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screamting · 4 years ago

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The Last Night [highschool au]

warnings: long post. Canon-compliant body horror/mutilation, threats of suicide, threats to make it look like a suicide, things that don't die when they should, young Bruce enacting a stupid plan.

masterpost

000

Bruce didn’t come back from the library.

Despite how aware of his surroundings he might have been, he couldn't stop a hand going over his mouth.

A blindfold over his eyes.

Something that made him feel sleepy.

And he was pulled away.

Bruce woke disoriented.

Cold.

He groaned before he thought he should've hidden it, but the thought was far away in the back of his mind as he slowly regained consciousness.

“The prodigal son awakens.” Someone said above him. In front. Their voice echoed.

Bruce was on a slab in the middle of a large room. A circular theatre.

It was filled with people. Staring at him.

… And all of them wore the same white mask off an owl.

...ah.

Here it was.

A cold fog of clarity, instead of a haze to get lost in.

Once he was awake enough to see, he was awake enough to glare, and he set his icy blue eyes on them as he pushed himself up to sit.

“...you guys just sit around and stare at unconscious kids all day?” he asked.

“Only the special ones, Bruce. And you're very special.” The man said, one stood out from the rest in a white suit and black cape.

Bruce could probably feel someone behind him too. Closer than the rest.

Behind him was a man in black and gold, spectacles over his eyes and mask designed like an owl, but different from the rest.

He did feel him, once he'd sat up-- he jerked away, unable to stop himself from showing that weakness once he realized how close that one was standing. Different from the rest. Gloves like claws.

(Talon, his mind told him, with a trickle of ice down his spine, remembering how months ago, the business mongle had been found in his apartment, cut to ribbons.)

...but still, he forced his voice to not shake as he dragged his gaze back to the vacant masks and faces of the Court, and looked up at what he could only assume was the ‘judge’--

And he must've been standing trial.

“So, what?” Bruce asked, wetting his lips. “You going to kill me?”

“Oh no, no, Bruce Wayne. We’re going to recruit you.” The Judge said, his voice as jovial as it had been since the beginning.

The crowd around him was near motionless save for the occasional lean from one to whisper to the other. They were all clearly real people, and all of them well dressed.

Gotham’s Elite.

Just like him.

His throat tightened.

They were nothing like him. Nothing like him, or Tommy, who had suffered, and--

He found his voice loud, even in his own ears, shoving himself off the slab and ready to fight the entire room if he fucking had to. Assassin, no assassin, if it killed him, he didn’t care. He had no friends, and no future, and-- “You killed my parents,” he howled. “As if I would ever let you recruit me!”

As soon as he lunged forward, even if he was nowhere near the Judge, a taloned hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder with enough force to hold him in place, to keep him from running.

“Now who told you that?” The Judge asked. “Why would we ever kill one of our own?”

That stopped him almost as sharply as the hand on his shoulder did. His breath hitched.

He was normally so good at spotting liars, but he couldn’t see their faces. Couldn’t see their eyes. Didn’t even know what their regular voices were like to compare.

But they would have to be lying.

His parents would never work with them.

“You’re lying.”

He grabbed the Talon’s arm, and tried not to think of the knives on their fingers, and tried to throw him over his shoulder in a judo flip.

The Talon hadn’t been ready for the flip initially, but still had more training than Bruce.

Their feet landed before they pulled Bruce with them into a bear hug to keep him still.

“Surely you don’t think even your parents passed up this opportunity?” The Judge asked. “We are Gotham’s richest, just as you are. We decide what happens to our city, not the common riff raff crawling the streets. Your parents worked with us to make Gotham what it is today.”

It wasn’t like being held tight by Clark. The armored body around him moved when he struggled, but still-- still, he couldn’t do anything more than twist in the hold, but not break it, as he started to shake.

“Then how come it all fell apart when they died!?” he said, voice cracking.

His eyes felt hot.

“Even the Court couldn’t hold it together without them!?”

“I’m afraid that’s just another case of correlation not equalling causation.” The Judge said. “Perhaps with your help, you could bring Gotham back to something your parents would be proud of? We can help you. That’s what we do; offer a network of aid to bring Gotham to her full potential.”

“Talon,” the Judge turned his head to address the man bear-hugging Bruce into submission. “Take our guest to his lodgings. Give him time to think.”

The man said nothing as he set Bruce on his feet and shoved him forward.

…

Bruce stopped struggling, watching the Judge with barely-restrained tears. Shaking.

He wobbled on his feet when he was set down and stumbled with the shove.

...but he walked. He walked like he’d gone and drunk a bar dry, but he did it, still feeling the Talon’s arms around him through his clothes and suddenly feeling even colder and more exposed now that his arms were free.

“...you kill people,” he said to the Talon. “Why…”

“To maintain order.” The Talon said, leading Bruce down a series of corridors that became increasingly less lavish as they went.

They came to a steel door and the Talon opened it, but didn’t shove Bruce inside, expecting him to go in willingly.

The interior was nice for what it was. A comfortable bed. A desk with a light.

He was still one of Gotham’s Elite, after all.

“What about their families?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

He was lightheaded.

Dizzy.

He went in, and stood just on the inside, feeling cold and empty.

If he was waiting on an answer he wouldn’t get one.

The Talon closed the door and it clicked heavily as it locked, and then he walked away.

…

Bruce couldn’t even hear his footsteps leaving.

...he wanted to throw up. But he just stood there. Dazed and shaking, and throat dry. No one knew where he was. He didn’t know where he was. No one knew the court, or would give Alfred closure, or be able to do anything if he disappeared down here.

No one would find his body if they wanted to get rid of him. A hole in his neck, just like mom’s.

“...Clark,” he croaked.

“Clark. Clark. Clark…”

… Clark would hear him.

Clark would hear him walking back to their dorm and stop dead in his tracks.

He knew the voice and it sounded so desperate, and suddenly he had forgotten the stabbing in his heart and was turning to run in the direction of it.

Ignoring whoever it was that just yelled at him for running.

He ran to where he thought it was coming from, but-- but that couldn’t be it. It was a dead end. So he circled back.

Another dead end.

It didn’t make sense.

How the fu-...

He started to look harder.

At some point, Bruce found himself on the floor, curled over his knees and pressing his palms into his eyes.

Were there cameras in here? Were there microphones? Would it matter right now?

“Clark, please, I don’t know where I am… I need help, please don’t have your hearing aids in right now, oh, fuck…”

Clark might have looked a little insane staring at the floor and seeing his friend miles down and sort of… throwing up his hands.

Okay.

Uh.

…

Clark snuck out of the school and found his way into the sewers.

Ew.

It was as far down as he could get.

And then his eyes glowed red.

...at some point, Bruce stopped calling for help.

At some point, he just started talking.

Talking into his hands.

“I’m sorry about the bathroom. I was trying to scare you. I don’t know if you can hear but if you can I’m so sorry if you don’t hear from me again--”

He was going to do something stupid.

“--I might join them.”

Clark had no idea what Bruce was talking about. The Court of Owls was so far from his mind right now, he assumed maybe Bruce had been snooping around somewhere and got stuck or something and--

And soon the walls around him shook.

Clark didn’t drill down right over Bruce. He didn’t want to hurt him or have anything collapse around him, but that meant he didn’t really know what he was getting into. He couldn’t use heat vision and x-ray at the same time. So he just… guessed and then blew downward.

He landed somewhere with carpet and a loud thud, breathing heavily.

He had taken off his uniform and wrapped a bandana around his face to help with the smell and dust.

And he knew he had seen other skeletons down here before digging downward, but he didn’t know what that meant.

...Bruce felt it.

Felt the slight tremor in the walls. In the floor.

His head jerked upwards.

Oh no.

Clark had heard him.

“Shit-- shit, Clark!” he said, a little louder, still scared of being heard outside the door, now actually looking for cameras, he’d said the name too many times, though-- “Clark, don’t let them see you! They can take you away!”

There was really no way he hadn’t been heard, but--

He still tripped and stumbled over the rubble before giving up and just flying over it.

(Hide your face when you do it. Be so alien they can’t guess it’s you.)

Clark made sure the bandana over his face was still there and flew to where he could hear Bruce’s voice.

Fuck. Shit. Bruce didn’t know what to do, but the daze in his head had been replaced by the knowledge that Clark was coming, and he needed to find some way to help keep him safe.

He started trying the door, trying to shove it open or tug it that way, and when it didn’t budge, he banged on it. “Hey. Talon! Where the fuck are you!”

Talon is here, Clark, Talon is here, you heard the name, you know, okay--

Talon?? What??

Clark was just starting to wrap his head around what this place was, red carpets and tall pillars, when he saw Talon.

And Talon saw him. Floating.

They were both pretty unprepared.

But Talon was trained.

Bruce wouldn't see it, but he would hear it.

Clark yelling, startled. A scuffle. Something big and heavy being thrown into a wall.

…

And then Clark's face in front of the window of the door, his hair full of dust and face covered.

“Bruce! What the crap!”

Bruce stared back at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“Clark! Open the door!”

Clark tried the handle and pulled.

But the handle just ripped off.

… Okay.

Clark took a breath and shoved his hands through the sides where the door connected to the wall and pulled the whole thing off.

Good.

Bruce was already shoving himself against the floating alien, hugging him tight.

“Oh, God, oh, shit. Are you okay?!” he hissed, eyes flicking over Clark’s shoulder, looking for Talon--

Clark's shirt was torn up, but he looked fine as his arms wrapped around Bruce.

“Y-yeah, I'm--”

His head snapped back as he heard Talon get up with a groan behind him, body slumped in front of a massive dent in the wall.

At the groan, Bruce shoved out of Clark’s arms, and--

And shoved Clark behind him.

“Stay down,” he hissed, voice sharp and strong again, now that-- now that his friend was here. “If you try to touch him again I’ll bite through my tongue and you’ll lose a recruit just like that.”

“What?” Clark breathed, because-- because there was so much going on right now.

“We're leaving!” He yelled, grabbing Bruce again and pulling him close with a grip that said he didn't have a choice.

Talon was getting to his feet.

Bruce sucked in a breath as he was grabbed.

“No-- no! I need to know who..”

But he wouldn’t have a choice. Not with Clark’s iron grip on him. And not with his life not even enough to dissuade Talon.

Clark grabbed him tight and they were flying. Flying past startled court members with masks, away from Talon. Away from all of it.

When they got to the hole Clark made he said “take a breath!”

And they shot up.

It was like a rollercoaster in reverse, enough to take his breath away.

Bruce clung tight, sucking in a breath when Clark told him to and squeezing his eyes shut.

He pressed himself as hard as he could against the only solid thing he knew, and hid his face in Clark’s torn collar as they went.

“North,” Bruce told him, croaking. “Not school. School’s not safe--”

Clark heard him.

They shot out of the hole in the sewer and then up and out the manhole before anyone would tell who, or what, it was.

And then he leveled out and slowed down. They were too high for prying eyes to be able to tell what they were.

Headed North.

“Bruce, what the hell was that?” Clark asked, his bandanna long fallen off his face to hang around his neck.

Bruce still clung around Clark, shivering in the high altitude.

“The Owls,” he finally croaked. “Someone drugged me.”

His expression softened.

“... It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Clark hoped that was comforting.

Bruce nodded against Clark.

“...I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

…

“I know. I heard you.”

…

“You were right though. I was jealous of Tommy. So I’m sorry too.”

A shudder he couldn’t control ran through Bruce’s body.

“...don’t be. It’s fine. I didn’t…”

Everything was so wound up inside him. Or maybe that was lightheadedness.

“You don’t have to be jealous of people I don’t like like that.”

“I know. Just--”

…

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

(I know you don’t feel that way about me.)

“I understand.”

Bruce nodded against Clark again, and tried to hold in a sniff.

Arms still wrapped around Clark and suspended so far up they would barely be specks from the ground, Bruce pulled himself up a little in Clark’s grip. And kissed him.

(Everyone wanted something from him. His money, or status, or looks, or… or for Tommy, all three. All three and his dead parents.

And Clark had still come for him, even when Bruce had ripped all of those away and chased him far away.

And he was alive.)

Just like before Clark was a deer in headlights, eyes wide as Bruce put his lips on his. His grip stayed true, growing a little tighter around him, holding him close.

And like last time he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss as they slowed down in the sky.

Bruce didn’t pull back this time.

...not that there was anywhere to pull back to, and he was very keenly aware of this, his legs dangling down with nothing to support him but the arms tight around his waist and his own grip around Clark’s shoulders.

….this kiss was gentler than the last one Bruce had given Clark. Slower. Like an apology. It was sweet.

When Clark pressed in he opened his mouth a little and tried to guide him through it.

Clark had never kissed someone like this before. It was nothing like sneaking a kiss from a girl break home when he was younger, hoping you did it right and having to take the lead.

… It was nice following for once.

He opened his mouth and followed along, slowly coming to a stop and bringing his legs down so Bruce could use him to lay on rather than hang over the city. And with Bruce's body supported by him underneath he could allow one hand to wander a little.

To feel his black hair.

Bruce could lead. He'd--

...he'd done a lot of kissing, the last two months, trying to forget the softness of Clark’s mouth.

He was still very, very aware of the fall below him, and the fact that even though his weight now fell a little more on Clark's waist, one of the arms holding him had still moved away.

His breathing grew a little deeper as he felt the hand reemerge in his hair, and pulled away just to get a deeper breath from the thin air.

Clark pulled away when Bruce did still looking a little dazed. Happy, but dazed. His hand slipped down, feeling the back of Bruce's neck.

Gentle.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Guess I don't understand.” He smirked.

Bruce frowned at him, though it wasn't an angry one. He swallowed. Clark would feel it under his hand.

“What don't you understand?”

“Thought you didn't like me like that.” He said quietly.

...Bruce finally grimaces, and tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look to but sky.

“...said you didn't have to be jealous of people I didn't like like that.”

“I know, but-- I didn't know that meant-- that meant I meant anything.” He looked down at the world below.

“That's ‘cause you're an idiot,” Bruce said, and leaned up to give him a tentative kiss again

Clark laughed into the second kiss, taking the jab in stride.

...as nice as it was, it would all have to end soon.

He was slowly growing colder in the sky, even when they weren't moving, and even with Clark under him. He was starting to shiver more, even though he refused to complain.

And they… they needed to get down, somehow, and find somewhere safe.

They couldn't go back to school. Not when Bruce had been kidnapped right in the library, in a bastion of the Gotham Elite.

The manor was nearby, but…

...but he didn't know if he could trust Alfred, after this.

But… for right now…

“Come on,” he whispered. “I think I know somewhere we can hide.”

He could feel Bruce shivering even if he didn't complain.

“Okay,” Clark said, grabbing Bruce with both arms again and starting to fly.

