#noah mitchell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

topgunruinedme · 7 months ago

Text

I Got Dreams But I Can't Make Myself Believe Them

Word count: 7.5k

Parings: Rooster & Maverick, Rooster & Iceman, Iceman/Maverick

Summery:

'Hey it’s Mav, leave a message. And no Ice whatever they’re accusing me of, I didn’t do-' He jabbed his finger on the screen again. Tears in his eyes. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn't...please... It rang. Once Twice- “Hello?”

His face hurt. Pulsing with a vigour that he knew he should take his pain med and yet…he hadn’t. Because he deserved this pain. He deserved this.

This aching, the dagger-like sensation deep in the muscle when he tried to move. Still, it was not even close to a fraction of what he made them feel. So, he deserved this.

The pain. The punishment. They always did tell him he was a masochist. Fretting over his father being gone, whether Mav missed him, why he didn’t miss him. Worried about his mother's health, if they would lose the house, why wasn’t she smiling anymore. Would Mav stay or would he leave him without his favorite Bradshaw's; after all Mav wasn’t his babysitter. Was he going to be stuck alone in this world struggling to finish high school with the crushing debt of his mother's hospital bills and house lines that he discovered showed under her bed two days after the funeral. Was he going to die hungry or cold? And his newest one, would anyone care if he burnt in?

At least he had an answer to the last one. No. It was so painfully clear now, he had pushed too far and they had given up on him. The phone calls and messages left unanswered, the lettered read tearfully and shoved in a box under his bed that stayed with him religiously through deployments. The Admirals who bumped into him occasionally in deployments which he knew was their way of checking on his health after all files can only offer so much.

Yet…no one had come when he called. When he had laid on that hospital bed terrified out of his mind, cold, bloodied and half the mind that either he was Nick Bradshaw or he was seeing him. And no one, had come.

His NOK. His dad. He called.

No one.

No one cared anymore.

He remembered the nurses holding him down as he screamed out in short panic bursts as what he now knew were cold induced hallucinations raged through him. He remembered managing to grab a nurse's arm and begged them to call his father. Begged. Over and over again, demanding she keep trying until they sedated him somewhere between the forth redial.

No one came.

His dad didn’t care anymore.

He had gone too far and they had given up on him.

He pressed his face into the tattered plushy pushing down the whine of pain as it agitated the stitches on his chin tugging at the cuts. He curled around the soft toy in the limp bunk at his base housing trying to breathe through the pain. Wheezing as the position put a strain on his already sore ribs, bruised but thankfully not broken, but there was only so much they could do about the bruising caused by the harness. They marked up his chest, around his shoulders and down his back, making him look like a mummy who went through a fight and became a kickboxing victim. They weren’t pretty overall. He certainly wasn’t going to be winning any medals any time soon.

It was strange what near death situations did to a person. Twelve hours ago he was filled with such hurt, such hatred towards Maverick's actions, not him as a person but hurt about how he went behind his back and stopped him from succeeding…he just couldn’t see why they couldn’t have talked about it. Now. After spending all those hours alone trapped in a hospital wing, half aware of reality, strapped down to his cot like some dangerous criminal. All he wanted was to hold his father's hand. All he wanted was to go home.

But the question stood, did he even have a home to go back to now?

He remembered the crokard post box from that time Mav had tried to teach him to drive and he accidentally mixed up his accelerator and brake. But despite the years, Ice never fixed it. Maybe he was also a sucker for memories.

He remembered Ice’s fond smile as he helped apply the coloured paint to his hands after he insisted on putting their handprints on the mailbox after watching the new Disney movie UP. Ice had simply shaken his head, dug out some paints from one of Maverick's abandoned side projects and let himself be dragged out to the front lawn laughing all the way.

He remembered the loose and wobbly handrail to the stairs in the hallway that always made Ice sigh and roll his eyes anytime he heard it creak, yet he never got it fixed even when Ron apologized for being too careless while roughhousing with Wolf and offered to fix it himself.

He remembered the way Maverick would be waiting for him in the kitchen every morning before school. Chiding him to get dressed as he snagged a piece of bacon from the pan while Ice wasn’t looking only to complain that it was hot, when he himself was bare chested new and faded marks across his chest with low sweatpants on his hips, bed hair wild around his head.

The way every Thursday without fail their house would be filled with his uncles, spread out around their living room in various stages of a food coma, gorging themselves on the sweets Mav would spend all morning making with a pleased smile. He always had been his happiest providing for other people, seeing they were happy.

He remembered the board game night, the nights they would spend curled up on the couch together with some nonsense show that no one was really watching, and the nights they sometimes spent out watching the stars.

He remembered them cheering at his little league games despite being tired from a long day at work or having just returned from a deployment, which he now knew they would have been dead on their feet just wishing for a bed. He remembered their concern muttering when he was sick and their fingers through his hair. He remembered Ice’s mother's lullaby that the man would hold him through the wee hours of the morning and hum under his breath when they thought he was asleep.

He wanted to go home, he wanted it all. But he had lost it all when he cut off contact. And he was half terrified that they were angry at him, every time he sat there and thought about calling, about turning up on their doorstep to ask for forgiveness he would just stare at the number of missed calls, he would think about the hundreds of voice messages. He’d feel the burning of the box of letters all unanswered under his bed as he laid down and hugged his goose plushier that they had given him all those years ago. No doubt abusing Ice's powers to discover his address when he heard that he was in hospital in his junior year of university. The seams were now ratty from how often he ran his fingers over them, the fur carefully taken care of but despite his efforts the old plushie was dying, and unlike everything else in his life it was leaving him too. He could no longer preserve the memories within it.

He bit his lip only for the sharp pain that shot through his head to remind him why he shouldn’t do that. He winced, not from the way the fur rubbed up against the fresh stitches, although it wasn’t comfortable, but over the fact that Maverick was right. His heart jumped in his throat. He wasn’t ready.

Because Maverick had almost just lost him like he had lost Goose.

