired muscles screaming the whole way. By the time he was sat up, the father, as well as who was presumably the mother with a small girl and another young man, maybe a few years older than the other children had entered the room, all watching Tenak with a wariness.

“{You are the Sullys, then?}” He asked, somewhat sarcastically, sending several hands to knives as he did so. Tenak winced, holding his hands up in surrender.

“{I am sorry. I mean no harm. I’ve been traveling on my own for a while, your name has come up more than a few times.}”

“{Who are you, where did you come from, and why are you here?}” The father, Jake Sully, demanded. The man placed himself between Tenak and his family protectively, hand poised on the hilt of his knife in threat.

“{I came from the west, I’m looking for my sibling.}”

“{The west is just open ocean.}” The mother said, more of a statement than a question.

“{If you go far enough, you’ll hit land again. Or you can do what I did and take a very long and inconvenient way around most of it.}” Tenak gestured an arch in the air with his hand.

“{You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?}” Jake Sully growled.

“{He is Tenak.}” The eldest boy answered before Tenak got the chance to speak, stepping between him and his father. His yellow eyes were glued to Tenak, realization clear on his face. “{Anthe’s brother.}”

“{You know Anthe?}” Tenak didn't hide his excitement. Finally, after Eywa knows how long, someone had seen his sibling. Almost frantically, Tenak began searching the pockets of his pouch, pulling out the polaroid he had saved of the two of them. He practically shoved the picture into Neteyams hands, his own still shaking, though whether it was from excitement or the cold could be anyone's guess.

It was an old photo, taken months before TAP fell apart. Anthe and Tenak sat together on a bench, both decked out in their gear. Anthe leaned into Tenak’s shoulder, grinning at him while he laughed at a stupid joke they had made.

“{You know them?}” Tenak repeated, watching Neteyam’s face with a foolish amount of hope in his heart. The younger man nodded sadly, but there was still a mirror of Tenak’s hope staring back at him.

“{They stayed with us, before we came here.}” Jake said, though he was looking more concernedly at his son and not Tenak. Neteyam was still looking at the polaroid in his hands, his fingers tracing over the echo of Anthe's face. Tenak didn’t know a lot about romantic love, he was only really starting to figure that out for himself recently, but he thought that the look on the face of the young man before him might have been it.

“{They mentioned you.}” Neteyam said, finally looking back up at Tenak. “{They were looking for you.}”

“{Of course they did.}” Tenak let out a wry sounding chuckle. “{And, they went in completely the wrong direction and ended up across the world. But, they aren’t with you anymore?}” There was a long silence as the Sully’s all exchanged glances, and Tenaks heart began to sink.

“{What happened?}” He asked softly.

“{They were taken by the RDA with our brother Spider.}” The older girl answered, holding gently onto Neteyams arm. “{We haven’t seen or heard from them in months.}”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Neteyam’s mind was going a hundred miles an hour trying to process everything. He had come home later than he intended, having gone out fishing with Rotxo earlier in the day, to see Lo’ak getting scolded yet again. That had been par for the course in the Sully household, the surprising bit has been the strange man passed out in the middle of their marui. It took him a minute to recognize Tenak from Anthe’s description, tired green eyes and choppy short hair, the hint of old scars peeking from beneath his armor. He was much older than Neteyam had imagined too, Anthe had described Tenak as only four or so years older than them, but he looked closer to ten. Then again, Anthe said he may have escaped cryosleep some years before they had, so it made some sense that he would look older. Still, it had to be him, only confirmed by the man's reaction to the mention of Anthe’s name.

And then there was the photo. The grin on Anthe’s face captured in such clarity, it felt like a punch to the chest. It had been a rare blessing to see Anthe relaxed enough to smile like that before, usually only when Neteyam had been alone with them, where any other time there had always been an undercurrent of sadness or strain. Here there was none of that, just joy despite the circumstance the photo had been taken under. Eywa, did he miss them. Months of buried emotions bubbled to the surface. No matter how long it had been since he had last seen Anthe, he still harbored those unspoken feelings.

“{I heard there were RDA ships spotted in the area. Is that true?}” Tenak’s serious tone pulled Neteyam back to the conversation. Where the older man had looked hopeful just a moment ago, he suddenly seemed much more stern and rigid, every bit a warrior preparing for battle.