“Just tell me where.”

Bruce nodded and sniffed a bit, and told him.

...he told him how to find the little cave entrance, on the side of a hill, with a brick ring built around it to try and stop wandering children from falling in anymore.

It was too small to fly in together, so Bruce slid down first, into the cool, dark cave.

“No one else knows about it down here. Alfred only saw it once. He doesn't know I come back. It should be safe…”

He hoped it was.

Clark flew in behind him.

“... So what happened? I just heard you calling me and you were way down under even the sewers.”

Under the sewers? They must've been underwater almost, at that depth so near the shore.

“...” the cave was dark, despite the stream of sunlight coming down the hole. Bruce had left a box of things down here, though; an oil lantern among them.

He lit it, and relaxed when the wick wasn't too wet to work.

“...I was drugged,” he said again. “...I woke up in the court. And we talked.”

“... What did they say?”

...Bruce remembered the familiar tailor of the suits. The expense of the hideout.

He swallowed.

“...they said my family was one of them. They didn't kill them.”

“... What?” Clark breathed. “Wh-why?”

“...” Bruce knew very well why. But he also was very aware that it was something Kent had previously been defensive about. “...because the rich control the city. Not the ‘riff-raff’. And they want to keep it that way.”

“...and my family's one of the oldest in Gotham.”

(I might join them.)

Clark found himself flying around to hover beside Bruce, eyes catching the light of the lantern in the dark.

“You’re not going to join them, right? They kill people.”

“I know,” Bruce said right away, trying to look up at Clark, but not able to really meet his eyes. “...but if I'm in charge, maybe I can control them.”

The way he'd controlled Tommy. The way he'd held him back.

“Yeah? And how long will that take? To get to the top? Bruce that’d take years. Years of killing people just because they aren’t building things where you want or putting their money where you don’t agree with!”

He bit his cheek. “And what's my other option, Kent?”

“Even if I don't join, people are still going to die-- and I won't be a step closer to stopping it.”

“You’ve got so much you could use to help people, to keep them from dying.” Clark said. “Maybe you can’t fly or shoot fire from your eyes, but you have a name. You have money. Don’t be like every other rich person and throw that money towards your friends. You know that’s what they’re doing. They just pat each other on the back and kill anyone trying to make a difference!”

“You can make a bigger difference then even someone like me can, Bruce.”

“You think I don't know?”

God. He didn't mean for his voice to get so angry it cracked.

“That's what my mother was doing when she died.”

He flung his arm out, out towards the ceiling. “Why do you think we’re in this cave? Because they have names, they have money, and if they don't see me as a threat, maybe I can use what they throw away to fix this stupid city.”

His face was wet.

“You don’t know if they were even telling the truth, Bruce!” Clark said, still floating in front of him. “You know they’re the type of people to say anything that will make you want to join them. And then what? You join them and wade in the blood they spill right along beside them trying to soak it up with a paper towel?”

“You would still be responsible!”

Bruce flinched.

“...I know…” he said softly, head falling down again. “...I'm prepared for that. I just…”

His voice cracked again.

“I knew some of them, Clark. They're my neighbors. They can't… they won't go to jail, even if I find proof, I can't…”

“...I can't think of how to get rid of them..”

… Clark finally landed in front of him.

He started to grasp at straws.

“Can’t you just tell them you’ll stay out of their way? Even though you won’t join them?”

Bruce looked up at him, exhausted. “...if I can't trust them to tell the truth about my parents, why should I trust them with my life when I know I'll be getting in their way?”

“I won't stop getting in their way.”

Control.

Clark was rubbing his hands together.

Nervous.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard. Not even that Talon guy could scratch me, see?” He smiled, forced, and held out his arms.

Torn shirt and not a scratch underneath.

Bruce reached up and pulled Clark’s hand away from his stomach. Furious.

“He could've disemboweled you!”

“He didn’t!” Clark said. “I felt his claws and they were a little sharp but-- look!”

He tugged off his shirt and pointed at the barely visible red lines.

“It was nothing! I’ve been shot and it’s hurt more! I’ll be fine!”

He was getting desperate.

Begging his friend and pulling at straws to keep Bruce from joining them.

Bruce was staring at the lines, shaking.

“Clark,” he whispered. “I don't even know if I can trust Alfred’s not one of them right now, okay?”

… Clark gripped his shirt, holding it against his chest as he looked down at Bruce.

He had no other excuses.

“Don’t.” Is all he could manage, barely a whisper.

...Bruce felt like the bathroom all over again. Staring up at Clark. Doing something dumb and heart-pounding to try and feel like it made a difference.

“...are you worried about their victims?” he asked, voice soft. “Or about me?”

“Both.” Clark said, then quieter; “You.”

...Bruce lifted his hands and ran his shaking fingers across Clark’s cheek.

“...save the bias for journalism,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “I'm not going right now.”

Clark leaned into Bruce’s hand, reaching up to cup it under his own against his face while leaning down into the kiss.

“I don’t want you to go at all.” He whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “Don’t do it.”

… But he had no alternatives to suggest.

...Bruce didn't, either. Not if he wanted to stay in Gotham.

He could run, but he was under aged, without access to his parents’ fortune. Underage and famous. He wouldn't get far like that.

He could stay and make Clark be his bodyguard, but he didn't want to be responsible for the pain when one day Clark failed.

And god, he couldn't believe the Owls would let them walk away after that exit. That Bruce could lie and say he wouldn't get in the way would ultimately just buy temporary time.

If he wanted to stay in Gotham right now with Clark, he had to try to appease them somehow.

And they'd only wanted one thing.

(Always. Always, someone wanted something from him.)

So Bruce kissed back. Harder. Hands betraying his nerves as he gripped onto Clark’s unyielding arms.

“They could lock you up,” Bruce said, shaky. “I won't let them…”

Clark breathed heavier into the kiss, trying not to cry as his hands found Bruce's hips and gripped them with a gentleness that betrayed his strength.

“They don't have to know it's me. You said I could hide my face. They-- they don't need to know--”

Begging.

“I was calling your name….” Bruce whispered. “Please, Clark, I can’t lose someone again…”

Clark finally choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him closer and shoving his face into Bruce's neck.

“I can deal with them, I--”

He had nothing left to offer.

…

Bruce just held him. Tight.

...he felt cold and empty inside. But he didn’t let go.

“...I found them. I have to try and control them…”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

Clark cried. He cried into Bruce's neck and held him tight and didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do.

So while he had him, he just held onto Bruce and didn't let go.

…

Bruce didn’t know how long they were down there. Or how long Clark cried.

He was numb again. And all he knew was the arms were around him, and he was holding Clark tight as the sun went down, and soon, the only light was his lamplight, without even the flicker of stars.

“...it’s late…” he said, quiet. Tired and getting hungry and sore.

Clark had barely stopped holding him since they got down in the cave.

“... What do you wanna do?” He asked quietly.

Where were they supposed to go?

…

He didn’t know.

“...let’s get food,” he said, “and something to hide your face with. ...And then we should go.”

… Clark sniffed and nodded, finally peeling himself from Bruce as he tugged his tattered shirt back on.

“I'm not leaving you tonight.” He said, wanting to be sure Bruce knew that.

… “Thanks,” Bruce said, voice a little hoarse.

“...I’m going to need your help getting back up the well…”

...he stepped in close again, for a different sort of hug as they got up.

Clark nodded again and put his arms around Bruce, flying him up out of the well and setting him on his feet in the dying grass around it.

...it was still dark out, but not as dark as the cave.

In the far distance, there was a silhouette. Taller than the trees or fields around them. A house: massive and spired.

In front of it were flashing lights. Police cars.

...Bruce watched on with trepidation.

“...they reported me missing,” he said.

“... If Alfred were part of the Owls do you think he would’ve reported you?” Clark asked.

“Why wouldn't he?” Bruce asked, not sure. “There's not a clean cop in Gotham.”

Clark just sighed and took Bruce’s word for it. “... Whaddya wanna do?”

“...interstate gas station?” he suggested.

Food. Something to hide Clark’s face. New shirt.

They didn't need much.

“Okay,” he said. “Want me to fly us there or…?”

He nodded.

“....can't get out of the manor grounds, otherwise…”

Fenced in. Worse than school.

Fenced in everywhere but Kansas.

Clark offered his arms. “Just tell me what direction to go in.”

He would.

It was easy to spot the interstate at night, and the little clusters of buildings that sprung up along it. And--

And it was so different from the daytime flight. Bruce found his breath catching as they flew over the lights of outskirts and the rivers below.

Even Clark looked around as they flew.

“... Never been over a city before.”

But he didn’t linger, not like he had on their way there when Bruce kissed him.

He landed somewhere they wouldn’t be seen by the gas station.

Bruce stripped off his coat once they landed and handed it to Clark, to help cover his torn shirt.

“Can you see okay without your glasses?” he asked.

“I’m a little far-sighted.” Clark said, tugging on the jacket.

It was kinda tight.

He pulled off his glasses and held them out to Bruce, assuming he wanted them for a disguise.

Yeah, he did.

He put on the glasses and relaxed a little.

… “It’ll do, hopefully.”

They looked at least sort of different, and he didn’t think the Court would look at this one random gas station, of all places, right?

Right.

Hopefully.

Clark followed him into the gas station.

The attendant didn’t even look up.

Good.

Bruce grabbed some food and a shirt, and a ski mask (bad winters) and gestured for Clark to pick something to eat out, too.

Clark grabbed a gross gas station hotdog and a soda for himself.

He would pay too with the money Bruce gave him, just in case the guy behind the counter did recognize Bruce.

That was fine.

Routine. Habit.

Bruce just stood behind people while they operated for him.

He wondered if owls did that.

“...wanna eat on the curb?” he asked as they left.

“Sure,” Clark said, walking out with him.

He found a spot that didn’t look as dirty and sat down. Pulled out his hotdog to start eating.

…

“You feelin’ okay?”

…

Bruce opened the sandwich he’d taken from the freezer section and took a bite.

“...I dunno if I’m feeling anything really right now.”

… Clark nodded and took a bite from his hotdog.

“Yeah. I dunno what I’m feelin’ either right now.”

…

Bruce reached over and tried to find Clark's hand. To squeeze it.

“...I'm sorry. Please don't hate me for this.”

Clark looked down at their hands and gave Bruce’s a squeeze back. “I won’t-- I--”

He felt his eyes get hot again and tried not to cry.

“... Just promise me you’ll get out. If you find a chance. Just get out.”

...Bruce nodded.

“...I will. I just…”

…

He curled up a bit again, like he'd done on the bus.

“...All I can think of is leaving Gotham. And I don't want to.”

He'd told Clark he did.

That he was going to run.

But he wasn't going to be chased.

“You can’t do that until you’re 18 anyway, right?” Clark said, still holding his hand.

… “not without permission,” Bruce said, swallowing hard, and glancing back at the way they'd come.

Clark sighed and looked down at his hotdog.

He wasn’t hungry despite everything.

…

“What’d we do after this? Are you going back to them?”

...Bruce nodded.

“...see if I have something they want,” he said.

Just think of it like economics.

“... Do you want me to be there with you? Or do you not think…”

Would they not accept him if the guy who plowed into their court was beside him?

Bruce tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell flat, and he let it wilt.

“...I want you there, yeah, but… I don't think it'll be a good idea.”

… “I’ll be close.” Clark said, face turning serious.

“I’ll be close and if they do anything I’ll see it and come.” His eyes looked over to meet Bruce’s.

…he'd see it, there.

The fear that never left Bruce, dragged to the surface.

The relief that he wouldn't be alone.

He nodded.

“...okay. I trust you.”

Clark smiled, even if it didn't last very long.

He held Bruce's hand while they ate and wondered if his friend would be able to stay himself even after joining the Owls.

(It wouldn't be so bad to stay someone else, as long as no one else died.)

Bruce finished his sandwich. Threw the wrapper away from where they sat.

And he waited, quietly, for Clark to finish, too, watching the stars out here that came out more than in middle Gotham.

...why did it feel like his last night?

He wasn't going to get himself locked in that little holding room forever--

It really did feel like Bruce’s last night, even if in theory they would accept him and… little would change in their day-to-day lives.

When they were both done eating it would take a lot of strength to stand up.

But they both had to. If this was going to have an end. They had to both stand up.

And Clark would have to watch Bruce walk into the fire.

It wasn't Aristotle who said it, but Bruce couldn't remember anyone else right now.

Bravery isn't the lack of fear, but the confrontation of it.

...but all the same, he wished he'd been a little bolder-feeling as Clark brought him back to the entrance of the shaft, and he made his slow descent down, leaving the upperworld behind.

He dusted himself off without much thought once he slid from the broken wall into the spacious chamber of red carpet and pillars, and looked around slowly.

“...hello? Is anyone still here?”

There was no one there when he arrived. The hole hadn’t been cleaned up from Clark’s entrance, but Bruce would know he was being watched.

Bruce could feel it. Prickles on his skin.

Familiar. Being watched.

Bluff. Hands on his sides. Impatient.

“I can hear you breathing. You may as well come out.”

… His bluff went unanswered.

It would be another minute before he would hear footsteps.

Talon walked around the corner to face him.

“Follow me.”

...at least it got him in the light.

...he didn't let himself look back at the hole he'd crawled down through.

He followed Talon.

Talon lead him to a smaller room. Opened the door to a lavish office with wood and soft red carpet that matched the rest of their underground facility. The Judge was sat behind a large desk.

“Ah, he returns.” He said, standing up.

“What, can't use the prodigal son line twice?” Bruce asked, strolling in with his head held higher than before. Eyes sharp again.

He was so fucking aware of the Talon at his back.

“...what you said about my parents. Was it true?”

“Oh I think the prodigal son title is only saved for those who are… eligible in joining our little organization.” The Judge said, and as soon as he was finished the Talon was grabbing Bruce’s neck.

Bruce lunged forward for the Judge’s mask as the word ‘eligible’ died, but was caught mid-air, choking.

One hand tried to pry the fingers off his windpipe in animal desperation.

The other grabbed for the Talon’s mask instead.

The Talon’s mask was cloth, attached to the rest of his suit. Bruce could feel it ripping a little at the clasps by his neck. He pushed Bruce down on the floor and grabbed for one of the sharp throwing knives strapped to his sides.

“I don’t know what it was you had come grab you the first time, but you’re really a fool for coming here again. I’m afraid our offer has expired.” The Judge said, rounding the desk so he could get closer.

But not too close.

Bruce didn't let go.

He needed at least one face.

One way for it to not be everyone he knew--

But he still glared up at the Judge, choking and struggling on the floor.

“Can't negotiate-- if it's fair--huh?” he choked out.

Clark was watching for him.