He had been reckless, and arrogant; he had been a kid thrown into a jet and told he was good, his ego was inflated and he hadn’t been ready.

And he had fallen out of the sky. He had burned in. And he was damn lucky he didn't take anyone else out in the process.

He had paid his price, and it had almost been his own head.

A few more seconds… the doctor's words ran through his head like a gunshot echo, warning him of the tragedy that could have occurred.

What will you tell their parents when they don’t come back? When they come back in a casket. What excuse will be ready then Lieutenant… His commanding officer lecture piggybacking from his nightmares, what excuse will be acceptable then?

There wasn’t one. This was his fault, his own failure. What would they have told them if he died?

You have my condolences Mr Kazansky, Mr Mitchell. However, your son has died in a training accident - having not even made it out of Top Gun - by his own stupidity!

Yeah, he could see that going over well.

He ran his thumb over the screen of his phone nervously, should he call? He had called- the hospital had called. But maybe they don’t answer unknown numbers, old people were like that… right? His fingers felt clammy as he took a shaky breath, whining quietly as he thumbed through his contacts to find the right number and listened to the phone ring quietly.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each ring felt like a bullet in the chamber, he could hear tone ringing out around him as tears welled in his eyes, a sob building in his chest as the phone clicked, the call unanswered.

Too close, switching to guns.

'Hey it’s Mav, leave a message. And no Ice whatever they’re accusing me of, I didn’t do-'

He jabbed his finger on the screen again. Tears in his eyes. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t…please…

It rang.

Once

Twice-

“Hello?” A croaky voice answered, indubitably not Mav.

"Ice?" His voice shook, "Pops?"

“Shit ” . Something rustled loudly over the phone and he could almost see Ice scrambling to sit up on the bed. A bitten out swear carried lowly over the line and it almost made him smile as he heard something clatter to the ground with a thud, no doubt the older man knocking something off the bedside table in his haste to grab his glasses and slide them on his nose to look at the phone. “Bradley?”

He sounded so hesitant as if he was afraid he was hearing things. It pained him to wonder how often his Pops had woken in the middle of the night hearing his voice and wondering if it was real or a sleep deprived hallucination. How often it left his Pops laying in his bed curled up with his hands over his ears trying to ignore his imaginary self calling for him for help, and not being able to help the man come back to earth. How many times had his Pops suffered silently and alone and he hadn't even known about it.

“Pops” he sobbed, chest aching from the force of his whine and the pang of his heart at the thought of how many times he had been the reason for his parents to cry, the cause of his parent's pain over the years.

“Bradley baby. What's wrong? Come on baby bird, I need you to speak to me”. Ice’s familiar level tone sounded unusually anxious, “Come on daring, you can do it. Take some deep breaths for me”.

He hadn't even realized that his panic induced sobs had pushed him into the dangers of hyperventilation. His gaps of breath between his chest shaking sobs became shorter and more panicked as he acknowledged the lack of oxygen.

“Breath,” Ice pleaded. “Baby please”.

“He didn’t answer” he gasped out, whimpering “He wasn’t there ”

“Bradley, honey what-?”

He could hear Ice’s underlying confusion as he whined in pain hissing behind gritted teeth as he burrowed his face further into the soft teddy irritating his stitched cuts. “Mav” he whined, his voice muffled as he pressed it further into the soft fabric, ashamed of his clingy neediness for his parents despite being 25. The mortification of crying out to them over a little crash. He felt like a kid creeping into his parent's rooms during the night after a nightmare, sweat still clinging to his brow, stomach rebelling as he hovered by their bedside unsure whether to wake them or not. But despite the early hour they had always opened their arms to him, shifted and made room for him between them on the bed. Always. Maybe…after all this time, just maybe Ice could spare a little room to allow him a few moments to recuperate and shuffled away in shame.

Realistically he knew that Ice couldn’t see him. He knew that Ice wouldn't care, that the man would simply look at him with pursed lips, his brows furrowed in concern and coo quietly as he gathered him in his arms, careful to guide his face over his shoulder to prevent him from aggravating his wounds further. Despite what many people thought Ice had been more of the mother hen type than Maverick. Mav had been the cool uncle, then he became the serious dad he needed to be but Ice, Ice had been the cool dad. Ice had been the one to take on his missing mother role, the man had melted into it without blinking. Always making sure that someone was there to kiss his brow and tuck him in at night. Who made him breakfast in the morning and took time out of their day to help him with homework when Mav got sick of trying to help him and stomped off frustrated. He was the person who would stand on the guidelines of his games with a cooler of drinks and bulled him into letting him apply sunscreen while he ate the sandwich he had been prepared for lunch while Mav got into an argument with the couch. Ice was the one who would smile at him empathetically holding him when he cried over a crush. Who gave him his talk and he was always there a hand away to allow him to crawl into his lap no matter how old he got to comfort him.

Mav may have been his dad. But Ice had been his Mum, his Pops. He knew that Mav loved him in his own way, but he also knew that he was partly there for his guilty hand in his father's death. He also knew that Mav had promised Carole he would be there for him (Hospital walls are not as soundproof as you think Mav), that he would take his Godfather duties seriously. Whereas Ice, he never had to stay. He knew they were wingmen and they tackled problems together but Ice never made him feel like a problem. He always made sure he was included, he never pushed him. Ice never has to stay, and while the man harboured his own guilt over Nick, he never pushed it, never brought it up. They spent his memory day sitting on the patio in the backyard and drank Kool-Aid with him silently. Ice didn't have to step in but he did, he didn't have to stay but he chose to.

He didn't think he could have a mum again after Carole but he did. And that was partly the reason he couldn't bring himself to hang up. Because despite his shame, the agony of his embarrassment and fury at Mav. Cutting Ice out had been the hardest decision of his life and now hearing the man's voice he couldn't find the strength to hang up. Not when he was so close, his smooth voice in his ear begging him to stay.