“{Not here.}” Neteyams father shook his head. “{Look, I get where you're coming from, but I can’t let you risk my families safety.}”

“{And I don’t plan on it. I just need to find Anthe. With any luck I might find your other son too.}” Tenak said, already beginning to collect his belongings.

“{Thank you for saving me.}” He nodded to Lo’ak, before starting to push past to the exit of the marui.

“{Wait!}” Kiri said, stepping into the man's path and dragging Neteyam with her. “{You almost drowned because you were too exhausted to stay upright! At least take the night to rest, you're no use to anyone if you're dead.}”

“{I don’t want to impose on your family any more than I already have.}” Neteyam’s parents were looking at each other, exchanging glances in silent conversation.

“{No, Kiri is right.}” Jake sighed finally. “{Stay with us for the night, at least.}”

With some convincing, it was agreed that Tenak would stay for the night, but be off come morning. He would not mention ever meeting the Sully’s if asked or interrogated. The rest of the evening was filled with all of Neteyam’s siblings questioning Tenak about every aspect of the man's life. Surprisingly enough, he answered, much more open than Anthe had ever been to the wider group of them. He talked about the years spent at TAP, his other surviving sister Kala, and where they had settled out West. How they were working to aid the Na’vi resistance and clans there. Tuk and Lo’ak especially, seemed engrossed in the man's stories, still pesting him well past their curfew. For the most part, Neteyam had stayed quiet, still holding onto the old polaroid photograph. No one tried to take it from him, so it stayed in his hands as he sat listening to Tenak’s stories. It wasn’t until after Neteyam’s siblings had all gone to bed, that the man went to speak with Neteyam himself.

“{You were close with them.}” Was all he said, a statement rather than a question. Neteyam was sitting on the walkway in front of his family's home, feet dangling over the water. Tenak sat himself down beside him, his armor discarded on a sleeping mat inside, leaving his torso bare. Even in the dark, Neteyam could clearly see the scars that ran across Tenak’s back and chest, distinct claw marks from an old viper wolf attack. There were other scars too, newer ones, bullet wounds creating starbursts of scar tissue across the man’s body.

“{Yes.}” Neteyam said, not entirely sure what else to say.

“{Good. I was worried they’d be out here all on their own.}” Tenak smiled, leaning back on his hands.

“{You should have this back.}” Neteyam said, holding the photo back out for the man to take.

“{Keep it.}” Tenak shook his head. “{Kala has other pictures back home. I just grabbed that one because it's the most recent.}”

“{Then, at least take your knife back.}” Neteyam said, swapping the photo for the combat knife. “{This is yours, right?}” Tenak blinked, leaning forward as Neteyam passed him the knife.

“{Yeah… damn I thought I’d lost it.}” A smile creeped across Tenak’s face as he flipped the knife in his hand.

“{Anthe said they found it when they woke up, and then dropped it when they were taken. I’ve had it ever since.}” Neteyam offered. He didn’t really want to part with it, the knife had become his own sort of comfort in the past months, but it didn’t belong to him.

“{Thank you.}” Tenak said, sliding the knife into his belt. For a while the two of them just sat there, listening to the quiet rhythm of the ocean waves below.

“{You know,}” Tenak said, breaking the silence. “{I realize I wasn’t there, but if it means anything, I doubt Anthe actually wanted to leave. They probably stayed with you as long as they did because they didn’t want to leave.}”

“{They said they didn’t belong with us.}” Neteyam’s chest ached from the memory.

“{Yeah… I felt that for a while after getting out too. You get over it eventually, after a lot of work and help from other people. But it's hard. I had Kala with me. Sounds like Anthe didn’t have anyone until they found you. Being in your own head that long, it fucks you up a little bit. It’s hard to believe something is true when you’ve been telling yourself it's a lie for so long.}” Neteyam just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“{When I find them, we’ll come back here. You two can talk it out then.}” Tenak patted Neteyam’s back as he stood, turning back towards the marui and leaving Neteyam alone in the cool night air.

#froglet writes fics #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #james cameron avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x oc #avatar frontiers of pandora #neteyam x reader #navi avatar #na'vi oc #until it doesn't hurt #avatar neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan

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