“You'll wish you had me--”

He’d get one face, the fabric eventually tearing off to reveal… no one he knew.

A nobody, their face generic and plain save for a scar across their lip. They weren’t a part of The Elite.

“Won’t it be a shame when your butler finds you tomorrow morning, bled out in your bathtub from slit wrists?” The Judge said, and Talon pinned down one of Bruce’s arms with his leg.

His heart started to pound a little faster.

The pinned arm was shaking. He'd given his jacket over at the gas station, and though he'd returned the glasses he hadn't taken the jacket back--

The Judge could see the scars on his arm.

Where was Clark?

“That doesn't even make sense for him to find me in the manor--” he said, not sure why. Adrenaline? Fear?

Clark said he'd be watching--

“No? It doesn’t make sense that Bruce Wayne, overwhelmed with all that has happened to him, would run home and--”

The Judge never finished his sentence.

The wall exploded in pieces of wood and drywall and the weight on Bruce was yanked off him.

Oh god. Oh god.

Bruce was up on his feet and running, tackling into the Judge with every one of his 150 pounds, ripping the mask off his face.

The Judge was trying to fight him off, but it was clear he was no fighter, and soon enough Bruce had the mask ripped off.

He would recognize the face behind it. A Galavan, teeth grit and hands reaching to grab Bruce by the throat and get him off or choke him to death himself.

Behind him, through yet another wall Clark had crashed through, there was heat.

And screaming.

He had a face.

And he reeled back and hit Galavan as hard as he could across the face, until his knuckles hurt.

But the screaming stopped him from--

From keeping it up.

He shoved away, still gripping the mask, suddenly thinking of he burnt off their arms.

The Judge wasn’t moving. Alive, but unconscious from Bruce’s onslaught.

But behind him, through another wall into a whole separate room, Clark stood heaving with his hands over his eyes, and a smoking Talon at his feet, unmoving.

Bruce ran towards him. Shaking.

“Clark..?” he whispered, too quiet to even hear himself, scared that there might still be someone around.

He knelt beside Clark, rubbing his back, trying to wrap an arm around him.

Trying to pull his eyes from the Talon’s body.

He suddenly wished he hadn't removed the mask.

Maybe he wouldn't have to see the dead eyes. The same glassy gaze.

The--

The…

Oh god.

“Get up,” Bruce said, voice speaking into a break. “Get up, there's something wrong--”

Clark wore the ski mask Bruce had gotten him. The ski mask and the bandana around his mouth. Around the eyes was burning and still red with cinders as he tried to breathe and get to his feet.

“He won’t-- he won’t hurt you again--” Clark mumbled out.

Rationalizing it in his brain.

Bruce knew what dead bodies looked like.

He grabbed Clark by the shoulder, trying to haul him upright faster. “Shut up, get up, shh--”

The hand was moving.

“He's not dead!”

Clark’s eyes went down to the body.

Moving.

When it looked like that.

His eyes went wide and he felt himself stop breathing.

Before he knew it he was grabbing Bruce again to fly them out.

Bruce didn't protest.

Not at all.

He was already clinging tight to Clark, shaking, with the mask still clutched in one hand against his chest.

“M-manor,” Bruce said. “K-keep your hat on.”

He had to know now, now that plan A was spent.

If Alfred was with them, he needed to know, before Alfred got word of what had happened.

Clark flew.

He flew out of the hole he had made into the room and towards the massive hole he had made from the sewers.

But then he paused.

“I- I should destroy this place…”

Even if he didn’t know how.

Bruce turned, shaking, though not with cold.

“We don't kill,” he breathed, gripping Clark tighter. “We’re not killers.”

Clark looked at him, mouth tight, and nodded.

He flew them out of the hole.

Out of the sewer.

They went to the Manor.

...Bruce had stopped shaking by the time they touched down.

The police cars were gone, now.

It was late in the night.

Everything inside him had gotten carved out and scooped from him, leaving a bare shell that didn't even feel scared anymore as he rang the manor doorbell.

“Don't let him see you right away. Not until we know,” he said numbly, still holding the smooth mask between his fingers.

“Okay.” Clark said quietly, dropping Bruce on his feet and then flying away and off to the side.

Bruce would tell him if it was fine to come down. And if things started going south… he would be there.

Bruce took a deep breath and waited.

...a few moments later, the door opened.

An older man with a thin layer of hair on the top of his head and a thinning mustache opened the door--

--and nearly fell to his knees, pulling Bruce into a hug, to complete shock on Bruce's face.

“Master Bruce! You've had me worried sick!”

Clark waited where he was, hovering up and to the right out of immediate sight.

(No one ever looked up.)

He wanted to believe Alfred was genuine, if not because that sounded very sincere but also… he didn’t want Bruce to lose his guardian too.

Bruce didn't think he could handle losing another person.

He held stiff in the hug until Alfred pulled away, asking, “where have you been?”

“...I needed to get out,” Bruce says, exhaustion in his voice despite everything. “...and I found something. Do you know what it is…?”

Alfred seemed a little taken aback by the question, but was listening. “That isn't… an explanation, Master Bruce, for what caused this wild goose chase…”

But Bruce ignored him and stretched his arm out first.

Letting Alfred see the cracked mask.

… Clark wasn’t sure if this was a safe way to tell. Alfred could lie. He could lie and say he didn’t have any idea what it was.

Even so Clark paid attention to Alfred heartbeat.

It sometimes sounded different when people lied, and sometimes he could tell.

Only sometimes.

Maybe it wasn't. But at least Bruce could see Alfred’s face. Could watch his pupils dilate and the sternness of his mouth.

(And Alfred’s heart rate would not change.

It was already beating like Bruce’s. Like it was already in a waking nightmare.)

“It-- it appears to be a replica of one of your father’s artifacts, Master Bruce, but what does that have to do with--”

(Bruce lost his grip on the mask.)

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Despite being told to stay out of sight Clark found himself starting to lower down whether he caught Alfred’s attention or not.

“Bruce…”

He did catch Alfred’s attention.

And Alfred caugh Bruce’s arm, tugging him behind himself defensively and his other arm reaching for something in his suit.

“Who’s there?!”

Bruce grabbed the elbow of the arm in Alfred’s suit, trying to not let him pull it out.

“It's fine! He's a friend!”

Clark stopped where he was, putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

Not that flying eight feet off the ground really helped him appear harmless.

Or the ski mask.

...Alfred was indeed staring right at him, floating eight feet off the ground in a ski mask.

...but somehow, his heartbeat slowed a little at Bruce’s insistence, and he released whatever he'd been trying to take from inside his suit.

“...you always did have the most interesting taste in friends,” Alfred said, straight-faced.

“...” he looked back at the sixteen year old still grabbing onto his arm.

Even with something like this, it seemed like a long time since Bruce let himself be touched.

“...very well. Both of you. Inside. I want some kind of explanation before bed tonight, but we can't very well do it out here.”

… Clark hovered a little lower.

“Is-- is this okay?” He asked uneasily.

Did he trust Alfred?

Bruce still looked like he might shake apart.

But he nodded.

He hadn't seen anything but confusion in Alfred’s eyes at the mask.

The only other way to tell would be hard evidence that was surely hidden away or-- or mind reading, maybe.

But right now he just wanted to fall over.

“... Okay.”

Clark reached up to pull off the ski mask and bandana.

“Sorry for the startle, sir.”

Alfred’s eyes softened a little when he saw the youth under the mask.

“...nothing worse than what I've already been through tonight, young man. Now get inside, the both of you.”

He ushered them in, and locked the door behind them.

Clark finally touched down beside Bruce as they walked inside and looked around.

Even the entrance was huge and ridiculous and nothing he had ever seen before.

“Wow.”

There was a chandelier in the entryway, flanked by two large split-section marble staircases. There were bright, long carpets and healthy plants on podiums, growing long and beginning to blossom for spring.

This was where Bruce lived, whenever he went home for a long, lonely break.

But Alfred ushered them off to the side, rather than up the split staircase, into a little wooden side door that led to a modest kitchen. It was more modern than the entryway, with industrial sinks and stoves, but Alfred simply used one small burner to put a kettle of water on it, and gestured for Clark and Bruce to take a seat at a small wooden table in the side of the room, where Alfred usually ate.

There were only two chairs. Never any guests to fill them.

“Now,” Alfred said, starting to prepare two mugs for tea. “What is going on? Why aren't you at school?”

Clark glanced over at Bruce, then to Alfred.

They were trusting him, right?

“He-- I don’t think he can go back to school, sir.”

Alfred’s face grew a little more grave, and Bruce knew what he was thinking, and it curled inside him.

“I didn't fight anyone,” he mumbled, indignant. Hands clenched. “I found the Court of Owls.”

The graveness left Alfred’s face for the concern of someone who thought an argument had been long, long over, and who'd just had it opened up again at the worst possible moment. “Master Bruce, we’ve been over this, the court isn't real.”

Clark jumped to his friend's defense.

“They are! We've been digging into it and then they popped out of nowhere and kidnapped him! They threatened him! Tried to kill him!”

Alfred watched him, on one hand accepting that this boy had been flying a few minutes ago. On the other hand…

“Master Bruce?”

…

Without making eye contact, Bruce started to tug up his shirt sleeves.

Tug down his collar.

He had freshly-formed bruises ringing around the outside of his arms from where Talon had grappled him and held him still-- and two distinct finger marks on his neck, from where he'd been grabbed and shoved down on the floor, when they'd wanted to cut his wrists.

“Gracious--” Alfred was already leaning in to hover and get a closer look.

“... He's not making it up.” Clark said, quieter this time. He watched as Alfred inspected the bruises on Bruce's body.

“I heard him calling for help. They have a huge thing--” he gestured with his hands, “--under Gotham. Like a big underground mansion, and they tried to recruit him, and, so, I busted him out but we knew they'd just come back for him so--” He was rambling now.

“Please,” Alfred said, looking away from Bruce, holding a gentle hand to Clark. “Calm yourself. You’ve both had a long night.”

...he slips up and away to fill the two mugs with hot water, and sets them before the two boys steep.

He has no chair to sit on, but so he leans forward on the table, frowning, and looks between them both.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

...and so Bruce does.

How they'd picked up looking for the owls again after the murder in fall. How Bruce had been on his way to the library when he was knocked unconscious. How he woke in a room with people wearing those masks, inviting him to culminate his interest, that they'd locked him away to ‘think about it’ and he'd called for Clark, who came--

But that's where his ability to keep his voice steady stops.

“They said… they said my parents were one of them.”

And he looks at the mask, still lying on the kitchen table between him and Clark, where Alfred had set it after picking it up and ushering them in.

Clark fell quiet and let Bruce do all the talking. When his voice started to shake Clark moved a hand out and…

… and he wanted to take Bruce’s hand and squeeze it, but he didn’t want to do that in front of someone he didn’t know. Boys didn’t do that with one another.

So instead he put his hand gently on Bruce’s shoulder.

He didn’t think to ask if Alfred knew if Bruce’s parents were or not, he didn’t know how long he had been around, but he wished someone could tell Bruce they weren’t at least for his friend’s peace of mind.

Under Alfred’s gaze, Bruce--

Bruce tugged away from Clark’s hand. Like he'd been burnt.

Alfred didn't find anything strange about that, even though he wished he could.

But he didn't try to touch Bruce either as he knelt down in front of him, face stern.

“Your parents would have loathed any sort of group such as that.”

“You recognized the mask.”

“And I can think of a million reasons why it is a coincidence,” Alfred said. “And surely you could as well, if you weren't exhausted and strung-out right now. So we will forgive that, won't we?”

Ah. Okay. Even that was too much, he guessed.

Clark pulled his hand away and set it in his lap, his chest feeling tight and his stomach turning.

“They probably said it so you’d join.” Clark offered, hoping it helped some.

Alfred gave Clark a small, approving nod in thanks.

Bruce was just trying to keep the knot down in his chest.

“...right,” he said, as if it hurt to say anything. The doubt had still been put in his mind. “...We hid to find out what to do. And we went back after a while.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Alfred asked, voice soft, but accepting the continuation of the story.

“... Didn’t… think they’d stop trying to recruit him.” Clark added, his hands folded and resting in his lap.

“And?” Alfred said.

“...they stopped,” Bruce said softly. “But they might be coming after us, now.”

...Alfred could be a target too, if he wasn't with the owls.

Even if all they really wanted was to make him find Bruce and I looked like a suicide.

“We might’ve made them kinda mad.” Clark admitted, then cleared his throat.

He had, really. Bruce had just called for him, it was his fault they had multiple huge holes in their hideout now. And… whatever it was that had happened to Talon.

He thought he had killed him, and he went into the situation being okay with that if it meant saving his friend, but after what he saw…

…

(Bruce wondered if it was the first time Clark saw a human body)

(If he knew what it smelled like)

Alfred watched them with a grim face, and said, “I see.”

He sighed stood again, placing his hands on their shoulders. One on Clark’s, and the other on Bruce's, who twitched but didn't pull away.

“I'll be making some phone calls,” Alfred said. “Master Kent, I can't thank you enough for saving Bruce, but you've also put yourself in danger, unfortunately, in the process--”

“They don't know it was him,” Bruce said softly, and Alfred stopped speaking to look at him again. “...Galavan called him a ‘thing.’ A thing I summoned. They don't know.”

It still hurt. Being called a ‘thing’.

“Flying ‘n smashing through walls will do that. Heh.” Clark said, and he could feel a piece of himself die.

“I covered my face up so they didn’t know it was me.”

Alfred still wore a bit of a frown. Concerned. “Are you certain you could not be identified?”

“...we haven't even talked for two months,” Bruce admitted quietly. “...they don't have a reason to think he'd suddenly help me.”

Ah. Yeah. There was that too.

“... Yeah,” he admitted too. “I haven’t been working on the Court of Owls research for a long time now. Haven’t been talkin’ or… anythin’. Don’t think they would think I’d help, maybe. ‘N I tried to be as weird as possible so they didn’t think it was--”

Ugh.

Shit.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“So they wouldn’t think a boring kid from Kansas could do any ‘a that.”

….

Alfred gave him a nod of approval.

“That was wise of you. Ignorance is often the best defense,” he said.

He removed his hand from Bruce and clapped Clark’s shoulders instead. “You've done more than could have ever been expected of you, tonight. Thank you for that. You can leave the rest to me.”

And there was something steely and familiar--like Bruce’s--in Alfred's eyes.

A butler, but still someone with a hard will, ready to defend his ward. And confident of doing it.

“For now, what may be best is if you continue to play on their ignorance, and make it seem as if nothing has changed. Do you understand?”

“It was Bruce’s idea…” Clark said with a little smile.

(Hide your face. Be so alien they don’t look for a human.)