“Baby” Ice cooed in concern, it was soft and familiar. It reminded him of the warm feeling of home, the same tone Ice would use as he sat on the edge of his bed letting him climb onto the man's lap clinging to him when his mother was in hospital, not caring that he was far too old to be doing so. He could almost see the soft frown and those gentle eyes staring down at him, and feel the carding of the man’s fingers through his curls. “Baby, are you looking for Mav? He’s out at the hangar tonight. The idiot forgot his phone. I promise he didn’t ignore it on purpose sweetheart-“

“The hospital called” he choked out “I know. I begged them too”.

“Hospital?” Ice sounded alarmed “Bradley-“

“I asked them to call and he didn’t come ”.

“Bradley Bradshaw”. The soft tone shifted to a firm disciplining one, one he didn't often hear coming from Ice’s lips. It was rare to see him step up into the role of the displeased parent, but that didn't mean it hadn’t happened. Like when the man crossed his arms across his chest with pursed lips and a disapproving look when he caught him sneaking into the house at the early hours of the morning when he had been specifically grounded, or when he went drinking for the first time while underage or when the older man had caught him clumsy stubbing out a weed join on his windowsill eyes wide in alarm. This doesn't sound like Ice was disciplining him, no it sounded panicked as if Ice was trying to hold himself together and keep himself from panicking him further when his breathing had just started to slow to a reasonable speed.

“Bradley baby, why were you in the hospital? Are you ok? God- please be ok” Ice sounded desperate. And for a moment it warmed his chest, the next it made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

He had always taken Ice’s compassion for granted and he had used it against Mav more times than he could count to get what he wanted. He had been a spoiled brat and at the time he hadn't cared about what it would do to the two wingmen. And the worst part about it was that while Ice picked up on it he never made him stop even when it led to the two wingmen arguing or sleeping at different houses. But he always came back. It made him feel sick because fuck Ice really did care about him and he still cared about him. Even after he threw him to the curb, after he chewed him out, cutting away their bond and years of love with a rusty knife in hopes it would rot away and get infected. Even after he ignored every call, deleted every message and refused to read the letters and cards the man sent. Even after that horrid ceremony; after he so blankly disregarded Ice’s rank and achievements in front of everyone . Ice had still stuck by his side. Because despite his 7 year long temper tantrum, Ice had stuck by him faithfully. He had respected his wishes and avoided getting the same posting as him, doing his maternal duty to send him away if he was anywhere close to them even if he couldn't prevent himself from sending someone to check up on him occasionally to settle his worry. Even if he couldn't prevent himself from sending cards, or from sending him letters each deployment knowing he wouldn't read them just to remind him that someone would care if he burnt in.

“Today was hop 31” he whispered out with a croak, the demons that accompanied the words settled on both of them, however, there was an unusual heaviness to his. As if more weight had been added on in an attempt to make his knees buckle and maybe there ha d. Every time he closed his eyes it was no longer the spinning of the Pacific ocean around him as he was strapped into the jet, he no longer heard his dad's voices calling out in a panic, he didn't hear the sound of his father's neck snapping against the canopy or the rough tug of air as it detached. Now he heard the panicked voice of his wingman. He heard Hangman scream out of him “Roosters heading out to sea! I repeat Roosters going out to sea! Permission to follow-” “Denied Lieutenant''. He now saw the stomach clenching sight of mountains dropping around him as his jet dipped dangerously out of the training zone towards the sea where their adjective had been. It had been simple: fly through the terrain, don't get hit, and get back to base. Where had it gone wrong? When had Hangman’s taunts turned into fearful screams, when was the annoyed fighting turned into the sound of his jet screaming at him to pull up?

He let the line fall silent, taking a shaky breath trying to pull away from the shaking of the jet, the sharp tug of the G-force and the claustrophobic feeling of the canopy closing in on him as the piercing scream echoed in his head, his death sentence.

“Low Altitude, pull up. Low Altitude, pull up- ”.

He could hardly hear anything but if that was the gun cocking then it was Hangman's fearful cry that was the bullet, “Rooster-!”

He squeezed his eyes shut and instead let Ice do what he did best and allowed the man to gather his evidence and piece it together himself.

“I’m not Goose” he rasped out, barely, when the response took too long. Reminding the man of his hand in one of the worst mistakes of his life. But it was necessary as much as he hated it because he knew Ice, unlike Mav who blamed himself publicly not afraid to attempt to redeem himself for his hand in it, Ice suffered silently letting his mind run over the scenario looking for a way they could have saved Goose, looking for a scenario that didn't exist. Ice loves to torture himself, and like him, Ice was a masochist. “It was fine. I was on my way in and an engine blew. I couldn’t- I went into a flat spin and collided with the ocean” he continued and let out a humorous snort “I burnt in Pops”.

“Christ kid”, Ice's voice sounded suspiciously wet.

“I’m ok” he mumbled, “I wanted you there.” He tugged the plushy tighter to his chest, closing his eyes as he listened to Ice shift the sheets and audibly stood up from the bed hearing the man mutter to himself quietly as he began to move around the house. There was the recognizable creak of his childhood stairs then a door shut and the phone clicked falling into a vain eerie silence. Had- Had he been wrong? He bit his lip shoving down a sob, his lips wobbled, his eyes squeezing shut.

Had Pops- he hadn’t hung up had he? He wouldn’t leave him, right?

Pops loved him…he wouldn't leave him. He wouldn’t, but he wouldn't blame the man if he had. It’s not like he had done anything to instil confidence into the older gentleman. He had brushed him off, thrown his offers back into his face, disgraced the man's title in front of the brass and thrown more venom at the man in the last 7 years than he had shown love.

He let out a wounded noise sob ripped from his lips, teeth chattering as his chest tightened. Ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth as he curled around the plush, squeezing it so tightly it made his shoulders ache and wrist click in protest. No longer making a conscious effort to keep the blood from smearing on the white fabric.

“Bradley?”

His breath hitched eyes, snapping open, tilting his head back to look at the phone that had fallen from his grip to rest on the mattress to his left as he curled onto his side, the line was still connected.