“Um, yeah, but--”

He looked at Bruce.

“I said I’d stay with him.”

Bruce’s eyes fell down, and he couldn't meet Clark’s gaze again, like he knew what was coming.

“That's very noble,” Alfred said. “But it may place you at greater risk, which I'm sure is the last thing Master Bruce wants. Go back to school. Pretend you've just gotten locked out of your dorm and came back late. Bruce and I will spend the night in the safe room and be out of Gotham by morning.”

“O-Out of Gotham?”

Clark felt something hard in his throat.

Like he was just told he would never see Bruce again.

Bruce said nothing.

“There has just been an attempt on his life,” Alfred said, still calm. Like this was normal. Like it made sense. “It is only prudent we go lie low a while where another cannot be easily made.”

Clark’s bright blue eyes were bouncing between the two of them.

“But… you’ll be back?”

Alfred looked like he wanted to say no--

“Yes,” Bruce said. Not looking up. His voice was still firm. Hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “...if nothing else, I’ll come see you in Kansas. Okay?”

Clark looked at him like he was about to cry again.

“D-Do you know when?”

Alfred had stepped back, looking between the two of them, unsure.

“...sometime in summer?” Bruce asked.

...he looked up at Alfred.

Alfred looked back, eyes dark and sad again.

“I’m sure that can be made possible, Master Bruce,” he said softly.

Clark wiped at his eyes even though he hadn’t started crying yet.

“... Guess you can’t tell me where it is you’re plannin’ to go, huh?”

“We will be in contact with your parents at least, if it seems safe,” Alfred reassured him.

Clark took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to gear himself up for something, and he was.

Gearing himself up to leave.

He pushed off the counter to stand out of his chair.

Hovered there a moment before looking at Bruce.

“You’ll yell if something happens?”

Bruce snorted, head still hung.

“Yeah. I will.”

….he was still being protected.

“...take care of Harvey. He’s not going to be doing okay.”

“... What should I tell him?”

“...you don’t know what happened with me. You were taking a break from studying and fell asleep. Lost track of time,” Bruce said. “...the news will pick up the rest.”

Clark always got the news.

Another deep breath.

“Okay.”

…

He wanted to hug him, but judging how he reacted from just the touch with Alfred around he figured that wouldn’t work out well.

“G-... Good luck.” Was all he could manage before starting to walk out of the kitchen.

...Alfred glanced back at Bruce, still quiet and head-hung, and said, softly, “I’ll show you to the doorway.”

He followed Clark out of the kitchen.

Clark stopped a little so Bruce could catch up, but still didn’t touch him as they walked out of the kitchen and back towards the front door.

And even then he didn’t reach for him, even if he wanted to.

“... You’d better call.” He managed, voice shaking.

That was fine.

Clark wasn’t Bruce.

Alfred had seen the boy reach for physical comfort.

So he reached out, instead, placing a gentle hand on Clark’s back.

“We will,” he said. “And he will be fine. And he wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. So please: take care of yourself a while, now.”

“What you can do is very impressive. But you can’t be older than Bruce. Be careful out there.”

Clark cleared his throat and nodded.

He would try.

…

He didn’t look at Alfred or the manor as he stepped forward and pushed off, a burst of air being the only thing that broke the silence as he flew back to school.

Clark listened to Bruce’s heartbeat get quieter and quieter.

...it would finally, fully fade as he returned to Gotham Academy, far out of the three-mile limit of his hearing.

…

Alfred would shuffle Bruce into the saferoom. Phone the police. Inform them that Bruce had been located. That there had, indeed, been another kidnapping and it seemed, this time, a threat on his life. That he was taking matters now on his own.

He gave a description of a man matching Galavan, but expected nothing to come out of it.

He called the school to berate them shortly of letting Bruce be kidnapped on their grounds. That Bruce would not be returning after such incompetence.

...he called the airport, and purchased two tickets, and packed their bags.

By morning, as promised, they would be gone, leaving behind everything in Bruce’s dorm room and a sweep of press activity come the breaking day.

The hardest part was trying to act like nothing had happened.

He had to lie to Harvey, spin the story he had fallen asleep and got locked out like Bruce had suggested, but had no idea what happened to him.

Lying to the press was somehow… harder.

Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or maybe because he wanted to be a journalist someday, but having to pretend he didn’t know and even telling them he hadn’t spoken much to Bruce in over two months was hard.

He was crying less about a broken heart and more through worry over what might have happened to his friend. Clark knew that if he yelled now, wherever he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.

But that didn’t stop him from listening anyway.

…

He helped Harvey as much as he could, tried to be some sort of support for him and at least help him academically. It was just them now. The room was empty. And quiet. And he hated it.

But he just had to breathe and get through it. Get to summer.

Look forward to that phone call or visit.

Harvey wasn’t doing great in the aftermath. Bruce hadn’t been wrong.

He’d been… happy, earlier in the year. Reserved as it was. He’d been doing okay with Bruce, and Tommy, and getting to know Clark-- and having three whole friends.

Now, the two he he’d had for almost three years were both stripped away in just a few months time, and summer was coming.

And he had no time to let himself break down.

Where Clark cried, Harvey grew distant and shut down anything that wasn’t the polite tour guide who showed new students their rooms and introduced families to a place that would beat their children for making noise after-hours.

…

It was a good two weeks before the media attention died down.

…

He’d go back to Kansas without hearing a word from either Bruce or Alfred, and start the summer alone.

#let me know if i need more warnings #i don't BELIEVE i need a tommy warning but... every time he's even momentarily remembered i feel like I need one otl #superbat #80s gay superbat #i was going through some stuff sorry for disappearing #rp logs

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years ago

Text

Favorite Season - Jonathan Toews

Word Count: 8,690

POV: Jon’s

Notes: So this is me in my sad bitch hours, so let me apologize in advance to everyone. This story just sort of popped into my head when I listened to Mariah Carey’s Miss You Most at Christmas Time and so I decided to put it down on paper so to speak. Sorry I haven’t been on much lately, but hopefully that will change with the new year. Guess I needed a little cleanse, but I’ll post more on that later. Happy Reading and Happy New Year! I hope you are spending it with friends or family or both. May 2021 bring you peace, joy, health and happiness!

Sidenote: This is not my gif

Second Sidenote: Wishing Jon the best and hoping that he is able to be back on the ice soon!

People always assumed when you talked about what season you loved the most, that you meant hockey, for obvious reasons of course; it was your profession, but once you'd met (Y/N), the word season took on a whole new meaning. You'd kindly respond and tell them no, that wasn't the season you were talking about. They then assumed that you'd meant spring, for that's when (Y/N) walked into your life. Well, ran into was more like it. She'd been rushing to the United Center for an interview for a summer internship program, while you were on your way out. Neither one of you had been paying attention, which is how you'd ended up holding her in your arms that first time. You knew from that first moment that you never wanted to let her go.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," (Y/N) said as she tried to regain her footing.

"No, it's my fault. I should've been watching where I was going." She stepped out of your arms to pick up the strewn contents of her bag and being the gentlemen that you were, you knelt down to help her. "Here let me help you." You picked up a small paperback book and glanced at the title. "Alors tu apprends le Francais?"

"Oh geez, this is so embarrassing," she admitted, a blush staining her cheeks. "I just bought this book a week ago, in hopes to learn French but I'm afraid I don't know a word of what you said…well, other than French." She laughed softly to cover up her embarrassment, but the sound was like a melody that you wanted to play over and over again.

"I just asked if you were learning French." You handed the book back to her with a smile, as you both stood up off the ground.

"Well, don't I feel stupid." She placed the book back in the bag, then placed it on her shoulder. "But yes, I'm trying to learn French. I'm hoping to go to Paris after graduation. Which gives me approximately one year to learn the language, you so eloquently speak."

"Thank you, but I grew up speaking it, so it comes naturally."

"Ah, well, you're lucky." She took a step away. "I've got to run. Again, so sorry for bumping into you."

"It really wasn't your fault."

"We'll call it a draw," she said with a lift of her shoulder as she turned and walked away. It was then you noticed a small snowflake charm on the ground.

"Wait, you forgot this." She turned back around, meeting you halfway.

"Oh, this must have fallen off my keychain again. Thank you, I would've been devasted had I lost this. I owe you one."

You weren't sure if they were just words spoken or if she truly meant them, but you decided to take a gamble. "How about dinner?"

Her beautiful eyes got even larger, at your poor attempt to ask her out, and you thought you'd just made an idiot of yourself. "Um…sure." She dug into her bag pulled out a pen, then tore a page of her learn to speak French book out. She scribbled down her name and number, then handed it over to you. "Call me." Then she turned and took off again. "Sorry, I'm really late." She was halfway down the hall as you stood there glancing between her name and her. "Hey what's your name?" she called out.

"It's Jon."

"Make sure you bring my page to dinner. I expect you to teach me how to say whatever's on that." The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she disappeared down the hall. You called her later that night, and then the following day and every day after that. By the end of spring her French had improved, but not to the point where the two of you could have full conversations without her questioning words here and there. Yes, that spring had been magical and if someone would've asked you as summer started, you probably would've said that it was your favorite season. But then summer did start, and well that meant you got to see (Y/N) lounging by the lake in a bikini. Your twenty-year-old self thought there was no better season than this. Again though, that wasn't the season that would stand out in your mind. Nor would it be fall, when just after six months of dating her you told her you loved her.

It hadn't been some grand gesture like you see in the movie. Rather it was really quite simple. You'd just lost the season opener to the Nashville Predators. It was your first season as captain of the team and you'd really felt the pressure; more from yourself than anyone else. You were the last to come out of the locker room, and you were feeling pretty defeated, but there stood (Y/N) leaning against the wall, holding a piece of paper which read, 'Tu Les Auras La Prochaine fois.' But it wasn't the sign saying that you'll get them next time that made your heart skip a beat, it was seeing her smiling face holding it that did it for you. "Je t'aime." The words were out of your mouth before you could think about it, and you didn't want to take them back. She looked a bit startled and unsure of what to say. "It means I love you, silly. Man, I really thought your French was getting better."

"I…I know what you said. I just want to make sure, you meant it."

"Je t'aime, Te Quiero, Ti Amo, they all mean the same, (Y/N). I love you. I probably should've said it the day I met you, but…" She still didn't say anything and suddenly you were starting to wonder if maybe today was too soon. "You don't have to say it back."

"No…I mean…Yes…" She closed her eyes then, gathering her thoughts. "Damn, I said that all wrong. I love you too, Jon. Je t'aime." Her lips were on yours then, the kiss was like so many you shared these last few months, only there was more heat, more passion as you poured all your love for her into it. "Let's go home," she softly whispered when you broke apart, a glint in her eye that told you she wanted to show you how much she really loved you.

Your lips quirked up into a smile. "Anything you want, mon amour."

Yes, fall definitely was one of your favorite times, but it was Christmas that always held a special meaning.

That first Christmas would always hold a special place in your heart. You could remember it like it was yesterday.

You'd just come home from a quick road trip to Detriot. You dropped your bags off at your place and then headed over to (Y/N)'s apartment. When you got there, caricatures of her and her two roommates were drawn on the door, all three dressed for Christmas and around a cartoon tree. You had a hard time knowing where to knock for all the decorations on the door. (Y/N) came scurrying to the door. "You're back," she said jumping into your arms and kissing you soundly. Your lips never left hers as you stepped into the apartment.

"Mmm, I see someone missed me."

"I always miss you, but I'm glad you're back. You're just in time to help me hang the rest of these decorations. I could use your height."

"Oh, so now you only want me because I'm tall." She released you then swatted you on the arm.

"No, but it doesn't hurt. Here can you help me string these lights up?"

You took the strand and hung them up per her instructions. "Boy, you really go all out for Christmas."

"But of course, don't you?"

"Not really. I don't even have a tree."

"Wait, what? You don't have a tree?" She repeated your exact words as if the thought was impossible.

"It's not really a huge deal in my family, besides I'm usually never home because of hockey," you told her as you finished hanging the lights. (Y/N) walked over to the closet, grabbed her shoes, and put on her coat, as soon as you were done. "Uh, babe, where are you going?"

"To go get you some Christmas decorations." She opened the door, then looked back when you didn't follow. "Are you coming?" You had no choice but to follow her.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking out lights, ornaments, a tree, and more decorations than you could fit in your shopping cart, but you didn't mind being dragged from store to store as (Y/N)'s face lit up in every one of them. "Ok, star or angel?" she asked you holding up two tree toppers, but before you could answer she kept going. "I mean part of me thinks that we should go with the star. It's pretty traditional and well they always sing about hanging the star on top of the tree, but I like the symbolism of the angel."

You looked both of them over when she finally decided to take a breath. "Angel, definitely." She turned the figurine towards her looking it over, while you walked behind her, letting your hands slide around her waist so you could pull her close. When she turned back to look at you, questioning your choice, you simply said, "You're my angel and she reminds me of you." She kissed you then, right there in aisle C8, amidst the Christmas decorations.

"Angel it is then." She set the tree topper in the cart and the two of you headed to the checkout. On the way there, you spotted a sprig of mistletoe and tossed it in the cart unbeknownst to (Y/N). It wasn't until the tree was up that night, that she found it. "I don't remember putting this in the cart."

"You didn't. I did." You took the mistletoe out of her hand and went to hang it up in the archway. "If we're going for full-on Christmas, we can't forget the best part." Grabbing her hand, you lead her over to where you'd just hung the little green sprig.

"You really think you need this, to get me to make out with you?" Your hands encircled her waist as she spoke the words, and you drew her in close to you.

"Well, no. This is just an excuse." You pecked her lips quickly. "Besides, this is my first time decorating for this holiday, I might as well go all out."

She returned the kiss, only it was more heated as you slid your tongue inside her. She moaned into your mouth before pulling back. "In that case, let's make it a little more memorable." She stepped out of your embrace, her fingers trailing down to the button on your pants. It slipped out of the buttonhole easily, before she slid the zipper down. You sucked in a breath, as her hands snuck inside the waistband of your boxers and she slid them and your pants all the way to the ground. (Y/N) fell to her knees, her hands skating up your thighs as you felt her warm breath fan across your cock. It twitched before you felt her lips place a kiss right on the head. Her lips trailed all the way up and down the length of your shaft, teasing you.

"Babe, you're killing me." A wicked glint in her eye was her answer back, as she placed her puckered lips on the head one last time before she finally took you inside her mouth. Your hands threaded through her hair as she sunk down to take most of you in. She took her free hand and wrapped it around the length that didn't fit inside and gave it a gentle squeeze, then her mouth started to work its own little bit of Christmas magic as she hollowed out her cheeks and sucked on your cock. "Damn, baby that feels so good," you hissed out, your hips rocking a bit into her mouth. If this was (Y/N)'s idea of Christmas traditions you were all for it, and mistletoe was definitely going to be a staple to your decorating every year.

(Y/N)'s free hand slipped down to your balls where she cupped them and you felt yourself close to bursting. Your body tingled as she hummed around your cock. With her mouth and hands on you it felt like there was enough electricity coursing through your body that you could light up a million strand of Christmas lights at the moment. "(Y/N), I'm going to…" she didn't stop though just took your cock deeper until you swore you hit the back of her throat. It was that move, that pushed you over as you spilled your seed in her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could, though some dribbled out and you thought it was hot as hell.

That night would forever live in your mind, as you returned the favor by making her cum not once but twice under that same mistletoe. Even though, it was one of your favorite memories from that first Christmas. It wasn't that, that made Christmas your favorite season. It was the way that (Y/N) embraced the joy of the season in everything she did. Even the simplest things were a little brighter with her around. She made everyone around sparkle and shine just like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Not that she wasn't always that way, but there was just something special about (Y/N) and Christmas and thus it became your favorite time of year.

There had been no Christmas break that year in the NHL, meaning you had no time to head back home, so (Y/N) had invited you to her house to be with her family. They had welcomed you with open arms and you had found out, why she'd loved Christmas so much. Her family went all out, decorations were everywhere and presents were piled high. They'd included you in all their traditions, from frosting to cookies to playing Christmas charades. They even had you cut a piece of wheat for Baby Jesus's manager, as was their annual custom to do before opening presents Christmas morning. That first Christmas had set the tone for all those to follow after it.

As Christmas drew to a close that year, you knew one thing for sure. That you never wanted to spend another one without her. It was an easy decision to ask her to move in with you, once she graduated college, and right before that Christmas that year, the two of you bought your first place together. To commemorate the event, (Y/N) had a special ornament made in the shape of a key.

Hockey took precedence the following year, as you won the Stanley Cup and it seemed like the summer and fall flew by. One thing was for sure though, and that was that (Y/N) was with you every step of the way. You knew you had to make that Christmas extra special. It was the first time your family flew in for the holiday. (Y/N)'s family all came to your place as well that year. The house was filled with love and laughter and was about to get a little more exciting.

All the presents had been unwrapped and everyone was lounging in the great room. "I think there's one more present here," you pointed to a box you had hidden off in the corner. "Looks like it has your name on it, babe."

(Y/N) took the gift and looked at the tag. "It doesn't say who it's from."

"Well, that happens from time to time. You know Santa's elves are really busy this time of year," her mom chimed in, giving you a little wink. "Go ahead and open it."

She tore through the layer of paper to the box, then lifted the lid, which happened to reveal a smaller box. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, laughing as she took that wrapped package out and removed the paper again. Lifting the lid, she found yet another box. "You've got to be kidding me. Did you do this?" She was staring straight at you because she knew this was totally out of your character. All you could do was simply shrug. The unwrapping went on for another six layers until she finally revealed a small black velvet box. All your family gasped as she went to open it. Her eyes were fixated on the container, as she slowly pulled back the lid. The look of excitement on her face was almost too much for you, and then her face fell, exactly like you thought it would. "There's nothing in it." She whispered, her voice small as she lifted her eyes to you. You could feel her family and yours glaring at you for pulling a stunt like this. You decided now would be a good time to put everyone out of their misery.

Dropping down to one knee in front of her, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the extravagant ring that you'd had made for her. The gasp from everyone this time was probably heard down the street as they took in their first glimpse of the engagement ring. (Y/N) covered her mouth with her hands and you saw one lone tear slip down her cheek; a happy one, you hoped. "(Y/N), I was going to leave this in the last box, but then I couldn't. For your real present isn't this ring. It's me. That is if you'll have me." She was already shaking her head yes before you even had a chance to ask her the question. "I guess what I'm asking is if you'll spend every Christmas from now until the end of time with me?" Another tear slid down her cheek and this time you knew for sure it was a joyful one. "(Y/FN), will you be my wife?"

"Yes, Jon, yes!" She was down on the ground in your arms kissing you before you could blink. She almost tackled you to the carpet, but your hand reached out and steadied you both on the end table beside you. That's when you realized the ring popped out of your hand and had fallen somewhere amongst the pile of wrapping paper.

You broke from the kiss immediately. "Shit, I dropped the ring."

"I don't care. You're my present and apparently my future as well." She locked her lips with yours again. The two of you were so caught up in each other, you forgot about the rest of your family in the room; who had now gone on a search for the engagement ring.

"Found it," your mom said breathing a sigh of relief. You took it and slipped it on (Y/N)'s finger making it official. That Christmas was definitely one of the most memorable.

The following summer you married. Most people expected the two of you to have this big grand wedding, which would've taken another year or more to plan, but neither you nor (Y/N) wanted that. Instead, it was a quiet ceremony with just family and close friends, exactly what you wanted, as you couldn't wait for her to be your wife. That Christmas was your first as husband and wife, and there was more than one Mr. and Mrs. Toews ornament hanging off the tree.

Payback came your second Christmas as a married couple. There you were opening box after box. "Really babe? I would've expected this last year."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Mr. Toews."

You unwrapped yet another box. "So is the Rolex we looked at a couple weeks ago in here?" She mimicked your shrug from two years ago. It had to be the watch, for the shrug was always (Y/N)'s go to move when she didn't want to tell you that you were right. Sure enough, as you peeled back the paper on the last package, there was the signature green box of the famous company. "Nice try babe, but I guess I outsmarted you this time." The hinge creaked as you opened the box, but you were shocked when there wasn't a watch inside, but a positive pregnancy test. "Are you…?"

Your eyes locked with hers and she was nodding her head. "Yes, yes we are." Your lips were on hers in an instant, as this time you were the one with tears in your eyes.

"I don't get the big deal over a watch." You heard your brother say in French in the background.

"They're having a baby you idiot," your dad told him, cuffing him upside the head.

Levi Abram Toews was born on July twenty-fifth of the following year, giving you a little bit of Christmas midway through the following year. His first Christmas was probably one of your favorites. At six months old, he was sitting up and just starting to crawl. (Y/N) had to move all the floor decorations up, because he started to chew on all the snowmen that he could grab. Levi's little eyes sparkled as he was mesmerized by all the twinkling lights and bulbs. You thought you couldn't love Christmas anymore, but seeing it through your son's eyes made the holiday even more joyous.

When 2013 Christmas rolled around it had you hanging another Stanley cup ornament on the tree as the Hawks had won yet another one. It seemed as though the moment (Y/N) stepped into your life all the pieces just fell into place. She truly was the angel on top of the tree.

You didn't think anything remarkable happened the Christmas of 2014 but by Valentine's day it became clear that your wife was pregnant again, and your new little one had to have been conceived on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It too would always hold special meaning whenever you looked at your baby girl. Elizabeth or Lizzie as you liked to call her, joined your little family on September 25th, 2015. Making her the cherry on the cake to winning your third Stanley cup. Lizzie was daddy's girl and everyone knew it, even your wife. Of course, there were a few ornaments on the Christmas tree that year. One with Lizzie's picture in the cup, along with her first Christmas ornament, all got hung alongside the three Stanley Cup ornaments and Levi's bulb. Your tree was getting quite full.

As were your wife's hands apparently, as you could see (Y/N) getting more and more tired as Christmas 2016 rolled around. Oh, she was still her fun-loving and joyful self, but she also looked completely exhausted most days. She would dust off any concerns and tell you that was the price she paid for having two kids under the age of four. "Babe, why don't you come and sit down," you told her having just gotten back from your last road trip before Christmas, which was only three days away.

"I can't. I still need to finish wrapping the gifts, then I've got cookies to bake, and get the food prepped for Christmas Eve dinner."

"What can I do to help?" You asked rubbing her shoulders as she worked in the dining room wrapping the presents since the kids were finally in bad.

"You could…" She spun around to talk to you and that's when your heart fell out of your chest as she collapsed right into your arms. Your blood ran cold as you saw color draining from her face. Gently as you could, you laid her down on the floor, calling out her name. "(Y/N)…baby…(Y/N) please wake up." You ran and grabbed your bag knowing that you had smelling salts in there that the team used every now and then. Breaking it open, you wafted the scent over her nose, praying the whole time for her to wake back up. It took a bit, but eventually, she did rouse. "Oh thank god."

"What happened?"

"I was going to ask you. You just fainted in my arms." She made a move to get up but you could see that another bout of something had hit her again. "No just stay there. I'm calling the team doctor."

"Jon, don't. I'm sure I'm just tired. I'll be fine."

It was too late for her to try to change your mind as you already had the doctor dialed up. He asked a few questions, basically checking to see if she could be pregnant, but that wasn't an option as she'd just finished her period two days ago. He recommended that you head to the hospital and get (Y/N) checked out. It was a fight to get her there, especially so close to Christmas, but eventually, she gave in and once her parents came to watch the kids, the two of you were on your way.

You rushed into the emergency room, where (Y/N) went through a series of tests. You hadn't realized until that moment, when (Y/N) was laying in the hospital bed, that she'd lost some weight and seemed very fatigued. Your wife was always this strong and unmovable force, yet right then she looked so frail. Mentally, you kicked yourself for not noticing these things earlier. After hours of testing, the emergency room doctor came in to speak to you both. He told you that there was definitely something off in her blood work and that he wanted to admit her for further testing. (Y/N) put up a fight, not wanting to be in the hospital another minute. She insisted she had way too many things to do than just laying around waiting for them to tell her she would be fine.

"You're staying and that's final." She argued with you, but in the end, you won out again.

Thankfully, she was out of the hospital by Christmas Eve and when she came home, her parents and yours had most everything done so that it was a perfect Christmas for your children. It was two days after Christmas that you received the worst news of your life. (Y/N) had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. The doctor wasn't sure what stage it was in but wanted her for more testing before they would try and figure out treatment. It couldn't have come at a worse time, as you were just gearing up for a ten-day road trip.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Damnit Jon, you are going. You're the captain of the team and they need you," she shouted back to you. The two of you had been arguing since you put the kids in bed. Your parents were still there, they had decided to stay a little longer with (Y/N) being sick to help out with the kids and her parents were only minutes away, but none of that mattered.

"I'm also the captain of THIS team," you said pointing back and forth between the two of you. "And right now, that's more important."

"It's just some testing at this point. If there's anything more serious, you can be on the next plane back here." Her voice was quieter now, and you couldn't tell if she was just weak from cancer or tired of fighting, but you could see the determination in her eyes not to lose this battle. You needed her to keep that same look for whatever was to come and it was for that reason alone that you found yourself agreeing to go on the trip.

She was right, you were only a phone call away, and she could facetime you in on all her appointments, which she did. It was not the way you wanted to find out that her biopsy showed her having stage two stomach cancer and that her chance of survival was thirty-five percent.

You could see her crumbling on the screen, her mom and dad beside her for support, but it wasn't enough. You should've been there damnit. Why in the hell had you listened to her? You wanted to scream through the phone but couldn't; you needed to stay calm and be there for her. "Baby, look at me," you said in a gentle yet reassuring voice, and her tearstained eyes locked with yours. "We're going to beat this." She sniffled loudly, then straightened her back, that steely determination taking over.

"Of course, we will." What you didn't know, was that she cried the entire ride home in the backseat of her parents' car, or how she made her dad ride around the block several times before going inside to see your children. All the while, you were on the phone with the team doctor finding out everything you could to help your wife. The two of you found the best specialist in North America and had her records sent there. A week later, you were by (Y/N)'s side at UPMC Medical Center in Pittsburgh determining the best course of treatment.

She would do several rounds of pinpointed radiation to shrink the tumor before they would go in and remove it. It would all be followed up with some intense chemotherapy. The doctor told her she would more than likely lose her hair, and that it would make her extremely weak. They could set everything up to happen in Chicago so that she wouldn't have to leave your home.

The surgery, which took place in February and caused you to miss a few games, went very well. The two of you stayed in Pittsburgh five days before flying back on a private plane home to your children. Who didn't seem to understand why mommy couldn't pick them up and carry them around anymore. Your parents and (Y/N)'s were godsends, as (Y/N) insisted you go back to hockey. You hated being away from her, though with every day that past you could see her strength building up. That was until the chemotherapy started.

There were to be six to eight rounds of chemotherapy that (Y/N) was going to have to take. They would fall in four-week intervals. You were there the day she got her first one. It took over eight hours for her to receive the treatment through her port that the surgeon had put in. She seemed to take it really well or so you thought until you found her hunched over the toilet a couple days later throwing up. She tried to shake it off, act like it was nothing new, telling you it was just like being pregnant again, but you knew better. You could hear the tremble in her voice, see the tears she fought so hard to hold back, while you held back your own. You'd give anything to take this pain away from her, but you couldn't.

It wasn't until round three that her hair started falling out in clumps. She was sitting at the breakfast table, the kids at her parents when she brushed it back to pull it out of her face. Strands of hair covered her fingers, a look of horror covering her face. "It's ok baby, we knew this would happen."

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "I just thought that I made it this far with it, that maybe they were wrong." You were at her side in a minute, holding her as she started to shake from head to toe.

"Let it out (Y/N). It's ok to be sad or mad or anything. I'm right here." It was the first time that she'd cried about it, at least in front of you.

"It's not fair Jon," she sobbed into your chest. "I want to be there to watch my kids grow up."

"And you will, mon amour. We're going to fight this every step of the way." She cried for a solid hour, as you held back tears of your own, telling her in a calming voice that she was going to beat this. All the while being scared as hell that she might not.

Later that day, you helped her shave every strand of hair from her head. It was the hardest thing you'd had to do in your life. You'd rather take a ninety mile an hour puck to your face then to see your wife this broken and defeated. In the end, she took a deep breath as she looked herself in the mirror, eyes still glassy from tears. "You will not beat me," she told her reflection, then looked at your reflection. "I will fight this with every breath I have." Your lip trembled as you fought back the river of tears that threatened to spill over at her strength. Your wife was a fighter, and you knew she would conquer this disease and you'd be beside her every step of the way.

That summer you spent every available second with (Y/N) and the kids. Treatments became a normal part of your routine. The problem was with everyone, you saw your wife getting weaker and weaker. She was practically skin and bones, even though she would force herself to eat. When she took her final round of chemotherapy in October, you breathed a sigh of relief. The doctors said they wouldn't know if the chemo had worked for a few weeks and so you waited. Praying every night that her cancer was gone once and for all, and your wife would no longer have to suffer.