Ice's worried voice wobbled through the line. “Baby bird can you hear me?”

“Pops! You- you-“

“Deep breaths honey” Ice reminded him gently.

“You didn’t leave ” .

“Never” Pops promised firmly. “I’m sorry darling I should have warned you, I forgot there was a lag when the phone connected to the car”.

He blinked and swallowed thickly, reaching up to rub the thick tears from his face sniffing snotty with a grimace as he used his sleeve to rub the evidence from his skin,. His voice clouded with tears as his still scattered brain tried to process the information “Car?”. His head was still pounding and the impromptu crying was not helping in the slightest but the nurse had told him he would be sluggish for the next few days until he healed, then again she had also told him to avoid phones and screens for the next 72 hours. Of anything it was their own fault for allowing him to talk his way out of having a supervisor to watch his every move. Telling him not to use a screen was like telling a pilot he couldn't fly when the new F-25 was sitting right in front of him.

He was going to do it. He would do anything he had to at this point to hear his Pop’s voice, even if he had to fly to DC and burst into his office himself- that is if they are still posted there. But no, he remembered the creaking of the stairs, the sound was seared into his brain. They had to be down in Miramar, they had to be…right?

That was home. They wouldn’t change that.

“Yes sweetheart, we’re going to go find that idiot of a father of yours” Ice chuckled fondly.

“Why-“ he stuttered hesitating as he worried the words around in his brain for a moment before finally dragging the dreaded question he's been worrying about since he stomped out of their lives 7 years ago from his lips, “Why isn’t he with you? Did I-''. Had they separated because of him? Why weren’t they living in the same house, they had lived together for as long as he could remember, they all had.

“No Bradley. You didn’t do anything. He’s just at the hanger, said he needed to do some work on his baby” Ice soothed apparently knowing him too well, perhaps it was a leftover skill from having to learn how to predict his mood swings as a teenager but Ice had always had the knack of knowing what he needed in the moment. He had been so sure on more than one occasion that the man could secretly read minds, but maybe he just knew his thought patterns too well.

He frowned in confusion, “He has a hanger? Like…his own?”

“I was not impressed” Ice huffed in assurance with a heavy put on sigh “If anything he certainly topped the retriever incident, I think he was trying to win some obscure challenge. Then again I wouldn't mind so much if he was actually home more and cared for it”.

“Retriever?”. His stomach clenched as he blinked away tears as he listened to Ice smile fondly as he recounted his wingman's antics. He bit his lip subconsciously. How much had he thrown away?

Listening to the fact that their lives continued on without him hurt but deep down he knew he hadn't really expected the world to stop spinning. He hadn’t expected for them to stop living their lives just because he had left, but to hear confirmation that they moved on, just as he had…it hurt.

How much had he missed?

“I came home from a meeting a couple of months ago and Slider was supposed to be watching him but apparently he got distracted ”. He let out a wet laugh as Ice drawled in an unimpressed tone. A woman then, they had always been Uncle Si's weakness. One he had seen the others exploit many times to win bets or escape babysitting duties. It was almost a game within the group, or at least it used to be. He could almost hear an Ice smile behind his grouchy tone “Anyway I got back and there’s Mav, dozing away on our couch with a baby golden retriever on his chest. She’s the cutest little thing” Ice cooed only to fall into a brief moment of awkward silence when neither men knew what to say before Ice broke it gently, “We named her Rooster”.

He felt like he was going to be sick. Even after all this time, after all he put them through they still wanted him just as much as he did.

“Pops,” he cried wetly.

“I'm here baby bird” his Pops promised “Now. Tell me about what you’ve been up to in the last few years since we’ve seen you”.

“You're an Admiral, shouldn’t you already know that? I know you help keep Mav updated” The tone wasn’t accusingly just…tired.

“I do,” Ice said quietly, not bothering to do anything to hide his involvement, “But I want to hear it from you”.

So he told him. He started by explaining how he had driven to the edge of town and checked into a motel after he stormed out of the house, how despite having sent Mav away with his tail between his legs he couldn't stand staying in that house anymore knowing Ice would come home and convince him to stay. So he did what he did best, he fled. He told him about how he called up admissions to California University and reversed his refusal; one of the conditions of a bet he lost to Slider a few years ago that he would apply to the same university that his uncle had graduated from, at the time it hadn't meant anything to him a mere joke. He explained that the university had been surprisingly accommodating once he spun a tale about a Navy relocation that was changed last minute allowing him to attend the university, a lie that Ice lowly chastised him for over the line. How he packed up his limited belongings that night with only his broncho, a few hundred dollars in his account and a quickly put together duffle to his name and left that night to drive all the to California. Driving from dawn to dusk trying to sober up from his 7 hour drive huddled up against the window of a coffee at 5am in the morning curled around a cup of coffee trying to stay awake long enough to get his keys from the rental company and crash into the first empty bed he saw.

He laughed about how he met Jackson for the first time. How his roommate had been allegedly studying at his desk reading through the textbook for their economics and aerodynamic classes when the door of their dorm opened, but before he could greet him apparently he had chucked his bag, letting it fall to the ground and stumbled towards the only undressed bed in the room. Jackson had told him he looked like a zombie dragging himself around dead on his feet, bags under his eyes slurring as he muttered to himself, practically throwing himself halfway across the room at the chance of a wink of sleep, only to misjudge the distance and land half on the edge of the bed and roll off with a startled shout. Jackson had told him after laughing so hard he ended up tilting off his chair and joining him on the floor that he had just stared silently at the ceiling blinking slowly with a confused look as he registered falling off the bed.

He confessed how he spent that first night laying awake (of course that was after his frankly illegally long nap, if you could call it that) unable to sleep as he tapped his fingers against his phone that rested on his stomach, fully aware of the missed calls and messages from his uncles, his parents. But the burning need to respond just hadn't been enough to rival the flames of fury curling around his heart like barbed wire. He spent the whole of his first night conflicted, wondering if he should give up and change his mind and go home, that he should beg for Mav to tell him why he did this, why he wasn't good enough. Surely there was a reason, something he would fix to make Mav love him again. The memory of Mav recalling in on himself, jaw flexing as the words left his lips leaving a cold grip around his chest as Mav turned on his heels and walked out of the house.