A month later, you were back in Pittsburgh, sitting in front of the doctor who held your entire fate in his hands. "I'm afraid it's not good news," he started to say, and your face drained, while (Y/N) gripped your hand tightly. "The chemotherapy hasn't responded as we'd like." Everything he said after that was a garbled mess. Your mind clouded over and there was a loud ringing in your ears. You wanted to grab this man by the throat and tell him to make your wife better. That was his job, wasn't it? He was supposed to heal people, and damn it he should've done that for (Y/N). "I'm not giving up hope yet." It was those words that finally drug you out of the blinding rage that was coursing through your veins. He proceeded to say that there was an experimental drug and that they had no way of knowing if it would work, but it might be something the two of you would be interested in trying. He handed you a bunch of paperwork to go home and read before making any decisions.

"I think you should take it," you told her the minute you got in the car.

"Maybe we should read what he gave us first."

"It doesn't matter what that says (Y/N) if it means that you get to stay here with me and the kids; I think we should do it."

"It's not a 'we' Jon. It's me who has to do this. What if it has some long-term effects or…" she started to list scenarios, that meant nothing to you.

"The only long-term thing here is that you're dead. Do you want that? Because I don't." You were yelling at her, and you didn't want to, but couldn't she see that this drug was your only option. "I need you (Y/N). The kids need you." This time you couldn't hold back the tears as they started to fall hard and fast down your cheeks. "Damn it, I love you and I'm not willing to lose you. Do you understand me?"

You could barely see her swallow hard as tears flooded your vision, and while you knew you needed to be strong for her; you were finally breaking. "Ok," she whispered softly, and you grabbed her holding her to your body as close as you could with the console in the middle of the car. "I'll do it."

"You will?" you mumbled into the crook of her neck. You could feel the dampness of her shirt from your tears but all that mattered was that she agreed to take the treatment.

"Yes," she answered pulling you back so she could look in your eyes. "I'd do anything for you, my love." You kissed her then pouring every ounce of love you had for her into it.

The following day, after reading through all the paperwork, (Y/N) called the doctor and got set up to take the new drug. Once you were back in Chicago, she started treatments right away. The drug was aggressive, even more so than her first round of chemotherapy and within two weeks she wound up in the hospital, her immune system so compromised that you had to suit up in a gown and mask every time you went to see her. The kids weren't allowed in, which killed her, but you had them facetime her every day.

As Christmas grew near your spirits were low. (Y/N) insisted that you put up all the decorations just as you had every year. She ordered the kids' gifts online so that they wouldn't miss out on a single thing. Her only term for taking the new treatment was that you continue to play hockey. Her parents stepped up and watched the kids while you were away. You were just returning home from a road trip, about a week before Christmas when you stopped in at the hospital to see (Y/N) before heading home. When you walked into her room, you barely recognized her. Her frail form looked almost lifeless as she lay in the hospital bed, so much so that you had to check the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully she was.

"Salut mon amour," you said in a soft gentle voice, wanting her to know that you were there but at the same time not wanting to wake her if she was asleep. She turned her head to the side to see you, a weak smile gracing her chapped lips.

A scratchy "hi," was all she was able to muster back. You took your gloved hand and held hers in it. God, what you wouldn't give to just touch her skin and feel her once again. But since you couldn't, you stroked your thumb back and forth over her palm, hoping that she could somehow draw from your strength.

"How are you feeling today?"

The smile dropped, and so did your heart. "I don't think this is working Jon." It was too soon to tell. Even the doctors had said that. She just needed to hang on, give the drug more time to work. "I think we need to start preparing for the worst." Her hand squeezed yours, whether it was for support or to support you, you weren't sure.

"No, baby, I'm not ready for you to give up yet."

"I know Jon, and I'm fighting I really am. But it's just so hard...Hard to breathe…Hard to move. I don't feel like me anymore." A tear slipped out and though you had a glove on your hand, you reached up and wiped it away.

"You've just gotta fight (Y/N). You've got to do it for Levi, and Lizzie, and god baby please do it for me." You were begging now, both her and god. You couldn't lose her, you weren't ready to live your life without her yet.

"I will my love…..but Jon, there may come a day when I can't fight anymore and I need you to support me on that." You knew what she was talking about, that if the doctors wanted to put her on a ventilator, she didn't want that. Though if it could save her…you weren't sure you could follow her wishes.

You nodded your head not willing to put in words something you couldn't promise just yet. You stayed there with her for a while; until she basically kicked you and told you to go home and get some sleep. The moment you walked in the door of your house, you screamed in anger. There were all the decorations that (Y/N) made you hang with the kids and you hated every one of them. They were torturous reminders that your wife wasn't there this Christmas, that she couldn't be with you and the kids. You grabbed the strand of garland that hung on the archway into the living room and ripped it down, throwing the ball of mistletoe across the room. It felt good, and so you tore down some more, just letting all your anger and frustrations out. It was a side of you that hardly ever came out even on the ice. Oh, you'd definitely dropped the gloves a time or two but only when someone really deserved it. Only now there was no one to fight. It was a disease and you couldn't throw it up against the boards or punch it in the jaw. So instead, you took it out on the decorations. Every wreath that hung on the wall you ripped it apart with your bare hands. Every Santa figurine that sat on the table, you smashed against the floor. You were just about the tear the stockings off the fireplace when you stopped. It was seeing your wife's name knitted into the fabric that got you and instead you carefully took it off the hook and brought it to your face as if it were her and you could simply hold her that close once again.

"Please (Y/N), please don't leave me," you called out to the void that was your house, as you dropped to your knees, tears freely flowing down your face. It was all too much. You'd finally reached that breaking point and just laid on the flooring sobbing and praying to God to save your wife. It was the only Christmas wish you had. Sure, you'd prayed when you were younger asking god to make you a better hockey player and then that you would be drafted in the NHL, but never in your life had you wanted anything like you wanted this, for your wife to be fine, for her to live a happy healthy life with you and your children. You'd trade everything you had if you could.

At some point, you picked yourself up and looked at the disaster that you'd made in what was once a storybook Christmas home. (Y/N) would be so disappointed in what you had done, not to the house, but to the mess that your kids would walk into when they would come home. You cleaned up the broken shards of glass, restrung the garland, and tried to salvage what you could of the other decorations you'd destroyed yet somehow the house still seemed to be missing something. There were tons of extra decorations in the closet, as your wife seemed to always buy more and more every year, well you couldn't really blame (Y/N) as you tended to help as well. So, you dragged yourself upstairs to see what else might try and make the place a bit more festive.

It was in rummaging through the closet that you stumbled upon it. It was a simple container, not very big with the word "Love," written in script on the top. You peered inside and were stunned to find dozens of envelopes, each marked with either yours or your children's name on them. It was then that you realized they were goodbye letters from your wife, as some were addressed to Levi and Lizzie on their eighteenth birthdays or their graduations. There was even one for each of them on their wedding day. A gasp left your mouth at the realization that she didn't plan on being around for any of these occasions. You weren't sure what hurt more, the fact that she was giving up or that you'd be facing a life without her.

All that anger and hurt from moments ago came surfacing back and you had the urge to punch your fist through the wall this time, though you fought it for the sake of your kids. Flipping through the envelopes you saw different ones with your name on them. You picked up the one that was on top of the pile marked 'To Jon on Christmas Eve.' It was heavier than what you thought and you realized that it wasn't a letter but a video. Taking the box, you headed downstairs to see what your wife had to say.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn't be watching this, as you hit the play button on the remote control, yet you couldn't stop yourself. Maybe there would be something on here that could help you convince her to fight harder. It took a second for (Y/N) to come on the screen. She looked weak, yet still as beautiful as ever as she sat in the chair up in your bedroom. Her wig was on, probably in hopes that you'd remember her like she once was and not the sickly cancer patient she feared everyone saw.

"Bonjour, mon amour." God, you loved how she spoke French to you. She'd been so earnest in her studies those early days and now was rather good at it. "I'm not sure where to start with this. I want you to know that this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I hope that you're watching this after the kids' are in bed and you've put all the presents under the tree. God, how I'll miss doing that with you, but I know that you will make this Christmas and every one after special for our two little angels. They are so lucky to have a dad like you, just like I was so lucky to have you as my husband." Tears were streaming down (Y/N)'s face as she spoke to you on the screen, just as they were flooding your eyes.

"I love you so much," she swallowed hard, the movement visible as her body was frail. "Even more than I love Christmas." It was a small attempt at humor on her part, and you wish that you could smile at it, but at the moment all you had were tears of sadness. "Remember that first Christmas when we bought the tree topper together. You told me then that I was your angel. Well, now I truly am. I hope that when you place her on top of the tree, you'll know that I'm smiling down at you and our babies." Your eyes automatically went to the angel on the tree. Her soft smiling eyes shining right into yours. A sob broke from you then, as you realized how much the angel looked like your wife. She had the same eyes, the same hair, and the same soft easy smile that melted your heart.

"I'm going to miss this time of year with you; the laughter, the joy, the mistletoe. It was always my favorite season with you, though you made everyday special." You knew how she felt, for you had a feeling you'd miss her most at Christmas time. "Jon, I'd give anything to be with you right now. Just know that if I had to do it all again, I would. I'd go through every treatment, every needle, every single bit of it, if it meant one more Christmas with you…hell, even if it was one more day with you." She wiped away the tears then, visibly collecting herself to continue on with what she had to say.

"But I want you to be happy, Jon. I want you to love again. I want you to find joy in not only Christmas but every day, even if I'm not there. And I can see you sitting there, shaking your head and telling me it's not going to happen, and maybe it won't tomorrow or the next day, but I hope it does someday. I love you too much to not want you to love again. Be happy, you deserve it." You weren't sure how she could ask this of you, there was no way that it would ever happen if she wasn't in your life.

"Bumping into you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You were the best thing to happen to me, Jonathan Toews and for that I thank you. I couldn't have asked for a better friend, husband, or father. You will always be the love of my life...and what a life we had." There was still more of it to be had, you just knew there had to be. "I love you, Jon. Merry Christmas, my love." It took another second and then the screen went blank.

"I love you, (Y/N)," you whispered up the angel smiling down at you. Tears clouded your vision until all the lights just seemed to melt into one giant one. This was not how things were meant to end. You laid your head back against the sofa and closed your eyes and just prayed. Even though you'd just done that hours ago, you asked God to do the impossible, to give you a Christmas miracle.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you woke up sometime later to a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Jon, sweetie, wake up, my love." You could swear that was your wife's voice. It took your eyes a minute to regain focus, but it was your wife standing over you, in Christmas pajamas, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her hair, you thought vaguely, not some wig because she'd lost all hers, and she looked healthy, strong in fact.

"You're here? You're ok," you said jumping up and running your hands down her arms.

Her smile told you then that it hadn't been a dream like you thought, and you looked over to the screen on the tv, to see the Christmas message she'd sent you back up on the screen. "You were watching it again, weren't you?" she asked.

You had to shake yourself to get the cobwebs out of your brain. It was six years ago that you found the video, though you've replayed it every year since. That first time watching it you'd wanted to run to the hospital and shake some sense into your wife, but something stopped you. Maybe deep down you knew she had never truly given up, for she had called you Christmas Eve saying that she was feeling much better. The kids had gotten to see her on Christmas day, though there were still precautions taken. It was a week later that she was home and with you as her strength continually improved. She grew stronger every day after that as well. It was months later that her cancer was declared gone by the doctors, the new treatment having saved her life and yours in the process. She was a survivor and you thanked God every day for giving you that miracle you'd asked for so long ago. "I still don't know how you found them," she said to you. "Or why you continue to watch that video every year."

"I watch it because it reminds me of how close I was to losing you." Your arms encircled her waist now, drawing her closer to you. "And how magical the Christmas season is as it brought you back to me." You gazed into her loving eyes, yours shining with that same love you saw in hers. "And to hold you a little tighter each day." You did exactly as you said, squeezing her so that no space was between either of you, before dropping a kiss to her lips.

"I'm not sure it was the Christmas season that helped me find the strength to fight. I'm pretty sure it was you, Mr. Toews." Her lips found yours in a soul-stealing kiss, as she poured all her love for you into it.

You maneuvered the two of you under the archway where the sprig of mistletoe always hung. "Well, Mrs. Toews, Christmas will always be my favorite time of year, though I treasure every day with you. Joyeux Noel, mon amour."

"Merry Christmas, Jon."

#jonathan toews imagine #jonathan toews fanfic #Jonathan Toews #Jonathan toews imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl smut #nhl imagines #Chicago blackhawks imagine

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nims91 · 4 years ago

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Nathan Drake x Fem-Reader! Pt.2

Takes place in uncharted 2: among thieves, just when Nate and Sully come out from the underground tomb, and chloe runs off only to come back with Flynn and some soldiers.

Nates POV

I watch as Chloe runs ahead to look out for any of Lazarevics men. "You wanna give me a hand, Nate?" Sully calls from below. I turn to him and reach down, helping him out and standing to his feet again. "This way!" I hear a man yell from the distance. "Oh goddamn it." Sully sighs. "C'mon." I say quickly heading for the opening archway. "Harry! In here!" Chloe yells as she enters, having a gun pointed at me. "It's Drake." She yells back to Harry. "What the hell-?" I start to say before she interrupts me. "Get your hands up!" She demands. I shake my head and do as she says. Sully doing the same. "You sure know how to pick 'me." Sully states. "Shut up Sully." I quickly say as Harry and some guards come up behind Chloe. "Should've know it was you." Harry speaks as he comes up to me. His British accent coming through. "And you. Victor 'goddamn' Sullivan. You still dragging this tired old sack of shit around?" He chuckles. I let my hands drop and step up to him. Sully gets in between us. "Easy Nate." He says. My blood was boiling. I glared daggers at him in pure anger. "That's pretty ballsy for a guy who spent the last three months behind bars." Harry states looking from me to Sully. "Better than pissing away three months in the jungle with out a clue." I spat at him in an annoyed tone. He was pissing me off. "Found the ship's, though, didn't I?" He speaks confidently. "You couldn't find your own ass with both hands." I state before Sully jumps in. "And a map." Harry sighs slightly annoyed. "They came from down there." Chloe now says as she comes up to search me. Chloe pulls out the document that leads right to Shambhala. Or the next step at least. "Speaking of maps." Harry cockily says looking at it. "Between India and Tibet... one temple will reveal a-" he slowly reads. "Pathway to Shambhala. Jesus Flynn, while we're young." I finish for him. "Oh now. Dont be such a bad sport." He pouts sarcastically. "Take them to Lazarevic." He folds up the document in his hands. "You're gonna wish you stayed in prison mate." He says before making his way to the opening in the ground. "Move." Chole sternly says. I walk forward, Sully walking beside me. Two guards join us at our sides. "C'mon keep moving." One of the guards shouts, shoving me forward. Then Chloe knocks one of the guards in the head before turning to face the second one who shoots at her, a bullet grazing her arm. Sully quickly grabs his gun before Chloe shoots him then turning to the first guy shooting him. "Ah shit." She says holding her arm. "Are you alright?" I ask walking up to her. "Yeah well, it'll make it look more believable. Now, I'm going to try and buy you some time." Chloe grabs the dagger handing it to me. "Chloe you have to come with us." I state to her. "No." She give me a kiss on the lips. I could just melt into it forever but just at that thought she pulls away. "Just meet me in Nepal. Now run." Chloe states before making her way back to the others. "Let's go." I state and start to run off with Sully. "I like her." He speaks very enthusiastically. "Yeah I bet you do." I shake my head chuckling softly.