Go away and never come back old man. I don’t want murderers in this house!

He told Ice about how he powered his phone off and got a burner phone for the first few months, unable to look at it with the burning anger that made him want to throw it at a wall hoping it would break. Knowing he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation to reach out if he saw the calls waiting for him. Knowing that he needed to do this, that he couldn't give in yet, that he needed to fight for this. For him.

He told him about how he got a job waiting tables at a nearby mum-and-pop dinner run by an elderly couple, who reminded him of frighteningly grandpa Viper. About how the older couple had stepped in and who took care of him when he was struggling. How they bullied him into staying after his shifts for dinner or pushed hot chocolate onto him and waved away his money when he tried to pay, and how inventive he had to get to hide his tips around for them to find, knowing they would pull his ear like Uncle Wood used to with an exacerbated fond look.

He relaxed back into the mattress smiling as he recounted his subjects and the people he met. Even going as far as to admit that he found most people his age immature and recounted some of the drama and frat initiation he had witnessed. He had never really gotten along with them, instead he chose to hang out with Jackson most days. Unlike him Jackson wasn't heading for the Navy, the man was instead aiming to work as a consultant for the Pentagon. The man loved aerodynamics but the man had admitted that flying made him queasy, and he very much preferred to keep his feet on the ground.

He whispered out the painful admission of returning home for the break not having the will to go anywhere else for the holidays only to book out a hotel room and hide out there afraid of running into any of them. He recounted the nights he had sent in the cold bundles up in his truck outside their house watching the lights go off, unable to take the step of actually knocking on the door. Trying to ignore Ice’s sharp inhale pained with the knowledge that he had been so close.

He talks about how Jackson and he lost contact after graduation both being busy with their new jobs as the man moved out to Texas and as he himself , moved to Annapolis after finding someone who allowed him to enlist and how he got accepted into the academy. He talked about how he was the oldest kid there and the prejudice he faced from the other recruits due to it. How he was dismissed by the teachers and scrutinized by instructors who urged him to find a new career that suited him better. About how he graduated second in his class only beaten by one person, Jake Seresin.

He discussed his frustration and rivalry that bloomed and continued through their deployments only to pop back up, like the leach he was because Seresin was a damn cockroach, as his competitor when he was accepted into Top Gun. How it was only due to a surprising friend from the academy popping back up, Natasha Trace, who kept him sane (and likely from being discharged from punching the man's perfect teeth in) and later became his best friend (one who was very unhappily to find out that they were being separated after graduation, she was being stationed out at Hawaii, hours away from his station in Japan). He talked about how close the points were, about how their rivalry seemed to fizzle out in the moment his jet tipped to the side unresponsive and the man cried out for him. How in that moment, the trophy didn't feel like it mattered anymore.

“They always did put too much focus on that damn trophy” Ice muttered, “The point of Top Gun used to be about being the best, as a team. Now… we’ve lost too much with the encouraged competitiveness”.

He hummed limply as the conversation fell into a sort of lull as he realized how long he had been talking, it was almost 1:23am, almost 2 hours since the call started. And Pops was still here, listening. Who had recognised his distress, and had woken up at an ungodly hour to go and drive out to wherever Mav had boarded himself up for the night simply because he needed him.

“Hey Pops”

“Yeah, kid?”

“I'm wearing your hoodie”. Part of him knew he should be embarrassed at the admission, he ran the cuff of the old faded grey hoodie between his fingers finding comfort in it even though he could no longer smell Ice’s expensive Italian cologne clinging to it. But he couldn't bring himself to be. Sitting comfortably on the centre of his chest covering his sternum was a dark blue and red image, a familiar image, a dark blue circle surrounding a white F-15, marking his chest with his destiny. The words that had been engraved in his mind long before he had ever set foot on the ground before him; United States Navy: Fighter Weapons School.

“Your Top Gun one”. It had given him a connection to them all, being so far away from them, wearing it was the only time he was able to scratch at the nauseating homesickness that rocked his whole being. It had given him a homestead, the name printed across his shoulder blades connecting him to his lineage and the bond connecting his family together.

Kazansky. Graduate of Class 1986, Top Gun.

“I know,” Ice said quietly, “I noticed it was missing not long after you left. You know…there's a photo of you in it up on Penny's bar, at the Hard Deck” Ice corrected before chuckling lightly, “You've grown into it well, I remember when you were a scrawny kid and it just dwarfed you but you refused to wear anything else”.

“I used to take it when you were deployed,” he swallowed, “It was stupid but it made me think that you would come back for it”.

“Brad's,” Ice sounded wretched, “It was never the hoodie I came back for, it was you”.

“I know. I know that now. But…it reminds me that maybe one day…you'll come home again”.

“Bradley-”

“How is everyone” he interrupted sniffing and swallowed down his regret. There was a pause, clearly Ice contemplating chasing up the chain of thought before the man sighed reluctantly submitting to the change of subject.

“Well, you have two new nieces and nephews. Wolf and Wood adopted a little boy three years ago, and Sunny's wife had a surprise kid a few years ago while he was out on deployment, surprising them both” Ice commented dully.

He frowned in confusion, “But I thought Anna was infertile?”

“So did we” Ice hummed but slowly allowed them to fall into the comfortable lull of the conversation as Ice updated him slowly with everything he missed, careful to add in details he thought were pertinent; like Slider retiring from being an Admiral and becoming a commercial pilot, apparently the man was much happier now. Or Wood and Sunny who had co-opened a bakery and coffee store that they had named ‘the smiley shorts’ which honestly didn't surprise him as much as it should have. Or about how Cougar was working in a hospital under his wife who had been promoted to the chief of surgery. And slowly he started to mend a little more.

“Bradley baby, you still with me?”

He blinked tiredly not realizing that he had closed his eyes at some point, he tried to shake sleep from his limbs as it attempted to claim him. He yawned, jaw cracking in the effort as he rolled onto his back tilting his head back towards the phone where it sat on the mattress next to his head. “Pops, right here” he mutters in confirmation, “On your wing”.

“That's right baby bird” Ice let out a small chuckle “Right on my wing. Talking about wingmen. We’re about to find one”.

“Mav?”

“Yeah, darling”. The engine spluttered in the background, and he heard the keys jingle as Ice muttered lowly ‘It's too damn cold for this’ . He listened trying to picture where Ice was as he heard a door opened then the crunch of dirt under boots. He frowned, brows pulling tensely as he tried to picture a desert, or somewhere with a vast amount of land that would allow Mav his solitude but was dry enough to crunch this time of year. He jolted slightly in confusion at the sound of old metal banging against something with a clatter and the loud noise of something heavy rolling.

He almost wept hearing a tired confused voice, “Ice? Honey what are you doing here? It’s almost 3 am”. Mav sounded the same, that lovering concern that he had been on the receiving end of all those years ago and he could see the way Mavs eyes would be pinched in the corner, lips tilted down as he studied them for any injuries, trying to figure out what had happened before they could form a warped lie.

“I have someone who wants to talk to you”, this time he could see Ice's smile, the one that bloomed behind his closed eyelids, the small jump in his lips that bloomed into a gentle smile as the phone travelled hands.

“Uh-hello?” Mav asked, sleep still evident in his voice and he slivered at the flash of memories of seeing the man stumble into the kitchen wrapping his arms around Ice’s waist as he pressed a sloppy kiss to the man's check knowing he would swat him for it as he did every day with a grumble only to pair a cheeky grin to Ice’s unimpressed loom. How he would stay attached to Ice for the rest of breakfast swaying with him a step behind the blond seamlessly ducking out of the way without needing to be asked, passing along ingredients to distract Ice from the wondering fingers trying to snatch a piece of bacon front he pan before it was plated only to end up with a lecture and a wooden spoon to his hand. He remembered Mav’s pouting only for him to turn with a wink as he used to stick his tongue out to tease them.

“Dad?” His voice trembled faced the fact he was speaking to his father for the first time in just under a decade.

Mav hailed sharply, “Baby?” Mav sounded awake, startled by the concern that dragged into his voice. He sounded happy , shocked but happy.

“Dad” His heart slowed his chest aching but relieved as the sense of home finally settled over him.

Home.

“Bradley honey what’s wrong?” Mav asked worriedly.

“He said the hospital called you but you didn’t turn up” Ice rumbled in the background quietly allowing them to have their own moment, no doubt the man had led Mav to sit down holding him close, tugging him into his side.

He could go home.

“Shit, I didn’t have my phone- I didn’t realize until after I got here-”

“Dad,” he interrupted the man's panicked rambling with tears in his eyes as he looked down at the goose in his arms that had offered him so much comfort in the last few years but dispite the memories it carried, it was nothing to rival Mav’s hugs, or Ice’s kisses. It wasn't like curling up with Mav on the couch or being tucked in by Ice. It wasn't home.

“Yes, baby?”

He took a deep breath trying to push back the emotional overload that once again threatened to overtake him, that clung to him weighing him down in the ocean dragging him further underwater like a parachute filling with water with no tactical knife to free himself with forced to watch the rope tangle around his body trapping him as his body jolted at the lack of air. His voice trembled, breaking as the tears became evident in his voice, “Can I come home?”

“Of course, baby” Mav sounded choked up almost as if he was crying as well “God Bradley, of course, you can come home. You were always welcome home”.

And for the first time in years he took a deep breath and his heart felt weightless and he smiled and thought of home, only this time, it was closer than he thought.

#Title from 'Homesick' by Noah Kahan.#top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fandom #top gun maverick #top gun headcanons #pete maverick mitchell #icemav #bradley rooster bradshaw #reunion #Rooster comes home #the mavdad and icepops of it all #mavdad #icepops

132 notes · View notes

1moreff-creator · 2 months ago

Text

Taking a "Shot" at the DR:OS Prediction Game!

In case you're not aware, a post on the av-multifangan account explained an interesting prediction game: after reading the prologue, you give your predictions on killers, victims, death chapter, survivors and mastermind. I am, to be clear, really bad at this, but I decided to give it a "shot" (heh) anyways! Here are my predictions, with explanations under the cut!

(I put chapter number too because this format is not colorblind friendly otherwise lol)

CW: Murder, death, insane predictions. Spoilers for DR THH, DR2, DRV3, and DROS Prologue

[Also, in case you're curious, I didn't check accirax's guesses, nor the guesses of this Jonas fellow mentioned in the original post, before making this post. I only checked their mm guesses 'cuz I was curious :v I'll check them out after to see how different they are :)]

Survivors and MM

We're starting with survivors because sometimes it's easier to start at the end and workshop a way to get there.

First is the only freebie on the list: Ellis. As stated in the linked post, because of DROS' format, the protagonist must be a survivor. Which means I'll only get 15/16 wrong, nice.

After that... I have no idea :v

Mark is here because of... pattern recognition, really. In canon DR, out of three Ultimate ???s, two were survivors (Kirigiri and Hinata) and one died in CH1 (Amami. No I don't know why I'm listing them by last name). However, Amami knew he was the Ultimate Survivor (more or less? Been a while since I've seen anything DRV3 related) so he actually doesn't count. I think you can see my reasoning here lmao.

However, there's a reason Ultimate ???s have a tendency to survive. Simply put, if the mastermind (MM) chooses to erase this person's memories particularly, they're presumably somewhat important. Maybe connected to the nature of the killing game, even. And so, they're usually around for the CH6 reveal of what their missing memories might mean for the larger plot.