We quickly run around the corner before I take a look back. I quickly look in front of me again and stop abruptly seeing a women in front of me. She stops abruptly too stumbling slightly. She looked up at me almost immediately. "Y/n?" I ask in absolute shock. "Nathan, nice to see you too." She spat in an annoyed tone. "Well sorry to cut this reunion short, but I'll be taking this and be on my way." She says in the same tone before quickly grabbing the purba dagger and making her way quickly down the path. "Hey! I shout and run after her. Gun shots ring out and I start to run faster, Y/n still in front of us.

Your POV

You quickly made your way up the path towards the archway you seen about an hour ago from a different spot in the jungle. You looked down slightly at your watch before you quickly looked back up almost to run into someone. You look up immediately at the face and smirked, chuckling sarcastically. "Nathan, nice to see you too." You voice dripping with annoyance. "Well sorry to cut this reunion short, but I'll be taking this and be on my way." You speak in the same annoyed tone before running down the path you just came from. You heard Nate call out to you but didnt look back. They started running as gun shots rung out. You could see the small gap up ahead with nowhere else to go. "Adios asshole." You yell back at him before jumping of the cliff and into the water.

You panted hard as you pulled yourself onto land still having the purba dagger. You panted hard. Not a second later the sound of water splash was heard. You look over to see the two men crawling out of the river. You were not impressed. "So now your following me?" You scoff and shake your head. "Y/n, what the hell are you doing here alive?" Nate asks you, as he walks up to you. "Searching for Shambhala." You state. "But I watched you die. I watched you get shot." He shakes his head. "Well after that doctors patched me up. Then I escaped, about 3 months ago, giver take." You explain coldly. "Why didnt you come back for me or sam?" You ask sadly. He looks up to you and shakes his head. "What do you mean? I checked everywhere. Everyone said you were dead." He confessed. "Well they told me you hated me and never wanted to see again. That I was worthless to you. Every single day for around the past 10ish years." You shout slightly. He sighs and shakes his head. He stops and looks at you. "Is Sam alive?" He asks. "I dont know. After the attempt we pulled escaping and killing Vargus, Most of my time was spent in the hole. Only got to go out when everyone was in their cell. Didnt see anyone." You sigh. You then start to walk away. "Hey hey hey, where are you going?" Nate asks. "To go to Tibet and find Shambhala." You state. "So that's it. This is all were gonna talk about?" He runs up to you. "What's there to talk about?" You got two girls tied to your hip. Chloe and Elena, was it?" You ask cockily and annoyed. "Wait you dont understand.." Nate try's to says. "Oh I understand it all, hotel security is always a joy." You says. Nate slightly freezes knowing now that you seen him in Chloe back at the beach. "Look Nate. I dont wanna be made at you but, I am, okay." You say. "Now I'll shall head on my way.

The journey continues. You went to Tibet. Ran into Nate again. Decided to team up. Run into Elena. Then go rescue Chloe. Almost die on a train, multiple times. Finally get to the steps of Shambhala and have to run for your lives. You get to the temple and see the supposedly, chintamani stone. It was magnificent. "Wait this isnt sapphire. Its resin." Nate states. I look at him confused then around the temple to see a tree. "You've got to be kidding me." I state walking to the other side of the temple. "Y/n!" Nate yells and sighs "It's not a sapphire. It's a metaphor. That's the chintamani stone." You point to this humorous tree. You shake you head and sigh walking back into the temple. You look and see Harry limping, holding a grenade. You stopped in you tracks not wanting to have him pull that pin. You were to focused on the grenade to here them speak. You watched as he pulled the pin. You gasped and went to retreat only to feeling unimaginable pain run through your entire body. Everything was fuzzy, from words to sight to speaking. You feel your body being pulled up and lean against someone you imagine is Chloe. "I have to end this." Nates voice rings in your ear. "No you cant." You wince. "I just only got you back. I cant loose you again." You state before he gave you a kiss on the head. "I'll come back I promise. Chloe get her out of here." You whimpered and hissed at the pain before crying slightly. "C'mon deary, you can do it." Chloe encourages you.

You dont know when and how but somehow you showed up at the steps of Shambhala. She rests you down on a slab of rock and sighs. You let out another whimper. "I know I know, it'll be all over soon." Chloe speaks. Your drifting in and out of consciousness. Your open your eyes and see Nate, but a blurry version of him. Hes talking to Chloe and then looking at you and then too Chloe. "Its alright. Your gonna be alright. Your good, alright." Nate says as he combs your hair back to perfect. You finally close your eyes and darkness consumes you.

Days and days would go by as you laid there in bed. Some days were worst then others. Especially when you had to get the shards of the grenade out that was embedded in you skin. Soon as days went by, you got better. You sighed as you sat up wincing slightly. You stood up and put on some clothes before heading to the door. Sully stepped in front of you before you got outside. "Sully, I swear if you dont let me outside, I will shoot you in the leg." You chuckled and he shook his head. "Fine." You linked your arm with his as he helped you down the steps and towards Nathan. He turned to you and smiled brightly. "Shes one hell of a patient." Sully spoke making you chuckle. You switched arms from Sully to Nate. "Ah which way did Chloe go." He asked. Nate shook his head as he pointed in the direction. "Your a dirty old man Sully." You yelled out to him. You and Nate then started walking towards the grass patch under a tree that showed a beautiful veiw. "So about that vacation?" You asked. "We're still going to do it." He looks at you. "Mmhm sure." You smiled. "I promise." He spoke softly making you face him. "You better." You smirk and he sighs in defeat. "Come here." He shakes his head as he pulls you into a passionate kiss. You smile into the kiss and when he breaks off, you rest your head on his shoulder. "So on a scale of one to ten, how scared were you that I was gonna die." You asked. "A three." He spoke blankly. "A three?" You ask and he nods. "You were so an eight." You chuckled. "An eight, those guardian things were an eight." He confesses. "Then what's a 10?" You asked him shocked. "Clowns." You scoffed and shook your head. "Clowns, over my death?" You ask. "Wow" he smiles. "Ok I'll give you a four." He gives in a little. "You though I was gonna die." You say. "No I didnt." You smile now. "Yes you were bawling." You chuckle. "I was not. Its was raining, you were unconscious." He defends. "It was sunny and you were crying. I have your tears in a jar." You state. You both laugh and smile as you watch the sunrise.

This is part one if you havent read that yet. I suggest you read it first.

#nadine ross #chloe frazer #elena fisher #sam drake #nathan drake #oneshots #x reader #uncharted 4 #uncharted #uncharted 2

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etlunainmorte · 5 years ago

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🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

“May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?”

"I long to see such things as those you have probably seen. I want to experience everything and I wish to see them with my own eyes. See for myself what these poems of mine describe. But, the idea of doing those things alone,… do not please me, at all.”

“Would I be selfish if I ask you to accompany me, little wanderer?”

“Those scars,… symbolize the true enjoyment and will that you felt doing that special something you adore. Those feet, my Lady,… I would kiss,… over,… and over again,… if I could,… ”

“What matters is that you still have precious people around you, my Lady. You must focus on not losing them, as well.”

“Those feelings you have for me, I’m afraid we do not share them mutually.”

"I do feel obliged to tell you that I’ am not the person you seem to know. I’ am neither a good person, nor a hero you consider. In fact, I’ am the villain of your story. And I, may I add, only helped you because you seem so,… useless. Why would you even take up this massive commission in the first place? You are not as half as strong as the weakest Devil Hunter here to begin with. You are just a weak human who relies on others for survival."

“I choose,… POWER!”

"ENOUGH!"

You woke up to the sound of his frightening voice that seemed to rattle the whole place. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness inside your room as you hysterically felt for the things around you. And when your cold and trembling hands reached what felt like the soft and smooth bed covers you haven't used for what seemed like ages, your heart felt like it would shatter. You know he was there, just outside your dark and suffocating room, and you knew full well that if you get up, walk to that door, and open it, you will see him.

But, at the same time, you knew you can't.

How you've wanted so much to go to him, to throw yourself at him, to embrace him, and tell him that you love him very much but, you know you can't.

"I choose,... POWER!"

Those were the words that he told you after you bore your whole, fragile heart to him. It,... hurt you, and you knew you would be lying if you said it didn't. It hurts, and you could never deny that fact.

Then, darkness. You couldn't remember anything else after that. What happened after that? And how long ago was that? A week? A month? A year?

You tried to move an inch, however, an unbelievable sensation of pain hit your mid - section, your arms, and your legs. You covered your mouth, trying to stifle the scream of horrified pain that tried to escape from it as you heard some more, incomprehensible noises outside. It seemed that he was not alone. There were others,...

... but you didn't have any idea who they were,...

... only that they sounded familiar.

With a huge amount of effort, you carefully sat up as you propped up on your elbows, still feeling the excruciating pain in your body. You carefully swung your right leg off the edge of the bed first, followed by your left one. When you felt the coldness of the floor through your toes, you slowly put your feet down, then tried to stand,...

... only for you to collapse and scramble on the floor. You swiftly covered your mouth once more and closed your eyes as you stopped yourself from screaming and crying.

Everything hurts. Everything.

You remained on the floor curled up like this as your tears fell silently from your face. Your arms on your stomach and your legs folded, you stayed there, embracing the coldness and loneliness and waiting for those ear - shattering sounds to subside. And when they finally did, you took a deep breath and tried to stand once more. It became awfully quiet but, you couldn't care less. At least, they were gone. He was gone.

And that was entirely better compared to him pushing you away and physically and emotionally hurting you yet again.

With a slight limp, you made your way towards the door, and,...

All of a sudden, you heard it - a knock. On your front door.

Your hand abruptly left the doorknob as the knock became more and more impatient. You were about to go back to your own bed, cover yourself with those heavy bed sheets, and pretend that you didn't hear anything, when you heard a familiar voice.

"(Y/N)? It's me! Are you there?!"

It's her!

Despite the pain in your stomach and limbs, you flung open the door and sped towards the front door, ignoring the mess in the living room and even failing to notice your precious antique record on the table. You grabbed the brass doorknob, flung open the door, and,...

"(Y/N)?!" She said, looking so shocked upon seeing your appearance. "What happened to - ?!"

But, your friend wasn't able to finish her sentence as you threw yourself at her and cried your miserable little heart out. Your friend wrapped you in her arms and allowed you to let it all out on her despite not knowing the things that happened to you.

"T - take me," you sobbed. " ... away from here! P - please, Patty. P - please!"

***

XXXIII

***

You stared at your tired face in the mirror of the bathroom, pulling at a particularly dark and large bag under one of your eyes with a finger and looking at the pale flesh underneath it.

With a frown, you left your eye and looked closely at your hollow cheeks. You clicked your tongue as you noticed that they've gotten a bit thinner in just a few days. But, what really caught your attention was the few strands of hair that covered your forehead. You reach out with your right hand, brushing your hair with your fingers and slicking it up to confirm your suspicion,...

... and you were right. You were a hundred percent sure that there were only a few about two weeks ago but, now, it almost covered half of your head.

White hair. Or more accurately, silver - grey hair.

You couldn't help but sigh as you let your hair go. You slightly stepped away from the mirror and grabbed your shirt from the counter, putting it over your head and wearing it, covering the large, ugly scar on your stomach. Then, you grabbed your sweat pants and wore it, effectively concealing the equally huge and ugly scars on your thighs. Finally, you went back to your bedroom and grabbed your long - sleeved turtle neck from your bed post, wearing it and covering those bruise - like scars on your arms.

Tying the end of your long hair and tossing it to your back, you finally went out as much as you hated it. And only then did your day begin.

You were like that for nearly three months after you left Red Grave, and it was rather safe to say that during that period of time, you have easily become an angst magnet with legs who only eats, breathes, and sleeps, somehow.

Somehow. Not to mention your tears' nasty habit of pouring from your already tired and battered eyes every night before sleeping.

During those first few weeks of crying, the only things that came to your mind were the torturous thoughts and painful memories of what happened between you and him. The moment your mind made the huge mistake of conjuring his image, you couldn't help those awful tears from coming out. Hell, you even thought that you could never move on from that.

But, alas, you were wrong.

For the next few weeks after those angst - riddled sessions of crying, well, you still cried. Not only because you could still perfectly remember how he looked like and how his voice sounded like after all those weeks ago, no. It was because you felt yourself and the world around you getting heavier and heavier, and as each day and night passed, you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker to the point of breaking down. Your wounds were not healing as opposed to those times when they healed in a heartbeat. Your agility seemed to have deserted you, and the happiness, if there was any, that was left in your heart seemed to have abandoned you, as well. You were getting thinner by the day, and now, oh, fuck, now, you have white hair. Yes, your once thick and lustrous (H/C) hair was rapidly turning white. Which could only mean one, no, two things.

Number one: he was able to obtain the entities inside you that gave you immense power and kept you immortal for ten whole years.

And number two: now that these entities were gone, you were rapidly getting weaker, kind of like a side effect after all those years of taking in all the damage that should've ended your life in a heartbeat.

No, weaker was the more gentle way of describing what was happening to your body.

If you were totally being honest with yourself, you would admit that, yes, you were rapidly, and alarmingly, getting older.

But, who cares, anyway? After all, nobody would even notice. All those years of doing good to others did nothing to alleviate your pain. All those years of saving others did nothing to save yourself from your inevitable fate.

All those times, and effort, and years, of crossing the oceans and exerting your body to its limit and beyond just for that one mission, and that one man, that, you thought, could save you from your own misery and give you the future you, so, craved for, did nothing to ease your slowly dying heart and stop your abnormal aging.

You shook your head as you chuckled at the thought.

No, you were not simply getting weaker or older. You were dying, and you knew it.

But, when?

Ah, it didn't matter, did it?

"It doesn't matter anymore." You whispered as you absent - mindedly stared at the spoonful of cereal that was drowning in cream before your very eyes.

"Ah, sorry?" Patty, who was at the other end of the table, also eating cereal, asked as she peeled her eyes off the television.

You put the spoon in your mouth and ate the cereal, smiling as you did so. "Nothing." You muttered after swallowing the food.