It's not perfect, obviously. There's many ways to kill Mark before CH6. Talent reveal can happen posthumously, which was the case with Amami for example. They can also happen earlier in the killing game, allowing Mark to react to it without surviving to CH6. And more! However, I have very little to go off of, and Mark's "talent" gives me something to argue for their survival, at least. That's more than basically everyone else in the cast bar Ellis, so they're going here :v

So, now that we're officially out of okay-ish guesses, let's dive into the insanity! Starting with my hail mary, absolutely most-probably-wrong MM guess, Grace!

Now, this cast has a few "suspicious" characters. Robert has the whole "plain" thing going on that Tsumugi had, Aidan's half and half color scheme could be a nod to mm leanings, Ultimate ???s like Mark are always decent guesses, and the setting being a casino makes Antonia a prime target for MM accusations. Of course, these might be too obvious for an MM, but that's not extremely disqualifying. There's also the argument that the attempt on the mm's part to replicate Hope's Peak throws suspicion on the Impressionist, Taylor; and that Paris' talent being related to secrets and stuff could be considered mm-ish. Plus, Paris is the 13th student by Countdown Order (which I can't help but notice is the order of this list when read left to right and up to down), and 13 is an unlucky number, compared to Ellis' lucky number seven. Thee two might be a bit better. Finally, since she's even less obvious, I also vibe with accirax's guess of Cass, but I can't think of many arguments beyond Vibes for them (which is valid, tbf).

But if we're going to take Countdown Numbers into account, 4 is also an unlucky number (related to death even!), which gets us to Grace. There are a few reasons I believe they could be the MM.

First and foremost; given some of my previous posts, I just find it really funny for me to call the Clockmaker of all people the MM. If you've ever touched a clock, it's on sight with me, apparently xD

Now that we've established that, I do actually think there's a good argument for Grace!MM... by the standards of any MM theory pre-CH1, at least. Beyond the previously mentioned Countdown Number thing, they're the person in the prologue found next to the Movie Theater room, which was locked and didn't really have anything interesting to look at. Could it be they didn't feel the need to explore, because they already knew everything about the building? They also mentioned they liked the directness of the message on the cork board outside the Movie Theater room, when that's the exact thing Vanessa complained about Monoquin earlier. These are, to be extremely clear, really silly points. But they're there! And compared to people like Jeff, who have somewhat disqualifying introductions on the mm front, it's not a horrible start.

Another point is that, so far, Grace is the only person to have definitively shot down Ellis' flirting, by talking about their boyfriend. If Ellis is Lucky, then maybe it makes sense for the universe to stop him from flirting with the mm... maybe. This point is even sillier than the others, especially considering Grace isn't even the only character Ellis has no opportunity to swoon, as for example Vivi is aro/ace.

The next point is funny. See, I joke about the talent, but Grace being a Clockmaker could be twisted into suspiciousness if you're mentally unwell like me.

Usually one of the tools I consider best for MM predictions is thematic analysis (in other words, what kind of mm would best fit the themes of a work), but I can't exactly do that in the Prologue when there's very little set up in terms of themes and such.

Unless. Unless we go insane.

The fangan... is called One Shot. So a theme of the fangan (bear with me here) could be irreversibility. That you only get "one shot" to do certain things or something. Which fits decently well with the idea of time, this unstoppable march forward that can never be turned back. Right? You get the idea? And, and, because the DROS killing game is the sixth in-universe killing game ran by the mastermind(s), another theme could be repetition. As in, the killing games happen "like clockwork."

...

Me rn

Yeah this is maybe the stupidest set of "evidence points" I've ever used for any theory ever. Like, that's an insane soul read on what the themes of DROS could actually be, I'm fully expecting to be completely wrong on that lol. I actually find Grace!MM pretty unlikely, but I currently feel like all MM theories are almost equally unlikely, so if I have to pick one... I'm gonna pick the funniest one and continue my "beef" with Clockmakers lmao

Anyways, so remember those themes I'm pulling right out my ass and struggling to even pretend there's the slightest chance I'm actually right about them? How about we draw more probably wrong conclusions from them? Because if irreversibility is a main theme, then Vivi, who is interested in "conquering death", could fit well as a survivor. After all, you only get "one shot" at living, and she has to accept that, right...?

God I'm so bad at these.

Finally, Taylor.

I have no idea why Taylor's here.

It's sort of process of elimination, more than anything. I'm not confident about the rest of the kill order, but I feel I can't fill the fifth survivor spot (or fourth if you count the MM as separate) with any sort of actual reasoning, so... uh, I just picked my current favorite out of the characters I feel are most plausible as survivors. And that's Taylor, apparently.

Of course, the counterargument is that if they're already taking charge somewhat by proposing the breakfast meetup in the prologue, then that might not bode well for their survival and they might die soon. It's definitely decent reasoning, but... I mean, the story can go literally in any direction atp, so it's not impossible Taylor survives regardless. Just let me have the silly impressionist okay they're cool :p

Btw, funny thing about survivor predictions in this fangan. Usually a good way to build survivor predictions is by trying to balance the genders of the surviving cast, as generally there's a more or less equal split of girls and boys in the final trial, and thus remaining at the end. However, there are very few girls and boys in this killing game. In fact, no one in the surviving cast I predicted uses exclusively he/him or she/her pronouns. This isn't even the only configuration where this happens! Not even close! I find that amusing xD

Now that I've already probably gained no less than 25 points with these guesses alone, let's move on to the even harder part; death order!

Chapter 1: Vanessa - Robert

I chose Vanessa as the first victim because she is (I believe? more or less) the only character to have had, count them, three whole positive interactions with other characters on screen! Her chat with Ellis, giving Mark their name, and helping Taylor speak up at the end of the chapter. She's too nice, so she's dying. Immediately. Because she's one of the only people whose death could have a legitimate impact on the cast even this early, at least from what we've seen. Obviously I could be wrong but that's a given by now.