The young, blonde woman raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Perfectly fine." You lamely replied as you took another spoonful of the sugary breakfast.

And this made Patty even more worried than ever before.

Ever since seeing you injured and broken like that, Patty had no other choice but to yield to your selfish request of being taken away from that place. And how could she ever refuse you? Not when you cried and begged like that, no.

Still, it was so hard for Patty to see you like that: crying your eyes out for nights on end until you fall asleep, refusing food most of the time, hell, even refusing to go outside and enjoy the sun. During those torturous months, she witnessed how your voice became hoarse and your throat worn out due to constant crying, she saw how your once healthy body changed drastically due to self - imposed starvation, she even watched helplessly as the sweet face of her friend morphed into something that was truly unrecognizable.

Depressed, unhealthy, and perpetually tired,...

... this is the (Y/N) that she never thought she'd see in her entire life.

And Patty knew, sensed, the cause of all this life - threatening sadness. You may not have uttered a single word about it, and she never forced you to, but the way you stopped listening to old love songs ( she once saw you turning off the radio at the first lyrics of the song, End Of The World ), the way you ignored the movies you once adored watching with her ( and that was Titanic she was talking about ), and the way you changed the topic at the mere mention of the word love ( once, she hasn't even finished saying the accursed word when you cut her off by introducing the topic of weather, of all things ), she became a hundred percent sure,...

... a certain man,...

... had the audacity to break your heart,...

... to the point of angst, anxiety, and depression.

Of course, upon realizing this, Patty did the best that she could to cheer you up. As much as you hated it, she forced you to have movie marathons with her just to keep you from crying each night ( she chose horror and gore, of all things ), made you do some crazy and unnecessary stuff with her to keep you preoccupied ( like eating a whole tub of ice cream by yourselves, making all kinds of DIY crafts from the internet, and doing make up tutorials, to which you were both horrible at ), and even made you compile hundreds upon hundreds of Dante's stolen shots that she took into one scrapbook just for the sake of fun ( and some did make you laugh, to be honest, like that one where he was giving himself a pep talk in front of the mirror, or that one where he was wearing mismatched socks ). She did everything she could think of just to help you divert your mind off the thoughts of whatever happened to you with that certain man.

And obviously? You only got worse.

And Patty could not take any of this, any more.

"Okay, that's it." The blonde said as she stood up and made her way towards you. She sat on the chair next to you and practically snatched the spoon from your hand just to get your attention. And she was successful.

"Patty - "

"(Y/N), listen to me," Patty began, cutting you off the moment you tried to complain as she grabbed your shoulders. " ... I know it's hard. I know how hard it feels when someone you love left you - "

"Wait, I - !"

"NO! Stop talking for a while and listen to me!" Patty almost screamed. "I mean, you've cried enough for him! You've neglected yourself far enough! Look at you! You barely eat, barely sleep,...

"(Y/N), you've gone too far, and I hate seeing you like this! I want you to move on! Forget him! Live for your own sake! Please!"

You understood your friend perfectly. You knew that Patty only wanted the best for you, and you could understand perfectly well that, due to your carelessness within the last few months, you have unnecessarily made the girl worried.

And you felt really guilty about it.

With a sheepish smile, you gently took her hands off your shoulders and clasped them together, keeping them joined with your own. You bowed your head down low and placed your forehead on top of your clasped hands as you let your emotions take over you.

"(Y/N) - "

"How I wish I could tell you everything. But, I know it won't be that easy." You told her as you looked up once more. "So, I'll just show you." You simply said as you stood up, letting Patty's hands go as you gestured towards the empty drawing room you spent the most time in during your stay in the Lowell Villa. It was a beautiful room, actually, with smooth wooden floors, cream - colored ceiling, pastel wallpaper - covered walls, and a pair of huge glass doors that allowed one to view the breathtaking island, its white sand, exotic trees and flowers, and the ocean, itself.

If things were normal, you might have enjoyed sunbathing there. You might even consider making a sandcastle of your own, one with pointed roofs and numerous windows, complete with a guardian dragon. You could also easily see yourself taking a dive in that astounding blue sea, then staring at the coast from afar. Or simply enough, you could picture yourself collecting all kinds of seashells buried there on the fine, white sand, just waiting to be found.

However, things were different for you. And difficult.

You knew you could no longer enjoy the simple things of being a normal human, and you knew it's too late for you to even enjoy it now. Your time was running out, and you finally decided to let your friend take a look of what you have become before it's too late. You owed her, and you don't want her to keep guessing. You must tell her the truth, no matter how difficult it was.

And when you grabbed the edge of your long - sleeved shirt, pulling it over your head and taking it off, removed the shirt underneath, and took off your sweatpants, leaving only your underwear, Patty could not help but gasp at the terrible state of your body. Almost skeletal and extremely pale, skin dry and slightly cracking, not to mention those unspeakable bruises on your limbs and stomach that looked as if you were skewered by something really sharp and huge, Patty immediately sensed the horror of what you've been through during your time in Red Grave.

The young, blonde woman shook her head and closed her mouth as tears streamed down her pretty face, unable to believe her own eyes at the pitiful and horrifying sight before her.

However, the pain of finally seeing you has only just begun.

"There was a time," you began as you positioned yourself in the middle of the room. " ... when I lived as carefree as anyone could." You said, then raised your arms and brought them down to your face. Patty realized that you have began dancing. But,... "I was very powerful. I thought nothing could defeat me." Something was wrong,... "But, I'm wrong. For these powers,"

Something,... was definitely wrong.

As Patty watched you moved, she noticed how,... raw,... your movements were. Almost as if,...

" ... they are not mine. They are for someone else."

And she was right. For the moment she saw you struggle with the moves, and jumps, and twirls that should've been a piece of cake to you before all this, she finally realized,...

... you have completely lost the ability to dance.

"I have searched,... for such a long time for this person." You went on. "I have waited,... longer. Far longer. Then, I found him. And I,...made a mistake." You stumbled one more time and tripped, hitting your head on the floor. But, you don't care. Still, you stood and went on. "I,... fell in love with him. Fell in love,... with the man,... who never cared in the first place. And when he took my powers for his own,... along with it, he took my heart,... he took my soul,...

" ... he took,... my life.

" ... but, I'm here. And still alive. But, I'm dying. Slowly and painfully dying. He took my strength,... and in return,... I took away his pain,... and his death,… and made them my own."

And after one last fall, you remained lying on the floor for a few moments. Too exhausted to go on dancing, you slowly and carefully sat up, allowing yourself to calm down and relax.

"No matter how much I try to deny it, no matter how much I hide the truth, the fact still remains." You said as you looked up at Patty. "One of these days, and it won't be long. You'll call my name, and I'll be gone. And when I do," You stood up and went over to your friend, who was now silently crying. " ... I want you to remember me how I was, and not like this." You, then, wrapped your arms around her and allowed her to let all the tears out on your shoulders. "I don't know how long I have left but, when the time comes, that's it."

"Please tell me you're lying!" Patty sobbed. "Tell me this is all a nightmare! Tell me this is not real!"

Your emotions overwhelmed you the moment you felt your friend's body trembling against yours. You closed your eyes and held her tighter. "Hey, at least there will be one less ugly burden in the world."

"(Y/N), YOU'RE NOT A BURDEN! STOP LYING TO ME! SAY YOU'LL WATCH MORE MOVIES WITH ME! SAY YOU'LL AGREE TO MAKE DANTE COME TO ALL OF MY BIRTHDAY PARTIES! SAY WE'LL GROW OLD TOGETHER AND LAUGH AT HOW SILLY WE LOOK AS OLD AND WRINKLED WOMEN! (Y/N), PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME, PLEASE!"

The tears just flowed and flowed, and you allowed it. You allowed the emotion to overwhelm you for the very last time. You even ignored how your heart twitched in pain at the prospect of dying alone without having to enjoy your own life at its fullest.

Well, you did fulfill your mission.

It just wasn't your idea to be a disposable vessel.

And just then, a silly idea came to your mind. You made Patty look at you and pinched her cheeks.

"Ouch! Hey - !"

"Cut my hair, will you? I want to look as fashionable as you." You smiled at her as you pointed at her stylish pixie cut hair ( she ditched the long curls the moment she hit the legal age ).

"(Y/N), I don't think that's - "

"Come on!" You smiled gingerly at her as you emphasized how ugly your hair was. "Do it for me, please?"

A few moments later ( and after putting your clothes on ), you were made to sit on a chair as Patty brushed your hair and started parting it.

"How short do you want it to be?" She asked you.

"Up to you." You answered.

"Okay. I won't cut it too short, though."

"I leave everything to you."

Patty sighed as she started cutting parts of your long hair, letting its (H/C) strands fall on the smooth floor of the drawing room.

"I must say, I really envy you, (Y/N)."

"What?! Why?"

"Because you have long and shiny hair! And you're just letting me chop all this beauty,..."

"My hair? Beautiful? Come on! Look at it now! I would even bet you everything I have to prove to you that it's,... hey, Patty?" You called as the girl stopped cutting your hair for a brief moment. And as you were about to look up, Patty held your temples firmly to keep you from moving. "Hey!"

"Umm, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah?"

"If he is here right now, what would you tell him?" She asked you in a slightly different tone that you didn't really take notice of.

"Why would you ask that now? It's pointless! He is probably somewhere in the other part of the globe, having loads of fun and forgetting everything about me - "

"(Y/N), I'm serious here!" Patty interjected. "You don't want to go without letting it all out, right? I mean, if you wanted to say anything, now is the time. Not later, not tomorrow, now. What would you say to him if he is here right now?"

" ... nothing." You simply whispered. And could anyone really blame you? If he's here right now, would he even lend an ear to you after everything that went on between the two of you?

You heard Patty sigh behind you. "Okay, let's do this one more time. If I'm him, what would you say to me?"

What's with this girl all of a sudden? "Alright! Alright! Since you're insisting, I might as well tell you.

"How are you doing? Are you,... uhh,... eating well? Sleeping well? I hope you're not,... doing anything rash and careless,..."

"Yes, and?" Patty prodded on.

You sighed and went on. "Umm, whatever happened between us in the past, I want you to forget everything. Live freely on your own, do everything you can to make yourself as happy as anyone could be. I want you to forget about me,... and go on. Find,... someone else who is,... worthy of your love and protection."

There was a moment of silence as Patty stopped cutting your hair for a while. Then, she combed through your hair once more as she parted them again in the middle. "Is that what you really wanted to say? Forget about everything? Forget about you? Find another person to love?"

You felt your eyes widen as they started to sting, yet again, with your raw emotions. You closed your eyes and simply let those tears fall.

"I'm so tired of pretending that everything's okay." You whispered, your head bowed down low, and your tears falling onto your neatly folded hands on your lap. With a deep breath and a sob, you finally let it all out. "I missed you so much, V! So much, it hurts. I still love you,… despite everything. I tried to get you out of my mind, to forget that I've known you. To forget that I have fallen deeply in love with you for the very short time we've been together. And it hurts,... so much,... to know that I will not be able to see you again, that I will not be able to talk to you again. That I will never hear your voice again as you read to me your favorite poems.

"If I could only go back in time, I would prevent all the pain and suffering from happening. I will tell you to run as far away as you can from that place. I don’t care what happens to Red Grave! I will,... save the both of us from that huge blunder. Maybe then, we could start all over again, to get to know each other again. Maybe we could take another shot at it.

"But, I know that everything is inevitable. I have,... fulfilled my mission for you. I gave you back what you rightfully own. And I know that this is irreversible.

"I,... love you,... so much, V. But, please, go away from me. I don't want you to see me looking like this, going rapidly old, skin crumbling, dying. I will accept that someday, you would find the perfect person to love and protect until your last breath. I would even accept that someday, you will forget about me and everything that happened between us.

"So,... go. Do everything that I told you: travel the whole world, watch all kinds of movies, eat popcorn and lots of junk food, go fishing and catch a boot, win the stuff tiger. See the world that your poems describe. Go,... and do all of those with the person you will love and cherish,... until the end.

"And I'm so,... sorry. For everything. For all the hurt. I'm sorry."

You sighed deeply, unable to believe how wonderful it felt to truly let everything out. Your chest heaving up and down in a rhythmic pattern, your whole body finally relaxing, you closed your eyes,...

... and smiled.

"Goodbye, V. I will,... never bother you,... anymore."

"There. You look perfect." Patty answered, seemingly in jest, a few seconds later as she brushed the hair off your shoulders. "Could you stand up for me, please?"

You did so, your head feeling a bit lighter. You reached up with your hands and felt for your now shoulder - length hair.

And it felt really nice.

"Could you please, turn around so I could see you?"

You slowly turned, and,...

***

🖤 Again, a special thanks to @harlot-of-oblivion for teaching me how to convey some important messages with the flower language. 🖤

🖤 @la-vita , @gothghoulfrend , @micaelagua , @yepps , @ceruleanworld , @vergils-daughter , @beyond-the-mirror , @diabeticsugarush , @shadowrosess , @lessy86 , @bettybattaglia , @heaven-on-a-landslide , and @krazy06 . 🖤

***

There was a moment of silence as Patty stopped cutting (Y/N)'s hair for a while. Then, she combed through her hair as she parted them in the middle. "Is that what you really wanted to say? Forget about everything? Forget about you? Find another person to love?" She asked.

Her head bowed down low and her shoulders slightly trembling, she answered with an achingly weak and vulnerable voice.

"I'm so tired of pretending that everything's okay. missed you so much, V! So much, it hurts. I still love you,… despite everything. I tried to get you out of my mind, to forget that I've known you. To forget that I have fallen deeply in love with you for the very short time we've been together. And it hurts,... so much,... to know that I will not be able to see you again, that I will not be able to talk to you again. That I will never hear your voice again as you read to me your favorite poems.

"But, I know that everything is inevitable. I have,... fulfilled my mission for you. I gave you back what you rightfully own. And I know that this is irreversible.

"And I'm so,... sorry. For everything. For all the hurt. I'm sorry.

"Goodbye, V. I will,... never bother you,... anymore."

Patty slowly turned behind her after those words that her friend uttered. Then, she turned back and brushed the hair off (Y/N)'s shoulders. "There. You look perfect." And she's not lying. The girl looked,... perfect. "Could you stand up for me, please?" Patty waited for (Y/N) to stand and watched as she felt for her brand new hair style. "Could you please, turn around so I could see you?"

She slowly turned, and,...

... her eyes widened in shock at the familiar figure standing before her,...

... of a person,… a man,... she thought she would never see or hear from,... ever again,...

“One of these days, and it won’t be long,

You’ll call my name and I’ll be gone,

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well.

... and so,... thee came,..."

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #i see my future before me #v x reader #v x you #chapter 33 #the disposed vessel

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