As for Robert, well look. I'm perfectly ready to be proven horrendously wrong about this, but I kinda struggle to see how his shtick of being perfectly normal could continue to be all that interesting post-CH1. It feels more like a gimmick you use for one chapter, then make Robert the killer to make the point that "if the most normal person here murdered someone, anyone could murder :O" and get paranoia going on the rest of the cast. Again, I'm probably completely wrong about that, but it's an angle I find plausible, so I'm picking it.

Robert's also like one of my top four picks for fifth survivor. Just so we're clear on how unsure about my guesses I am :v

Chapter 2: Harper - Cass

Harper and Noah met before the killing game. Even if they don't know much about each other's lives, they seem to be on pretty good terms. That means the pair probably isn't making it past CH2 lol.

Out of the two, I find Harper slightly more likely to be the CH2 victim. Vibes only on that one. I guess it makes sense in my mind that the Philanthropist is more likely to become more well-liked quicker than the Frat Boy, and as we've established, a character making friends is a good indication they might die, because their death might impact the cast more. Obviously with only the prologue, it's impossible to properly guess about any character dynamics beyond maybe CH1, but I try to pick my guesses with some amount of reasoning so.

As for Cass...

Listen I have no idea what to think of Cass. For some reason my mind comes up entirely blank when I think about predictions for them, or even when I try to think about anything about her character in general.

Why am I putting them here, then? Simply put, I could see them being an interesting foil to Harper, and it's not uncommon for character foils to kill each other in these killing games. Think Mondo - Chihiro, Ryoma - Kirumi, Kaito - Kokichi (now I'm listing them by first name because I hate consistency /j), just for some easy-to-see canon examples.

The foil here could potentially be that Cass might be (and just so we're clear on this, this is an immense extrapolation from like two lines of dialogue and could be horribly wrong) a more money-oriented person, based on these lines:

Cass [Prologue]: Lucky Student, huh? That’s an all-around useful talent. Still though, it’s weird… Why is no one here talented at making things, or having something to sell…? Ellis: Hey, who says I’m not talented at “making” something? Cass: I should clarify, I’m referring to making something physical. Something that one might, say, need someone to critique and/or help them market to higher ups

Cass [about the Customer Service Desk]: That can’t be a sound business practice…

While Harper is a Philanthropist whose likes include charities. So... boom. Foils.

Make no mistake. I doubt I'm cooking. I've probably overshot the kitchen and jumped directly into hell. Two or three lines are far from enough to properly guess what a character's deal is, especially when it's something so specific. This is not so much a genuine prediction and more so me grasping at straws to put Cass... somewhere and not have it be just up to the roll of the die. Unlike...

Chapter 3: Davis & Paris - Jeff

My CH3 guesses are nothing but Vibes Only hail maries. The reasoning here is that I don't know where else to put these people, so they're going here. I mean, putting them around the middle reduces the amounts of chapter points I can get from them under this scoring system, right? (<- Not actually the reasoning I used but y'know).

Davis, at least, has some form of... conflict? Thing? Going on from the very prologue, with him being clearly uncomfortable with Ellis' flirting and stuff. That could set up some form of early game character exploration, and that can imply an early-ish death after he gets explored. That or he survives. Uh... So he's going in CH3.

Jeff being a killer makes sense with him being the Ultimate Absentee, and thus wanting to leave. You could argue that might be too predictable, which- maybe, but that doesn't mean bad. The setup's there for him to not make it to the end... but still survive to see the pool open, since they were interested in it. So CH3.

Paris is here because I needed a second victim :v

Chapter 4: Noah - Aidan

It's not uncommon to guess that if one half of a pair dies, the other will survive, so you might think Noah as a survivor makes sense. And it does! But that reasoning didn't save Taka, so...

Again with these two, I am very unsure as to what exactly will happen with them. This, too, is a very Vibes only hail mary guess. I could see them going at practically any point past maybe CH1, but Aidan's probably gonna last for the sake of Conflict and... I don't know what to do about Noah so he's here :v

I can't even be sure about their roles! I could definitely see both of them as victims and killers, though I should note I think Noah being a killer is more likely if he dies before Harper, which is why I put Aidan as the killer for this prediction set.

Of course, this assumes Aidan can overcome his Contrarian urges to throw all weapons out the window when given the opportunity, but I believe in him! (/Slay the Princess ref).

Chapter 5: Kennedy - Antonia

You might think my confidence in guesses would go down as the chapters go up (barring Ellis and maybe Mark of course), as it's harder to predict things further down the road because of all the stuff that can happen in between the Prologue and the later chapters. And while that's generally true, Kennedy is actually one of the guesses I think is most defensible. Not necessarily more likely to be right, just easier to argue for.

I struggle to see her reaching CH6, since you'd probably want the protagonist to take center stage in uncovering all the mysteries behind the killing game, and having the Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist around could complicate that. However, if he reaches CH5, he can at least start uncovering the mysteries as a way to set up for CH6, and I can even see the angle of the MM specifically making a motive against them to get rid of them. That could even be the inciting incident for CH6, a la "Junko wrongfully 'executing' Naegi" (now I'm using both first and last names because I'm Evil) from THH.

However, a lot of that is probably the kind of bs Kennedy herself would say, and it's never a good sign when you start sounding like the Ultimate Conspiracy Theorist, so I'll leave it alone now.

Finally, Antonia...

Look, in my heart of hearts, I want her to be a survivor. I think it could work, especially with how intertwined her talent is with the setting and the protag's own talent. And in fact, those very reasons are the logical explanation of why she's this far in, all the way as the CH5 killer.

(The emotional explanation being that I just want her to last a while :v)

But... come on.

Ellis: … So, is there some kinda prize for winning? Other than our escape, I mean. Antonia: There must be. If it’s a “game,” there has to be an incentive to win.

It's the damn prologue and she's already considering prizes for murder honestly CH5 might be a little too optimistic T_T

---

Anyways, I hope this doesn't sound as completely unhinged as it reads in my mind lmao. And I also hope you enjoyed the objectively buckwild and most-likely wrong predictions, even if I'm probably going to end up with a ridiculous amounts of points at the end! See you!

11 notes · View notes